You  being all a man can be ….and each promise being kept true

we would  be angels called by the sun

entwined in soft clouds laying low

beneath a sky of Caribbean blue

To that calling  I waited here

attentive to the ones who came before me

sitting by the sacred stones watching signs from the heavens

I glimpsed your light

 

…wanting tomorrow

 

Your words serenade me

and you are always are near when the storm clouds

threaten.. a sprinkling of water

they disappear as you rise…poking holes in them  for play

Promises are yours to give, a treasure

where I walk between the words

as you stand upon them with secure footing

naming me in euphemism

.. seeded with truths

the ones  I still strain to see clearly..yet you…effortlessly

hold in light upon your fingertips

froth falling in poetry withi you

feathered wings hidden in sunstreaks of rainbow light

dodging  clouds beneath skies of Caribbean blue

 

 

 

 

As  I cry tears of silk into your palms

I can feel the shadow clouds disappearing…

even, as I breathe

as you come to keep me in quietude for a moment

kissing my eyelids with your soft surety

 

Chanterelles fill your hands …the oranges and yellows

a sunset which I melt into for a moment

leaving the sting of yesterdays to memories

those places I need not dwell any longer

 

 

You feed me sunshine in the formation of constancy

As I exhale the toxic…your smile assures me .. it is safe now

 

Hesitantly I take your hand

 

Sensations of wings around my shoulders…

we step into the next tomorrow……fingers entwined ….

Your eyes golden  …each syllable falling formless

every word meticulously forging into the glowing new

 

removing clouds one by one

under skies of Caribbean blue…………

 

 

©  Katherine Wyatt 2012

Advertisement

 

 

that epicenter

 

where the tectonic plates

overlap

 

a breaking point

 

before the shift

 

walking the edge

 

that wedge between

dormant and motion t

 

my essence the sea floor spreading

 

before the thunder.

 

 

words have power

 

when they break our backs

 

with the arduous labour

 

of function

 

they are otherwise

 

vapid

 

 

so I stand on the precipice

 

fingering the corrugations of furrowed wounds

 

intuiting the solid you are trying to touch down on

 

 

wrestling my own shadows

 

the ache of my constant dangerous want

 

still echoing in the sound

 

of your heartbeat

 

in the thick of trying to satiate so many

 

and failing..

 

© Katherine Wyatt

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the heart struggles…

against the tides..

of what have become the ripples…

will miss writing with you most of alll so fast you are just gone

of sorrow in its grey make…

and the passages of canyons steept…

beckon with their yawning mouths….

the grace…of mune light…

the sorrow of sun shine….

and the dreams…

that have grown….

over bright…

did I ever really live?…

did I…ever have….

life?….

the fires burn low

ablaze the death.. of heart

the passage of hopes

denied….

darkness enfolded…

in wings whose plumage..

worn away..falls..

feathers…the eagle..

that cannot fly…

the dross..outweighing the gold..

the cost..

was everything..

dreams died..

and visions..cease..

the sound of heartbeat grows dim…

with distance..

Raven flies…

to new beginnings..

the death of love..

as thunders stain the darkness….

and distance becomes everything…

and the ancient pass ways…

reveal their lower jaws…

and the raze of stone teeth…

settles against the brow…

twined hands never ceasing to reach out..

. for the grace that echoes the blues…

of the distance…

and the Ravens…query the OldeCrowes…

how many are the dreams…

that we have seen…

fall between the faces…

of olde stones….

and so…..cedar plumes…

of smoke….filter the ArchWays….

as yet another…

of the Ghosting children…

slips through the gabled partition…

unto path…and walks upon

the sylph green grass…

naked….and alone…

sining yet another song…

to be lifted from the ground meal…

of marrow bones…of sorrow…

yea the stelaes sunk deep into…

sacred earth….and all the young ones…

listen….as their fathers sing unto them…

from the GhostRoad…

our entrails…

laid bare..

of what was not…

the bleed continues..

hungry ghosts…

wander the lands..barren..

spirit…ties..binds..

soul packs……

who wander darkness..

seeking that place…of Unity..

denied…

lifetime after lifetime..

gutted…the heart..

grows tired..

awaits the next cycle..

birth and rebirth…

always the search..

karmique destruction..

reconstruction…

tearing with razor teeth..

soul connections.the (my)nd…

forgets its kindred..

once again…

yet the fire burns..

the desire remains..

the seeking goes on ..

birth after death..after birth.

(c)  Katherine Wyatt and Soldier Blue//  2011

the fire burns low

as you go your way…

away form me…

home to nothing…

just away from me

home to nowhere….

no one left you did not betray

in one way or another

pretty empty words

are still just empty words

the warm where you used to lay

reading your (his)tory to me

still indented with the outline

of all of you

held so precious in my arms

once upon a time

cerulean has turned

to blaque and blue

was there no front

no border you crossed the lines

without lies stretching out before your

given path?

yet you will always be

a warm breeze

soft in my memories

perhaps that is just my karmique destiny

to nurture…what was was only given to me

for a moment

© Katherine Wyatt 2011

if time stopped

galaxies hung in black fluorescent glow

acquiescing to silence

planets stilled, no longer spinning

allowing the cessation of all else

the warm of that definitive moment

is what one waits lifetimes for…

enveloped in that consummate bliss

your arms become the resting place of my essence

sun streaming through venetian blinds

returning other realities to consciousness

while days and the mundane push forward

I linger there

waiting for time to stop…one more time..

(c)  Katherine Wyatt 2011

Rains….watering stone….

the seeds…of raw clouds….

blanketing…the skyes….

in a welter of colours…

that do nought shed themselves…

upon the ground….

the rain silting..into mud…

the browns…a worthy retreat,,,,

of storm…unto aftermath…

and the quietness….

inspired by the cleansing….nought the colours….

the spirit ones….in everything….

and no residence….

within or without…

of any given medium….

and GrandFather thunder….

speaks unto us….

as we travel in the softened beds….

of earth….face lifted….

from the asphalt trauma….

as the storms…..make….

for higher stone….

and the ancient seeds….

germinate their dreams….

into WindSong….

in the ghats…where the sacred river..

the Mother..consumes the ash..

of those no longer dwelling in flesh…

they come to offer flowers …

placing flames upon the waters…

carrying prayers …

and the bones…

remnants of that which housed spirit..

granted release in the sacred waters..

the elders and the dying come…

seeking liberation …

bathing in the sacred river

she is ever flowing on

and the pyres raging flames offer

that which is consumed

as sacrifice..humbled at reception

as essence moves to the next journey

Yea the Mountains…growing olde…

the roots rising above the….

weathering heights….

the soughing/sighs…

of memory..as the granulated forms….

of the cliff sides….

flow with the spring tide torrent….

down stream…..

 

the memories….of high wind….

flowing with them….

as the Ravens….and OldeCrowes….

the memories….of high wind….

flowing with them….

as the Ravens….and OldeCrowes….

gather round…forgotten bones…

the ones whom had…..

never been sung over…..

nor raised upon the scaffolding….

of prayers…..

and as much of them as is left…

is carried in the filtering influence….

within the confluence….

of the rains…

that reach the rivers….

and mix with the watered stones…

smoothed by time….

and rain…..

and all become the prayers….

we have heard before…

even if only in….

our dreams….

from the north..

winding through the sacred mountains..

the pure waters where ..

the high Ones lift humanity..

in meditations and prayers..

She flows carrying dormant..that

which is manifest.

yet not awakened..

to the Source of energy…

activation…(re)creation…

innately life giving….

the snow capped peaks…

melt…meld into the River banks…

the cycles of death and rebirth…

flowing with the waters…

and the silt..

and the remnants of what was..

once in form…now transformed…

gather in the Sacred city

within the sacred walls..

the last rite…to fall..

into the arms of the Mother..

in death’s release..

Yea….a release of wholeness….

the faulted flesh…

for spirit grace….

as the Coyotes….sing….and the mountain lions…

scream….into the blaqueness….

of a blue/blaque  night….

sylvar etched…..

with DeadStar Dims….

the essence….

of celestial freedoms….

the wealth….of journey…

beyond the cares….

of a finite…arated skin…..

as the rock of watered stone….

flows…so do we….

and the ones….

whose Ghosting Names…

become the strata….

of a reformed earth….

as the Ravens…..

and OldeCrowes….

gather in the night….

at eventide….

as we the wanderers….

pick up our styx….

and leave the signs….

behind us….for those….

we know…to be…

somewhere….and thus….

along the tributaries…of heart….

their names will forever flow…..

in the sanctity….

of grace…and sacred….

granulated stones…..

we….as they….walk freely….

upon the….

GhostRoad….

Yea…with clean rivulets….

of saline…we will….

water….our living stones….

as we in concert with the shades….

of those now…unknown…

walk in peace…and understanding….

upon the….

GhostRoad….

 

© Soldier Blue//  and Katherine Wyatt  2011

ymbolization…than civilization…

where divine wind….

nought breath…

is truth…

where the sun….

is the house of the creator….

and nought an orb science….

where the golden glow….

of the MorningStar…..

is the promise….

of a smile….

and the shine….

of a fierce dream….

comes through….

like a spear fletched…..

with flint….the strength…

of life….

and We rise…..

above the lays….

of the modern world….

to shed the seeds….

of that which we know….

and our seventh generation…..

need for  future reference…..

to make the steppes…..

of their….song…..

the melody of creation

for in the beginning

was the word…

a vibration

sent out

into that which was One

and the individuations

entered the veil

imposing structures of time

upon Divinity

experiencing itself

through the blue of eyes

and the browns of the firmament

attactions and aversions

and the play of seasons

passages..

and eternal returns

as in the dog days….that were….

the offal is become the refuse….

of ther modern times…

yea the symbolization….

of this civilization…

the burnt umbers….

residual scenes……

played out in the drainage ditches….

and flood plaines….faulty thoughts…

of control….

symbolics….

carbolic natures….

smoked and petroglyphic…..

upon the stones…yet be seen…..

ashe thrust beyond days….

beckoning unto night….

the strangled sylvar…..

shining as the Mune….

GrandMother smiling…..

has separated her flesh….

from the blues….

that stain…of progress…..

the wayward drifters…..

smokeing resin…the chambers….

of once sacred tobacc….

another season is upon us….

and the stones remember….

as the bones….of elder passages….

rise….and greet us….

with femural flutes….

to shrill the ravaged songs….

and wake them….

with lightening…the levy…..

of burdens borne onward…..

as We shake sanguine wings of shadow…..

at the raw makings of DeadStars…

and the Dims…..we restructure…..

as we go…as our children open…..

the eyes….of wide colours…..

and attempt to recall what we have already told them…..

the jagged metal teeth

tearing the flesh..the green

bleeds..into

modernity…

that which had order

torn from the dens…the santums

finds it way

into the …neon of

quick fix dwellings..

in mystic rage with teeth bared

consistent in their lack  of conclusion

single file

marching towards

whitewashed tombstones

built by the puppet masters

while in quiet hush..

the Guardians

with Ash and  ancient knowledge

and seeds to be resown

house the spirit warriors

positioning  ..in preparation

rise up in crystalline

and Indigos…

for the restoration…

Yea!..the restoration…of beings….

that need no new dreams…..

because the ancient Cause….

still and applies….and no furtherance….

of ashen whimsy…nor retrospect….

can change that…..

As WE…..STAND!….against the storms….

and chitinous behaviors…..

that have sought to lay their reek….

the symbolizations…..

of faith….

as if civilization…were a good substitute…..

the smokes….of prayer…

roll through low valleys….

and leave the sifted silt…

of their loess…as coverings…

as if quilted cloth….

as gentle hands….that touch….

but for a moment….

and leave the warmth….

of movement….as they drift…

upon….the WindSong….

of the nights…

and blaque fired days….

as We..the wanderers….

approach ever on….

our gesso journey….

upon the….NightHiway….

upon our way….

upon the tracks….

of sovereign thought…..

through the ArchWays….

of blown handprints….

in pigments only half remembered….

in the making….

as we prepare for the grace….

for the hearth….and home….

robed with….symbolization….

as scattered behind us….

far from the curve…

of welcome….lay the dross….

of trappings…of….”civilization”….

as we walk forever into the grounds…..

watched over by…..silent stelae….

and the faces we have seen….

weather etched…..

upon our sacred stones…..

as we walk forever in psalms…..

of nature….and WindSongs….

of the….GhostRoad….

Yea….we are the ones….

upon the walk…unto home….

upon the….GhostRoad…

the saline..and tears

shed..now

leaving brackish

moving to clear …in the riverbeds

settling into

the..Whole…

the sacred dance…of the forms

and the formless

upon the….GhostRoad…

 

 

 

(c)  ///SoldierBlue  and Katherine Wyatt

Survival…..

of the fittest?….

or is it those….

whose hands….still touch the earth?…

ReadEarthen  faces….

ReadEarthen  faces….

the smiles…of rivers run dry…

the beauty of waste lands….

the greys become umbers…

the siennas…

of the hills a cinnamon burn…

the skulls…of origin…

grinning in rictus knowledge…

of what is now been….

laid bare

the barren expanse…..

of the glittering plaines…..

an ache upon the bones…

of earth immortal…

and the dance that continues…

human beings…

the dreams….

of foundation harnessed?…

Nah….just sleeping….

for now…

and the Ravens rise….

before the wave shadows…

of night…and the laughters…..

of Coyote….

ready to begin…

his tricks again….

the smoke rises…

and the days turn….

with teeth bared

biting down…the will

to power…the resiliency

arising on the smoke

and the insence

the light…upon which

the subtle…of hope

and prayer arises

into the blue and purple skies

of melding nights

and the circles of time

moving towards greater purpose

arise…those

who are wrapped

in the white

blankets…of the sacred

smile…

as the constellations

shift…and the cobra

scales …back..

serpentine…moving to make room

for the procession

the resurrection…of what once was

…in silence..wating

to arise

The night breaks…..

agains the fade…of blaque…

as the Winds bleed…..

air without contrivances….

of convention…

the NightHiway rumbles…

between the judder….

of blues to bruise velvets….

of purpled dark….

the soft ended times….

of things…that were never meant….

to be pushed to such a means….

of use..in the backwash…

of cogs…and machinations….

by the defaults…of man

the slurry effects…of ashe….

and the by products….

of what no one can use….

the blaque…lean Wings….

of OldeCrowes….

the shelf stones….

that crumble….and leave only sediments….

to be pondered….for inactivity…

and the thoughts….

that pre existed….in petroglyph….

before…..technicolour…..

the forests….ringed in second growth….

raze their waves….

of sound…..as the echoes…

surmount the path….that precedes…

the yearning foot fall….

of the divine….

Coyote holds out a question….

for tobacc…..

as Raven seeks….the nesting shine…

of the storming/warring night clouds….

and tumbling/fumbling skyes……

and the ides…of images…

held forth from the heart….

of cloud nations….

the raw echoes…

of syllable passages….

that have reverberated…..

too many epochs….

without the cause

of alarm…now revealed…..

as the full package….

of pandora’s box….

is broken open….the myst…of disease’……

the morph….that makes them….

DNA……a name without a face…..

hysteria….without a mouth….

the scream….never ending…..

The rictus seams….

of earth immortal parched….

ready to be seeded……

in the weight….

of heavy waters…..

none can drink…..

the wreaths….woven…..

for this final season…..

and we…the wanderers…..

…WAIT

waters poisoned..

in viscuous creations

formed in the dark of greed

delivered

into pure ground.where innocence

once tread with bare feet

and the seed

freely given…now stored

in ice…crystal castles

hidden in arctic cycles/circles

guarded

with electric eyes

genetics…of the basic grain

defiled

manipulating the flesh

with blind eyes

….wide open

swallowed…whole

the puppets play songs..

in dead chant

of dark and dead days

and the bleed…

continues…seeking to heal

while green

lines silken treasure chests

the holy ones wait

…as the ice melts

and the venom is  exposed

The venoms…the skin innured…

to its taste….

drinks deep….

and the roads…wander….

as the drifters do…

fore and aft…..

with out maleable visions…..

to grace any such encounters….

as the strata of earths….

dirts…of silt…the loess….of days….

and relentless turnings of tonnage earth…

for the “discovery”….nought worth mentioning….

furies blaze….over saline shafts….

of infiltrated clarity…..

the salt never formed…..

from nature’s dreams….

the twist sacred to sacrilege..

the songs….that burn between lips and teeth,…….

and the wanderers….

are thus called….

and the thunder beings…..reclaim their mounts…..

as the storms resurface……

and shed their tears…..

for those so called….

to see such days…..

as these…

beyond the rings….

of fires…and the blessed gatherings of the people unseen….

We walk through….

such ArchWays….as we know….

and are still open….

to our memories…and collectives….

of sanctuary……

and we begin….

upon this eternal landscape….

to dance…..

and walk in the companies…

of our keeping….

for the ones so left…..

and those yet to be….

As Raven….upon Lean Wings…..

and Coyote….with bones….

of marrow…and splintered meat….

draw with pictographic skills…..

their creations….

tricks…and prophecies….

and the choices….

laid thus before all….

and as with all things…

upon the burning grounds…..

cooled by sacred stones…..

We with all our relations…..

Wait…as we walk…..

and we wander….

upon the….

GhostRoad…..

 

 

(c) Soldier Blue//  and Katherine Wyatt   2011

the stars spelt out your name

upon black velvet skies

kissed in stardust

in my lucid dreams

I waited for that manifestation

you… individuated..

the soft warm waters of you

easing into my essence

 

layers of all you are

the accumulations of your roots

that dig into my sides …. binding me to you

soften my days .and give …wamth

to the sweet of my nights

 

your hands..

created as though

they were meant to be holding mine

so large with silent power

touched with gentleness…

I rest in them…

 

while sun sets in brilliant hues

glistening  across your soft..

 

I breath you in

so much longing…finally

I exhale

content

 

(c)  Katherine Wyatt 2011

there are crossroads
passages in our lives
we arrive at a point
of discretion
volition
the dark and the light
at war within…

there are those who
take shade in the abyss
remiss of the seeds sown
windblown … trusting fate
instead of innate wisdom
lonesome in the dark
but comfortable there

light is beacon
..a  direction
always calling us  to Unity
to harmonies and melodies
that play in the heart
reflect in art ..
in poetry..
within and above
a call to Love

free will is universal law
a call to the spirit warrior
at times walking through fires
to obtain freedom..
challenges  …. to win
the curriculum
that is life

there were no promises
of perfect passages
only the assurity
of a serenity
earned through
perseverance…
there are no heroes
just those who choose
to move in action…when
the option
is un-thinakable…

(c) Katherine Wyatt 2011