Cumming St Sonnet

Although tis not alone in things that vex

The wyrm that heats my home with steam-filled coils

Infuriates me with its hissing, flex

Brought bangs, and bleak, black breath from burning oils

This tortured beast upon the walls has spit

A creeping ochre stain, metallic mold,

Developed from the ceaseless wheeze of it,

O’er many years of keeping away the cold

I have been crowded out by swarms of pests

On one side or the other of these walls

Assorted vermin and unwanted guests

Have driven me to leave these ragged halls

Another territory I outgrew

Another place I needed to pass through

-D.M.D.M. 4/10/2015

Wood and Web

The savage simplicity of the Wild Wood has always allured

To run free of the multitude of gossamer threads

That bind us together in civic civil society

Suspended in the massive man-made mess

With so many debits and credits and little bits

That it's impossible to tell if you're rising or sinking

Or jettisoning the most important parts of yourself

So they do not weigh on the web weavers lurking above

The Wild has beckoned with freedom from their machinations

But as I pull away other ties hold strong and give me pause

What has kept me from the Wood has been these cords

Bound heart to heart, forged through soulsight, too easily

The same vulnerability to the ebb and flow of creation

Cleaves the music of my spirit into harmony with them

Until the dissonance of my distance is unbearable

A pack without an alpha, a wolf without his Wild

Out of place everywhere, insufficient for everything

Trapped and torn apart until paralyzed by the visions

That show misery or failure or disastrous disappointment

Without even the final freedom as an option

Because the love for those that love in return

Would become mindless despair and torment,

A callous and selfish knife through their soul

So I twist and turn, chasing the threads that lead upwards

Tangling myself up until I am bound into the form decreed

Strong back, ordered mind, careful hands, polite tongue

Blunted teeth, lowered tail, ears pulled back, head down

True form curled up and shrunken, every wild impulse

Trapped and tantalizing, ready to snap a string or several

Dropping me or one I love into the tempest below

But now the hollowness of my soul leeches through the web

Exhausting them and emptying them, making them turn away

Unable to fill myself, my searches for sustenance yank and snap

Until I want to cut myself free so I do not drag them down

Because I feel that I will never do anything but take

And have plug the hole in the bottom of my soul

Father Sky

Mother Earth

Great Spirit that is Everywhere and Everything

My secular searches have distracted me

My rituals and rites abandoned

The paths back obscured

Faith shaken

Please take me back

I am sorry

D.M.D.M.- 12-28-14

The Trouble with Heroism

   Jake’s breath steamed out into the frigid December air, curling and spinning before dissipating. He walked quickly down George Street, head down, his hands buried in his pockets. Every so often a muttered curse escaped from between his clenched teeth, and his already miserable face twisted into a brief snarl. He was heading back to Rockoff from Scott Hall, where he had just been mystified by yet another final. As he called down disease and misfortune upon his professors, the department heads, and Rutgers University in general, he contemplated how he could make a living with half an English degree and no marketable skills.

   The possibilities of life as a third-rate stand-up comedian or a proofreader at some backwoods newspaper in Oklahoma helped him ignore what little activity there was on the streets that night, but the sound of a deep voice shouting down a side-street made him look up. A tiny older lady was struggling with someone over a purse. She didn’t look like she lived around here; her clothes were much too fancy. Her assailant was much bigger than her, but not that much bigger than Jake, and had the strap of the bag wrapped around one of his arms, while his other hand was half-inside the bag already. The man had his back to Jake, and was dressed in a baggy grey hoodie and a beat-up Duke Blue Devils cap.

   Jake wondered for the rest of the life what made him do what he did next. Maybe it was because he was bullied as a kid, or because the lady reminded him of his girlfriend’s grandmother, or maybe because he was just a generally good guy. For whatever reason, he yelled “Hey!” and sprinted off to the rescue. The man ripped the purse from the old lady’s grasp and ran past her, bumping into her and knocking her to the ground.

   Jake knelt down next to her when he reached her. She was oddly calm for someone who was just assaulted. She wore a mink stole over a very elaborate light green dress with a high, stiff collar and tacky gold buttons. Her spike heels were a matching green, and her grey hair was done up in tight curls. When she looked up at Jake, she seemed surprised that he was there.

   “Are you alright, ma’am?” The lady blinked, and silently nodded. She must have been in shock. “You stay here; I’ll be right back.” With that, he took off after the man, who had darted inside the nearby parking garage.

   Jake ducked under the yellow-and-black striped arm and followed the mugger into the severe, grey structure. Screams of pain echoed down the concrete stairwell as he chased the fleeing figure up the stairs. The sounds were crazed and shrill. Great, he thought as he leaped up the steps, panting from exertion, this guy is on some freaky drug trip. He caught a glimpse of a boot and the ragged leg of a pair of sweatpants as the man ran through a doorway and into the rows of cars.

   Emerging from the stairwell, Jake paused for a moment after losing track of the man. His screams bounced around the parking garage, coming from all directions at once. Then there was a flash of movement, and it galvanized him into action. He darted through and around cars, the hollow shrieks giving him an eerie feeling that he tried hard to ignore.

   Suddenly… silence. It came so quickly and abruptly that Jake’s momentum left him along with his determination. The incoherent screeching had been disturbing to say the least, but this new silence hit him like a bucket of ice water. There was a feeling of void to his surroundings now, an all-consuming feeling of being completely and utterly alone… and yet…

   There was something else. That irrational feeling one gets when alone, quiet, and completely vulnerable. The prickling on the back of your neck, the feeling of the axe about to fall, the phantom sensation of something plunging between your shoulder blades… Utter, fervent, primal fear.

   Jake quickly checked the reflections in the car windows, making sure no one was behind him. He didn’t want to spin around and check, didn’t want to give anyone- if there was anyone, which there might not be- a reason to act. He slowly moved forward, senses intent, the focus darting around, first from where he thought he heard the mugger last, to behind him, to every niche and hiding space someone could leap from. This was a bad idea, he thought. This guy could have a knife… Oh God, or a gun! I should have called the cops and stayed with the old lady. What the hell was I thinking! Rushing off like some kind of super-hero… Oh God, I don’t want to die over some lady’s purse.

   He forced himself to act calm, move slowly, even though every nerve screamed for him to run, to scream, to destroy everything that could hide someone, to do something, anything¸ to eradicate this indefinable danger. No… no… Air rushed into his lungs in great gasps as he took a moment of stillness to calm himself. These are irrational fears, he told himself. You are in a brightly lit, public space. You are fine. Nothing will happen to you.

   There was something on the ground up ahead. Jake curved around so that he could see what it was while being far away from it… just in case. He saw the purse, but no mugger. The bag rested close to the edge of the level, only a few inches from the cables that were pitiful excuses for safety precautions.

Jackass must have run right out into thin-air, he thought with relief as he approached the bag and picked it up. It was a big, misshapen thing, made of some sort of rough, reptile skin and with a sharp looking clasp that was embellished by two big, ugly, red-orange jewels on either side. The strap was long and thick, very ropy and with an awkward knot at the top, as if it had broken long ago and was constantly being retied. The whole thing was trimmed with tassels and fringe and it looked ridiculous.

   Relieved that he didn’t have to face off against a purse-snatching maniac, Jake clasped the bag tightly in his hand and turned to go, preferably someplace brightly-lit and full of people. The clasp dug painfully into his palm. He winced and shifted his grip on it. A few steps later he stumbled over the long, snaky strap. Frustrated and afraid, he grabbed at the thing and tried to get it under control. Somehow it had gotten tangled insanely tight around his ankle. He hurriedly tried to loosen it and again felt a sharp pain in his hand. The bag had fallen open and the inside of the lip was jagged and sharp. Jake dropped the purse and struggled with the strap. Although the bag was wide open and being dragged all over the place, nothing was falling out. That was strange. Did the old lady not have anything at all?

Wouldn’t that be ironic, he thought as he reached for it. And then he froze. The bag had slid across the cement floor, slowly, making a scratching noise. He hadn’t touched, hadn’t pulled it by the strap. It moved again, and Jake could see that the strap was slowly disappearing into the bag.

  Jake grabbed at the knot keeping the strap together and tried to pry it loose. He couldn’t; he could see- he could feel the strands tightening, retying themselves. He stood up and tried to shake it loose and fell down almost immediately as the bag engulfed his foot and he began to scream. It felt like there were a thousand razor sharp teeth tearing away his flesh, demolishing his bones to pieces, and turning his body into puree. The straps of the bag elongated to pin his arms against his body, and they contracted so hard that his ribs cracked and his eyes bulged.

  Jake’s screams bounced around the parking garage, coming from all directions at once, back at Jake. His own hollow shrieks covered up the sound of his bones breaking as he was engulfed. For some reason, Jake was conscious of the whole process, even after his heart and lungs were ground into hamburger. He could feel the bag working its way up his neck, and finally, he died as the bag closed on his head. For a few moments, the bag shook and shuddered, its sides bulging and compressing sporadically. Then its clasp opened and it let out a resounding belch accompanied by a spout of flame.

  Silence fell. It was eventually broken by a slow, rhythmic clicking. The purse lay on the ground, now still and motionless. The tapping echoed off the concrete walls. It stopped as the little old lady reached the spot where the purse lay. She slowly bent down to pick it up, no sign of age in her posture or movements. She lifted the bag up, and held it over her head, which she tilted back, mouth open. The purse shuddered, and the scales popped and opened. From the slits trickled thick, dark red liquid. The blood trailed down the channels between the scales, and poured into the upturned mouth of the little old lady. For a solid minute it flowed out of the purse and into her mouth before the purse had given all it had received and its scales closed again. Then the little old lady put the purse back over her shoulder, wiped a crimson drop from the corner of her mouth, and walked away, a satisfied smile on her lips. The even tapping of her footsteps receded into silence.

-D.M.D.M. 6-1-2005

Terra Firma, Tactus Ferventes

To exercise the mind is the highest human endeavor

Scholars and saint alike have rejected the earthly

Disdained the mortal and secular

Jesus spoke of nothing but the world beyond this one

And any indulgence of the body was foolishness

Pandering to a transitory shadow of the eternal light and truth

And while I find a certain pleasure in the interplay of words and thoughts

And the debate between two opposed ideals and their constituents

That cold joy pales in comparison to the tightly wound spring of fire

That thrills at leaps and bounds and drives me to fly across the grass

Wind caressing my skin ground thumping beneath my feet

Gravity threatening to transform the elegance of my motion into the beauty of chaos

Or the hack and slash of the melee overreach and undermine shove and twist

A vicious dance of intimate power and dominance also inextricably collaborative

Grunt and pant and grab and twist each move linked to another soul’s impulses

Base and bestial, they cry, incognizant of consequence and ignorant of the ensuing

Enslaved to the senses, you become insensate to higher truths and slave to greater minds

Our way alone holds security efficacy power through knowledge and knowledge of power

Such words seem to come not from those who have joyously wrestled with the meat of existence

Unless old and withered they look with bitterness on the pulsing vibrant vitality in its prime

And see only the dissipated past of their own strength as unreachable as the bottom of the sea

These words come from the weaker never-weres who view such things as temptations

Tacitly admitting how strongly they wished to feel the maddening joy of bending and being bent

Jealously watched as strength skill swiftness they lacked was lauded in others

In response they turn to word, concepts, philosophies and figures, bickering where others battle

Engaging in debates where, afterwards, both parties walk away with little resolved or changed

With an intangible outcome, victor free to doubt into defeat, loser priggishly stubborn of validity

No such shades in the bright bonfire of the physical realm there is certainty and finality

Success is concrete failure is felt and sometimes final each movement has reaction

And ability is determined by determination clear cut and concise you have it or you do not

While the towers of the mind produce wonders untold and raise the pinnacles of possibility

They are built on foundations of stone by strong backs guarded by corded arms

Filled by the physics of physicality and the base biological urges of all

Disdain not strength or engagement in the external for we are still poised above the jungle

Ask the Romans where their grand schemes led and the Goths how they triumphed

Civilization is but a bubble and beyond barbarism… embrace the beast to best it

-D.M.D.M. 6-21-2013

Victory

The sky itself is broken

The earth suffocates beneath waste

The seas hide garbage and chaos

We fight each other and ourselves

Any hope seems a childish dream

And yet

Love still flourishes

Families still grow

People still laugh

Life finds a way to reach for the sun

Smiles emerge from the darkest of moods

Sprouts push out from beneath the trash

Our fight is not over until the last breath is gone

Until nothing dances beneath the sun and stars

And the last living thing grins defiantly into the void

All it takes is one spark

To turn a mountain of debris

Into a glorious bonfire

As long as we nourish an iota of courage

And face each new day with the possibility of redemption

We win

-D.M.D.M 8-30-2012

7 Billion Saints and Sinners

We are seven billion saints and sinners crowded into the valleys and plains

Of a tiny azure sphere specked with dirt and rocks

Filled with fire and metal, embraced by clouds and ether

Covering its surface with vast swathes with our activity

Where the rivers meet the seas or the land is rich

Intent on taking all we can from our Mother

And determined to outshine our Father

Literally living on top of one another

Competing viciously for Power, Freedom, Profit, Honor

Behind the thin veneer of Civilized Behavior

Controlled by old liars and crooks

And fueled by a few thousand years of confusion

Ever since we became masters of enslaved Elements

Our minds too swelled with trivia and politics

To remember clearly how we got here from the Garden

Our eyes too blind from staring down microscopes or gazing up telescopes

To see how our machines are eating through the floor

Our hearts too chilled by broken fantasies and elegant lies

To feel anything for the space beyond our own nose

But the Storm is coming, the Inferno has been kindled

The Flood will smother and smooth, the earth will Quake

And all will be swept clean as it has done so before 

-D.M.D.M. -1/22/12

Mountain Song

Beyond the mist that men do fear to pass,
Past oceans deeper than the sky is vast,
Across such leagues too rugged for the vain,
There stands a peak upon a pristine plain.
A mount like none have seen since ages past,
When Gaia, young and full life, did dance
And twist and turn and from her womb gave birth
To mighty ranges that now crown our Earth.

This peak is new, its crags untouched by time.
Its jagged lines confront the sky, defy
The winds. They are not yet made blunt or soft
By ceaseless wear. And slower than a snail
Can crawl but faster than the seasons change,
This mount still grows by leaps and bounds, emerging
From pristine plain to fill the land and reach
Its hand towards the moon and sun and stars.

Far past the point where trees don’t grow, among
The clouds, those cousins of the mist that men
Do fear to pass, twixt pinnacles of stone
That shine with newly fallen snow, there lies
A lake, enormous and unfathomed. Ice,
As clear as amber, thicker than an oak
Tree’s tall, and cold enough to freeze the Reaper,
Does rule these waters and stills its waves.

Among the bitter cold and swirling mist
No living creature hopes to be, yet on
The ice there runs a soul on paws that just
So barely feel the chill. In hazy sun
And under argent moon, the dance of this
Descendant of old Fenris weaves across
The frost, the steps laid down by Freki, Geri,
Who bring them from the One-Eyed Chief Wodan.

Around the beast of spirit, fur and mist,
The blowing blizzard spins about and wails
Its songs unto the sky and frozen lake.
The howling wind bestirs the beasts beneath
The surface, calling them to glimpse the weak
And strangled fingers of elusive light
That penetrate the ice. Each song calls forth
A different brute from ebon, endless depths.
From Dragon flushed with righteous rage, aflame
In even the most frigid waters, bursting
And roaring out the glacial vault,
To Titan, strong and single-minded, with
His mighty spear emerging, piercing through
Whatever obstacle dares stand against
Him; Sons of Gaia and Ygdrasil, called
By songs that blare and scream and pound, are freed.

More subtle creatures come when hymns of light
And eerie strains are spun by lupine paws.
The Ravens, brood of Hugin, Munin’s heirs,
Will flock to cracks that seem too small to see
And find their way through labyrinths in the ice.
The Siren sings along, her voice relaxing
Ice to flow like tears and flood the land,
Volcano dripping soothing crystal drops.

But winter winds push back the beings and slow
Their movements, arctic chills congeal their blood
And freeze their thews, and from the dark abyss
Reach umbral strands to curl about their forms
And pull these champions of the mount back down
To twisting passages and through the lightless
Corridors that honeycomb the rock.
So endlessly this dance repeats, alas.

But yet some fabled day is whispered of
When spring will come to mountain high above
When ice will melt and streams will run again
And beasts from foot to highest peak will reign
And Wolf will end his frenzied summoning
With much relief, and cease the wind from moaning
With strain. He dreams of peaceful slumbering,
But such a day is very far from hand.

-D.M.D.M. 4-27-07