THUS FAR THE JOURNEY...

CATEGORY

Suspended here in the waters

of the womb of the mind

listening to the beats

of wayward words germinating

and rhythmically flowing

in living spirit, I can feel

their veiled cosmic imageries

waiting to mould themselves

in the quest to retrieve

seemingly lost creativity

but I have yet to glimpse

the scattered sparks of their light

into the cosmic imagery they carry.

Here I am, and there they lay

like crystals of gleaming grains

of sand upon the vast shore of

lexical creativity;

yet none suggesting themselves

to be the seminal seed-roots

to burst into mosaic messages

to fill empty sacks of senses

waiting to bulged into branched

stems of leaves and flowering

lexical gardens of coloring

sounds and feelings—

infusing reality with that cosmic

 itching sweetness

that the starving heart’s mind, soul

and spirits forever crave.

To return to the valley of lost words

is one thing; to reap the glorious crops

of its field is another; for in the scores

of life’s symphony, poetic resurrection

is not starting anew, for old trials

and tribulations remain but are revealed

in the greater perspective that only being

renewed in the word can bring and reveal

in greater dimensions, as the muse of time

coalesces all into the igneous space

of the sedimentary layers of our cosmic,

metamorphic rendering of life.

In the circadian rhythms of time

the water of the creative geyser

breaks, releasing a pool of creative words

flowing down the loins of the creative mind

imaging love like a bleeding rose

with sweet petals of peace and the thorn

stem-reality of the life we are yet blessed to

have in our journeying purpose.

In the midst of the acrid winds

let us yet taste the sweetness that only

peace and love can give as we feel,

receive, and give the gift of forgiveness

as our once silent ringing ears are now filled

with joyous echoes filling the scented spirit

with that glowing ebony essence of beauty

that only the imaging muse of God can give.

Let us remain steadfast, we Griots of now;

that our passing this way may leave

a purpose-filled path of our journeying here

that coming generations may likewise

stand before the mountain and say: “I got this!”