Birth of Baby Bleu


I was birthed at the birth of the central sun

way beyond all swirls of swirling galaxies

way beyond midnight blue dancers whose

warm embraces and gentle caresses led to 2 am gropeings

in the roll of the tide and in the roll of the sand

long before sways beneath the new twilight moon and

twinkle lit stars on an ancient pulsating

mystic shore created indigo consciousness

I was born way beyond streaming violet, umber masses

way far beyond any milky way galaxy

I was born at a certain juncture

a certain space in pure consciousness

way beyond all orbits of all points in time and space

I arrove at the dawn of preexistence

creation bursting forth in thought,

idea, a love of pure form

a pristine consciousness, a cataclysmic bliss

a total combustion of the totality of the centre

mind of the central sun

and in all good faith and by the great green God`s grace

I traveled through time dividing goldenest, rarest

divine shine of emerald, rose quartz,  baby bleu topaz, lapis lazuli

sparkings away from the deepest heart

of the dimmest darkness


I was born of the light, the shining Golden One whose star sparks bright in the North Eastern sky where all shadows of the past fall away

yet a residue, the remainder life, ol’angsyne, rustic consciousness

rushed as I entered the milky way.


I arrived on earth

I come from pure I am and Isness.

and in the great fall I crash landed

a host to lost souls in a glass fish bowl

pale pink rose palm outstretching I dared to touch

a golden tulip, a daisy, a violet in an already decaying garden

and yet I remain still

in the I of the lone eagle

but in the mirror I am

abandoned by the murderous mother raven

housed in the golden eagle’s nest.


I went falling, falling not from

the nest of the goldenest eyed eagle

as I went turning turning

not from the sun not the earth sun

but the centre heart of the central core of the core of the hottest

amber lit core of the hearth of the central Sun– truth itself

As I went turning and turning

I turned

toward yet away

from something grand

something neumenal

something beyond physical

something inexplicable

even as I fall

And as I fall I turn and turn

I fell as I turned

om shanti om

fell from my line but not from my nest

not the goldenest nest

om shanti on was stolen, to be truthful

like Moses secretly stashed a stowaway

hidden in a marshland

taken from his mother

unspeakable dearth

unknowable hearth

How could you let this happen?


It was a horror unconscionable

no leap, no bound has ever seen such a fall from grace

But, was it a fall from true grace?

It wasn’t a fall from

the goldenest eyed

eagle’s nest

but it was a fall, nonetheless

And, as I fell I crash landed

out there

somewhere between

earth`s sun and

moon’s first fledgling kiss

As I fell as I turned

I went falling  without thinking

I went turning without looking

I went without fear of death

passing through, amongst, and between

season after season

falling amidst broken branches and furling twigs

Autumn leaves then blowing snow

Father, why so many cycles

spinning down through so many ages

gathering  so many turns of a

turning sun

turning in love, yes.

But lust?

Did it have to have so many

turns in lust

turns turning in lust and greed

turns of lust and greed

turning in malice

turns in lust

turns in greed

turning the chalice

so far from me, from truth

You were always striving to

reach something that couldn’t be felt

striving towards some silver gossamer thread

some grand idea of a thing

but not the thing itself

always turning in love of

the tide rolling out but never in

sand and pebbles, grit and mud

teal egg cartons, blue chewing gum, bits of torn papers,

a testament of love, you said?

You said you are

my living word

my everything

my bride, my groom

my all love,

my holy heart of gold

that space where no man

dares to tread

and tear asunder

presumptuous to say

Beloved, but you said.

ca caw ca caw

ri ci ri ci

ri ci roo coo

Birdie, birdie, how could you?

I entered the garden of Eden

through gates

snow white flowers in my hair

Jasmine, gardenia

and don’t forget the lily

with a hope for love and peace

in everything I meet, say, and do

only to discover a decaying garden

decaying like miss havisham`s

lavish bridal gown

and, in place of goldenest eyed love

distrust between us

how am I to fall in love again

after falling in so many fallen turns

of this ever falling fallen garden

And, with a promise to be bright-eyed

and to honor and obey

till death do us part

in charity and faith

how am I to ever return to sweetest innocence and trust of love of us?

You say love is

love is the thing which is Isness Itself

You say loving is easy and loving is living at all levels of awareness

who we truly are at every level of the mind and heart

purest state of consciousness,

Beingness Itself

Guffaw guffaw

there are elders who beg to differ, of course

Is it living a pure state of the thing, the idea,

the pure love of form Itself

when giving to so many variations of forms cost so much living truth, living life?

And, I your living Word?

What’s the return to innocence

how am I to discover it

after all I have experienced?

And, for all the false lines to me and all the false years to me?

you must have had a hard time returning to the nest, looking your best, in finest silks, of course,

a dasher, dancer, and prancer on earth

while meeting the wince of widows, the three girls in the garden

with oblations galore

Enough to make the thinnest men of haddam draped in the sweetest, holiest misty blue quiver in the most unheavenly manor

Ca caw ca caw

Ca caw ca caw

Chi chi ri chi

Che che ri chi

Che che roo coo

And all that goo?

Smell of roses golden tips, heartiest reds, cherry blossom pinks, hibiscus

Living Word, I guess

carefully strewn  parchment papers

scattering in the winds of time

and all for what and by whose beak

I do not know

a  nun, a Magdalene

some grandmother

a sparrow, a bluebird

all in a row

but not a human circle undivided

but a circle divided, nonetheless

Father Goldenest Eyed Eagle, how did darkness birth from life

and in the great fall to earth

how did I get tossed from your grand  but oh so salivating hull

why birth me as flesh at all through this decaying darkness

to keep me invisible?

unseen energy is fine for the mantle

but, even seagulls know how to fly from the nest

It only escalates

Just look at it

energy proliferates

even a thought

just a thought is energy

and darkness lives and blooms

like a mushroom cloud

And, Beloved Golden One, has this longing for thingness not the idea of the thing kept so strategically in the distance, but the lust for secret flesh, carnal bliss, forbidden love been so titilatingly you

that you couldn’t see me, touch me, kiss my broken wing

lavendar laced so high on the mantle, so high on the pedestal that I can`t be seen much less reached

ca caw ca caw

Ca ra ri ci ri coo

hum ti tum ti tum

di dum di dum di doh

A day, a day just for you

And, a night is truly indigo, a perfect blue just for you

amber and violet, too

And all the kings men and all the kings horses fell and keep falling

and, London bridge is falling and fallen, too

And did those days, those hours, those nights, those hypnotizing lullabies,  those midnight moonlight nights, those cycles of hours and nights and days meet in the heart, the true heart, where your true soul sounds a trumpet, a harp, a cello on stage like a hopper nude in front of a theater or a window of consciousness staring at something

she must have been something down through these many ages

she must have be of something to keep up the goldenest eyed eagle in so many glass eyes and open gaped mouths yearning for yet another round

Marilyn, oh Marilyn, Marvin Gardens, Park Place and fifth avenue

what a legacy to teach the children well

and how was Ol` Angsyne this year without your trophy bridal bird, the one always kept in the distance, like Helen of Egypt, the phantom one, of course?

How is it without the clinging vine  crying in your lap for your living worm word?

Old wood indeed like an old shoe

No thanks. I love new silver pumps and pretty lace bows and blue  ribbons, too

Tell me Father eagle, is it lust and malice, this war for the golden chalice that brings about inner peace when there is so much outer undissolved ugliness

How can you be purest state of Beingness if you can’t even look at me

I`m on the planet right in front of you, so close you melt my core being

Am I to wait to burn the amber lit consciousness of my own hearth?

Why ignite a doiley that dallies as so many cartoon sallys in the heat of the day and in the middle of the night, expecting me to remain unforged, fireless, anonymmous faceless plaster of paris bird

hearth of your heart, song of your songs yet at your side

forever outstretching, forever outreaching to meet in touch in flight the eagle flesh

sculpture are made to be admired and to sit in plaster of paris like the lovers in Keats’ urn who still remain as never becoming one lover from two exist to this day

forever outreaching, never embracing

birds are born to live a true hand, a warm kiss

birds are born to fly and to feel the wind, my love

But, do you think that one will drop another bomb on me again?

so many sculpted hands have fallen, wings broken, heads thrown in dust

But, mother raven, did you have to fall so far from grace

Did you have to be so dangerous to lacustrine life of eagle love?

Michelle Dorris

Copyright, 2017. All rights reserved.

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