votive

perhaps some future archaeologist

will find them

these fragments,

time-worn offerings

for a goddess

who looks different to each beholder

all the women praying

to concieve

or to win love

or to keep the love they had

men praying

to catch the eye of some beloved. . .

and from the scholar's point of view

i can't imagine that my offerings

would stand out. . .

except perhaps in sheer number

but from within i feel they are different

since i am not asking for any boon

or prize

i tell myself instead

that i am somehow feeding

and strengthening the faculty of Love itself,

and that these gifts are symbols

of energy and effort

expended and offered

where i thought they might be best used

and as the years of my devotions passed

i must admit i did lament

that all of it seemed to pass unnoticed

and that the longing within

never gave way to some ecstasy

of absorption

but once

in the twilight of my life

she did come to me in a dream

not the fertile young maiden

that lent form to all these statues

but the mother of nations

of motherhood itself

and her likeness showed

all the signs of decades

that took their toll

and in sleep my face was wet with tears

when she spoke

'why have you sought me so long?'

'because Love is the single thing that sustains the world of men. because you are all that stands between our city and the barbarous wastes of the nomads, who live like wild beasts.'

'you must have heard the tales of my devotees. . .i have known many names and forms before the ones you have worshipped. great kings and warlords have all come to power by my favor. but they are not the ones dearest to me. in the end they all fall, their lines fail. death and loss come to them most painfully, because they have known my opulence and the power i bestow. but you are indeed dear to me.'

'then why have you been silent to me for so long. refusal or disgrace would be much less painful to me than being ignored completely.'

'Now you will see. . .'

and in that moment a great light dawned upon me and my weariness fell away

'it is your devotion that purifies you; it is your longing that purges you of ignorance and humbles you. Those i reward with the gifts of this world--love, pleasure, wealth, power--they stop seeking me and their growth is arrested.

to you i give the gift of completeness, so now you may know there is nothing outside that you need to seek.'

 . . .

copyright Peter Asher Watts 2007

racketeering

ceaseless streaming laser beams
and microwaves are weaving dreams
false realities and cubes
to capture helpless minds with tubes
and cables stretching everywhere
as spider webs creating lairs

chances are we'll all be caught
except the hyperpolyglot
who speaks in tongues not corporate-wrought
but ancient words before the rule
of science-pontiffs' ridicule
of anything that crosses lines
of any travel for the mind
beyond the tightly bounded world
and bombs the corporate whores have hurled

intimidate the innocent
and silence all informed dissent
coercing how their money's spent
with "news" that recasts all events
to fit their global fascist script
all growth of mind is quickly clipped

turn to father, he's been bought
turn to mother, now robot
sold away for pittance wage
poisoned and swept off the stage

to make room for the future crop
of lust and rage and thoughtcrime cops
to carefully control the herd
and tell them that spirit's absurd
"you are your body" they all say
and claim their "science" lights the day
in a world devoid of gods
except the dollar bill and odds

so gamble with them if you will
your life and labor pay their bills
and keep their kingdoms all afloat
humanity an offered goat
whose blood will never slake the thirst
of RexMundi though his guts burst

and if perchance you once break free
from mental-fiscal slavery
i'll meet you at the edge of day
where lust for gold can have no sway
. . .
copyright Peter Asher Watts 2006

griot

i saw the deep down man
resurface from his trance

and heard him
slur and rant
and string notes and words together
until they wove into a tapestry
that unravels you as it is being woven

the echo
of concussions
beneath the molten sea
the core

he starts singing them to the surface
and goes too far for man
up to the birds
and the angels

and has to turn around
to come back for us

slow down and break
his vowels down
into words for us.

for we only know the clipped staccato
of man speech

and the deep dark man
contrary man
from the bones of the eath
dissapears

as soon as his song has unraveled us

good luck trying to catch him

his appearence is a surprise

a concentrated moment that will last
and echo

until he startles you
at the edges of your cell-block-zone

shaking a withered staff
as a systrum or some death rattle
beating his chest in time
stomping on the ground
so you can feel it in your toes

and reminds you that you haven't got it all
quite packaged yet
there is something beyond your neat little
packets
which you will never enclose

and when the deep man returns there
you are usually afraid to follow

. . .
copyright Peter Asher Watts 2008

once the breath goes out. . .

"it's fit to burn
you flesh will burn like tinder
your hair, like hay"

in some surreal landscape
i broke the rules
and came to the spot
where all paths intersect

all the possible trajectories
terminate
in this single inevitable crossing

legba opened the door
st. peter or charon
or whomever your stories refer to
as the cloak of death
some gatekeeper at the portico of infinity

and when the door was open
all of the lies and limitations
and false dichotomies
fell away
and where once everything was discouse
there was only unity
and all illusion ceased

as if the final set had been struck
and all the scenery wiped away
to reveal the mechanism behind the curtain

but all the actors were gone
the audience was gone
and the stage itself was rapidly fading
even as a memory

and the wrathful guises
of every regret
each fear
and every prohibition
threatened to steal my focus and resolve

when they failed
each temptation and desire
and every fantasy of glorified self will

tried to perturb my pivot

i passed them all

and came to the abode of the seven wardens
and i gave them grips and tokens as keys
and each barred gate was opened

until at last i came to the heart of it all
the solar unity at the center

and alone i moved as the blood of the swirling planets and the vortex
of the solar sea

but even this passed
and unity
passed into nothingness

it troubled me not a bit

no more than a sculptor is troubled
buy the shifting forms of his clay

and conquering only the idol of form
fear itself is vanquished forever
. . .
copyright Peter Asher Watts 2008

panopticon

if thine eye be unfolded, thy body will be full of light

matt 6:22

 

a vessel for an arc of light

ever noontide

never night

 

for those obscured

and withered

shades

 

are those who,

sensing light,

evade

 

through habit

fear

or some pretense

 

perchance their elders

scattered hence

and hid behind a slatted fence

 

to behold the light by turns

and hide their eyes

from lucid burns

 

'whence burns?'

i ask

and 'whence retreat?'

 

above all things fair lux is fleet

and not outrun by mortal feet

 

in truth what burns is simply fear

let it go and remain here

 

as the false self burns away

leaving only shades of day

 

refracted, yes,

but not obscured

or subject to the body's lures

 

for all hues in their arc return

to solar foci,

there to burn,

and arc again

through all abodes

 

through trough and crest

and axis nodes

 

what some name many

i hail 'one'

the efflux of the myriad suns

 

as one player plays all parts

one lucid flame's dance

drums all hearts

 

. . .

copyright Peter Asher Watts 2007

transmit

playing with the pipes of pan
measuring the pitching span

that tilts and spins around the heart
and counts the beats as song departs

in search of ears attuned and primed
for what is riding on the chimes,

a signal or a hidden word
that resonates though its unheard

in the hearts and ears nearby.
as delicate as fire that flies,

the heat you feel and light you see
obscure the hidden remedy

for all that ails the heart and ears
panacea for all tears
arising from departed love,
and still leaves clouds of doubt above

overarching
dream and wish
making small talk seem remiss
from the task of
finding bliss

deep within beloved hearts
a gift of lovers' ceaseless art

recieved from sails on all four winds
what space has severed union mends.
. . .
copyright Peter Asher Watts 2003

phoenix

self-assembling
from the discarded refuse
of this, most recent, techno-babylon

from the decadence
of those
swollen with their own affluence

insensible
from satiety of every kind
their wits and conscience dulled by excess

mortgaged to the hilt
borrowing against the labor
of starving farmers half way 'round the globe

building skyskrapers
on a crumbling mound of trash
and coffins. . .

but,

the future's child
is scrambling
diligently
out of necessity

building cities of mud brick
and straw

catching moisture from the sky
and fire from the earth

praying once again
to the old gods
of beasts
wind, water, sky and sea

praying to the life force
in every stone and subtle particle

scavenging the necropolis
of the dying gods
of techno-babylon

among the corpses
the faithful adherents
of cashocracy

finding shiny bits of silicon, plastic, chrome
with which to decorate their mud city

dancing once again around the central fire
where they can see their neighbors face to face
without the 'lectric go-betweens
their forbears  relied on

and after wars and fire
and black cloying smoke

life is victorious

. . .
copyright Peter Asher Watts 2009

riot

let your grip slip
as i rip this
living circuits encrypt this

just witness

the quickness with which i just drip this
no black hole sun could eclipse this
i drip mist
designed like wine to the mind of the mystic
spraying the bliss thick
if you cant find
the magician
you miss tricks

weavin lines and ecliptics
ellipses and glyphs fixed
in arcs polyrhythmic

but you still wanna nit pick

so i slip out the grip quick

fluid flying my mind
through the fabric of time
but you're still chillin' blind
drawin lines with your matchsticks

while i'm surfing the circle
galactic back curl
spiral into itself
just before it unfurls

behold scrolls unfold
with the message i hold
but it's hidden to all but the bad and the bold

worth more than your gold
never been sold
its been told

so you've got no excuse
once you've been rolled

back into the cage
you're on stage
in a play
see a candle at night
and think that its day

cause you live in illusion
with falsehood you fuse in
cant see to be free
on this light wave i'm cruisin
deeper violet than blues in

the eyes of the mind-blind kind that they're usin

a planet of slaves
speeding into their graves
lost beyond hope in material maze

drinkin up all the posions
that make your lips moisten
the business of death you've put your path choice in

and choking out leaves
green lungs of the earth
chase plastic trash
thinkin' life's what its worth
to live for one moment
sedated and still
surrender your mind and your flesh to it's will

the merchant sells men their sweet coated doom
once all of the light has gone out from the room
you'll conjure a dream
full of vice and black gloom

for he's never known light
for all his caged life
engineers from the ashes
his limitless strife

and tries to prop up
his still crumbling dome
built on the first lie
he ever was told

"you can take it all with you, wherever you go. . ."

which forms the ruinous base of his tower
of electric babble on high wattage power

and add to it just one more false axiom:
"it's us or it's them, something's gotta be done"

and so ends the world in a clamor and strife
man chases illusion and loses his life

but i still spin on
out in spirals of light
recoursing all time in a limitless flight

for i clutch naught and crave not
for any fixed thing
i'm just a brief note on a vibrating string

. . .

copyright Peter Asher Watts 2009