Lost Bay

Lost Bay


1.
Stranger:
When day is a feeling
Before it becomes flesh;
As rooftops merge
Into a common skin,
There is a wind
That blows in Oregon
That is the breath and soul
Of Oregon,
Where time is a rainbow river
Poised between
Shadow and sleep,
A time for reflection
When no bell tolls
But the whistling buoy
Summoning.
Proclaiming this the hour
When the Deaf hear;
The Dumb speak.
Rippling free of the moon,
The defeated
Rise from prisons
Of their retreat,
Crying aloud: "We are alive!
Are special
Because of it!"
All are tossing stars,
Like meteors falling
From Heaven's cradle,
Bearing as they fall
The dreams
Of their blossoming
Opposites.

2.
Voyager:
In this blustering,
Stumbling
Village of rain
Swept streets,
Comes Ocean, Fog,
Sensations,
Essence, Belief,
Filling the night
With truths sharp concentrate.
In this dark town
Of stammering waters,
Night squalls
Sweep in from the sea
And we burn
With the sweat
Of secret discoveries.
O night
Of fantastic fevers,
Of the body
In rebellion
Sensing
The momentary truth
Of its' nature.
We are pilgrims,
In a night of curvatures,
Illusions, despair.
Our own undoing drives us
Into a time
Of unraveling moods
And mysteries.
A time
Of secret confusions.
Of the confessions
Of song.

There is no excuse
For beauty,
No definition of love,
No hour, second, minute,
More real
Then the one in hand;
That supple,
Flying undulation
Passing,
Passing till it is gone.

3.
Night of Myth
Of spontaneous combustions,
Muddy angels
Are we all.
Caught in ungentle flight,
Trapped
Between the chalice
And the serpent's egg.
Heaped with Now,
Blessed
With sound, taste,
Gift of sight,
Endowed
Both emperors and clowns,
We drift.
More curved
Then straight,
Propelled by fire,
Ice,
Crazed intellect.
Small sinners
Suffering
Small martyrdom's.

As we drift,
Flesh of the apple
Dreaming
From its tree
Is our tongue's juice.
Pleasures of the body
Filled with soaring sighs
Are just as sweet.
Far from sleep,
Near the parting
Of logic,
I have heard
In the bending tower
Of myself,
Secret sounds
Coming in from the sea.
Strange, new voices
Calling out,
Rising
From the dark surf
And falling rain.
O night
Of miraculous mysteries,
Let me splash
In the play
Of your sacred water.
In my house of clouds,
Your notes rise
And I recognize
In you
The anthem
Of the sun;
The Mother of Light


4.
Night of unraveling moods.
Night of emotions,
We see
Into the beautiful surprise
Of your face
As the earth,
A living creature,
Shakes itself awake.

Out of the wilderness
Of whatever happened to,
Beyond the borders
Of what might have been,
Comes a stiff
Blue breeze
Of windy chants,
As long
As the night
To the sleepless is,
Filling the air
With a salt, sea scent.
A storm of voices,
Laughter,
Spells, yells,
Unchurchy hymns
Too scandalous
To be whispered out,
Prayers,
Love sighs,
Confessions.
All from a village
Caught in the act
Of falling from sleep.

5.
High in the fabled
Land of Now,
Everything changes,
Loss
Is a form of gain,
Clear as grace,
The air partakes
From primal rhythms
Magical shapes;
Sand, waves, tide,
Lighthouse, beach.
Morning hovers
As an eagle
Above the body
Of this fleshy town
Rising to its drunken feet.
Everything collides,
In continual
Transformation,
Adding its frothy flavor
To our mortal brew.

Lost Bay swells,
It gorges
On rhythms
Of tides and men.
The thunder of life
Swirls in a bottomless glass.
Here, everyone knows
All about you,
Smiles at sight
Of your face.

Caught by the shadow
Of the Raven's mad flight,
Each sea-stained soul
Has a tale to tell,
Echoing the ocean
Stretching its gray
Fathoms out
Into the eye
Of feather
Fabled eternity.

Breezy,
In this land of Now,
Let the meaning
Behind each moment
Lift its head,
That myriad eyes
In wonder stare.
Everywhere at once,
Let Truth bite, drawing blood,
That we may bleed
With a passionate, personal view
Of the essence of things,
Now is the wound
We die to carry
And all our hearts
Bleed as one.
Here, the innocent
And damned both swim
Against the current
Of world's frenzy.
We are mad with doing!
Each filled with the scent
Of personal schemes
That spawn,
Spew, ignite!

Let clouds
Cast no shade today
As we climb
The crazy
Weather of ourselves.
Each into their hearts
The gift
Of celebration take.
Creator and destroyer
We have become.
Our feet stain
The rocky
Road we travel
With our own blood .

6.
As morning
Splashes against
Ruth's white breasts,
Homer whistles as she passes by.
She pretends not to notice.
Wets her lips.
Jonathan pauses
To scratch his crotch.
Helen eyes him now eyeing her
From the sparkling
Reflection
In the window
Of Cassandra's restaurant.
Rebecca dreams
Of rubbing her palms
Along the leather
Of Marlon's motorcycle coat.

Time is a rainbow river,
And we the ark
Sail the furious water,
Who might we call on
To propel
These bodies to motion?
How make them speak
Their magic,
Revealing orbits
Of sun lit images
And steamy alphabets?
Science? The storm?
Marilyn Monroe in Heaven?
The Dispossessed?
The Missing Ones?
Who speaks
For the raw sky,
Broiling sea,
Our corrosive flame
Consumed by time?

The Flute Player?

He is naked, dancing,
Inhaling the fragrant sweat
Of his own musical flesh.
Cloven feet
Spiraling through gardens
Of mythic scents.
He is the Soul Catcher.
The poet of light.

What awe left
Undefiled by definition?
Continuous dissection?
Who might we call on
But the moment itself
As it twists
Into its own undoing,
Devious as chance,
Turning inside out,
A sinuous snake
Hot and in heat,
Feeding on itself
Till it is not.

Steaming
Upon the flame of time,
In sudden showers,
Sometime sun,
Anointed
By morning's drizzle.
Too busy to pause
For a backward glance,
Fishers haul
At their shimmering nets.
Unbridled
By weight of what might come.
They heave,
Pulling at the knotted hemp.
Like a folding
Shroud it rises!
Out of the liquid wilderness,
Manna of fish,
Shekels of bright
Silver offerings!

In continual baptism
Boats are grabbed by rocking waves,
Confounding space
And pull of gravity.
Over all,
A continual commotion
Of gulls swift thieving,
Gorging themselves
On the plenty.

Noah swears with a grunt.
He is out alone.
Peter,
His shipmate,
Oversleeps again.
Daniel is on the Paradise.
A trawler that is his own.
Eve is at the Laundromat
Washing her husband's clothes.
Moses argues with God
As he enters Big Red's Bar,
And Crazy Cassandra
Remembers the future with regret.
Jacob tosses in his bed,
Dreaming of snaring
David's wife.
She dreams
Of the beautiful limbs
Young Jacob's legs
Have become.
Barbara yells at Dean.
And Joseph whispers
To Mary,
"What kind of man
Will our son become?"

In his wheelchair,
Jonah
Waits for his meal
On wheels.
From Coos Head to Crab Flats,
The air is crisp as the day begins
It's spirited prayer
Under a cathedral of light.
Blessed are the living,
Uprooted residents of the windy gale
Through which they walk,
Breathing in the fire
Of water, earth and sky.
Believing all things possible,
If not possible.
at least bearable.

7.
What is life
But a whispering flame
Of all consuming thirst.
The repeater of patterns
Closing in upon themselves.
A ravenous lover
Against whom we burn
To press .
Pilgrim Voyager,
Make ready to swim
Against the surf
Of time and circumstance.
Distinct with swells,
Life strikes rock.
To proceed
Is to go by indirection.
Each act of Nature
Is one of dissimulation.
Birds swim. Fish fly.
Happiness is clothed
In flesh of air.

From dusk to dawn
We are one
With that burning song
That through us flows.
Learning as we go,
Life shaping itself
With each breath we take.
Pilgrim Stranger:
Take what is given.
Accept what is to come.
In selfless surrender
Are worlds without end.

8.
There is a wind
That blows in Oregon
That is the breath
And soul of Oregon,
Loosing itself
In the mystery
Of unfathomed seas.

Though humbled
In the presence
Of this immensity,
I will not shrive,
Nor bow, recant.
My shape has
By accretions grown
Toward the light.
O, but the world
Into which we push ourselves,
Gives only a glimmer
Of what may come to be.


If time thinks it slays,
Consider storm
Of knowing self.
The unquenching restless motion
Of mind in movement.

Imprisoned in each flower,
Bush, tree,
Is world's infinity.
Wherever you look, fragments
Of a healing sacrifice.
The shape of this land
Inaugurates
Passionate confessions.
The all in constant parting.
Both germ and star
Quicken while we sleep.
Not even death is forever.


This the promise,
This the pledge:
The country around you
Is a miracle of mirrors,
The deeper you look,
The cleaner
Your own image
Peering back.

9.
Rise Adam. Rise!
Strive to cross
Without bruising
This nesting orchard
Cloudly bundled
In the dawn
Of apple blossoming shine.
From it, the fruit
Of all knowledge,
Fermenting the juice
Of your meaty dreams.

As strong stars strive;
Burst to pulse
Inside of you,
Leave the fire ashes,
The brown earth glad
With plushing petal fall
And green leaf drop.
Sprigs in fallow fields
Spring their way
Up from your old wounds.
Cut branches
Darken with new growth,
Their grave sap
Fresh sparkling.

Rise Adam. Rise!
The nails in me
Pucker around pink flesh
And pounds
Of good wishes bleed forth
To wing you on
Your wondrous way.


Scott Malby

Posted over on Motherbird