Cracking open

Slip of sheer white, soundless–

a design of strength

cracking open sky,

an open space for wind

visible on fog,

roiling in the sails. 

 

I take up the cross and follow

the sound of whales–a league of seasons–

dry my shells on the sand.

 

There is this cataclysm of universe

on universe, this crater in the known,

this blitzkrieg of earth, wind, fire,

all turned retrograde in the fourth,

the dogma, the credo, the alpha and omega–

this coming from that,

the egg that planted the lightning

that planted the seed of me

from the corpulence of soul

embodied. 

 

Lightning struck

the same man twice,

once to make him blind,

twice to make him see.

~~~~
Trouble is just another pathway in.

© Andrea Mathews, 2014

lightning

The day of my birth

I folded clothes till midnight

and shacked up with the moon,

I shook my rattle at everyness

and made my maker quake.

I stayed up till dawn

and drank my whiskey dry,

singing songs to whales,

lost at sea.

I mattered to myself then

in the hemispheres of sky,

mattered like land

to sliding water;

landed soul in hand,

scattering me across the ground

like seed,

bowing to air

with each gravitational blur.

 

Awakening can only be described as looking deeply into the mirror.

© Andrea Mathews, 2014

Full moon over Catalina AZ

She is…

phantom moon,

haunting the empty night,

chilling the wind,

misting sand.

She flavors the glaciers,

empowers the grasses,

sounds like

a wing.

 

She doesn’t need to know a thing,

she knows so well,

Rides her horse

across the desert

in waves

of rock,

laughing

in the silence;

setting the depths

of the darkest sea,

crying with the joy

of weight.

 

There is a quiet essence to Grace, a breath of motivation, for everything from the push of a seed to the change of seasons. What else do we need to know?

© Andrea Mathews, 2014

Cape Gannets

Today

 Today is escape

from the barge of tomorrow—

hauling tragedy from the garbage

of fear.

Today is a surface. . .

frivolous laughter,

deep longing,

open desire

coming from the underworld

below the bones.

Today is a . . .

noun, driven off the cliff of

verb, secreting off with the moon,

silencing the stars in their

incessant scratching off the sky,

coloring noon the taste of the adjective—

a complete sentence.

Today is…

there simply is no argument,

except the mild dissociations

of mind over presence.

Today is two days,

the one we live,

and the other one of the mind,

in which we fear and drown

in the microcosmic shelters we endure.

 

© Andrea Mathews, 2014

2014-10-18 16.59.55

 

 

 

Light

A fish forms

in the glaring air,

round as a bird,

green lightening splash;

a bear prowls

the thundering mountain

taking what he heard.

A deer waits by the waters,

a katydid clicking song on the wind,

and I never

deserved

a thing.

 

 

Why then would I ever question my abundance?

© Andrea Mathews, 2014

clarity

A Note from Grace

I saw you looking through

the red leaves, hot bark

to the lake of our chosen fate,

glancing backward at all the sad escapes.

 

Your mirror,

whimsical as dance,

tried you hard,

turned your forked tongue

to brown reaching root,

moist as a woman.

 

Dare I ask you

to become you?

To hold your hugeness

in my bones?

 

You are father, ancient as beginning

and you dare not hold your own.

Every single shred of you

leaves at each beginning.

Yet you hold your honor with such dignity,

as if it were wholeness itself.

And when I creep inside your veins

I am lost in the sweet smell,

the urgent taste,

the power of infinity in each

of your sacred cells.

 

Let me feel your

music

begin again.

 

 

 

If we only knew how big we really are!

© Andrea Mathews, 2014

dreams

How to live

They say the way to do it is to go,

skimming,

like a window reflection,

like snorkeling on the surface,

getting a glimmer of live sand dollars,

glistening moonlight

far below, at the bottom of things;

 

that would be the way,

except that both dark and dawn

scratch at my hips

from the inside,

like undertow.

 

Don’t you just hate it when someone says, “Hey man, that’s deep!” in that recriminate way that is half mockery, half dismissal?  As if doing anything but surface is not only weird, but wrong. So, okay, I’ve seen the sand dollars from there.  But I’d rather see them from here. There is something invisible pulling me deeper, further out.    Come along if you’d like. We’ll have an adventure.

© Andrea Mathews, 2014

undertow-viweb