Fealty to Destiny

By Malinda Meadows

Home is here
The mob of voices cheer
And the expiration date for kings
Soon draws near

In the now
A snafu soon was spread
To prey on victims
Feeble in the head
Oh no, no, no, now this.

She’s been gone
Oh so many years
Iniquity and sin they disappear
As destiny approaches.
What she has said some may fear
But it happens anyway.

A long time ago a ransom paid,
A ransom hard to find
But history will record
How many are her friends or are her foes
The timeline spidering; so it goes
Until she arrives.

Tao Te Ching, Chapter 16

By Lao Tzu




Empty yourself of everything.
Let the mind rest at peace.
The ten thousand things rise and fall while the Self watches their return.
They grow and flourish and then return to the source.
Returning to the source is stillness, which is the way of nature.
The way of nature is unchanging.
Knowing constancy is insight.
Not knowing constancy leads to disaster.
Knowing constancy, the mind is open.
With an open mind, you will be openhearted.
Being openhearted, you will act royally.
Being royal, you will attain the divine.
Being divine, you will be at one with the Tao.
Being at one with the Tao is eternal.
And though the body dies, the Tao will never pass away.

(translation by Gia-fu Feng and Jane English)



A song I’ve sung

I wish there was a way to restart

And take us back to yesterday

I wish there was healing fountain

In holy water spray

If you want to know

Watch how you grow

Watch what you sow

With those words.

You call me a cunt

You call me a whore

When you don’t play with

desire at your door.

A steeple of luck,

Voltage from God

Or just

A stroke of your cock

In your hand it all

Oh no, I shouldn’t mock.

Cause boy’s got issues for days

Me, maybe for weeks

Is it my repulsive pie

Or the taste of my tweets?

I’ve known you

In the pliant hands of

The current conclave

Of social media

Oh, I think I’m in love

Or am I desire’s slave?

If you want to know

How to grow

Watch what you say

And watch what you sow.

2020

Covid19

By Malinda Meadows

This is the time

When the birds sing

Louder than before.

When more and more people

Exit through that mysterious door.

This is the time

When people far come near

Despite the six feet distance

Like a corpse to the air.

This is the time when

Lake comes to land;

When castles made of sand fall away.

3.26.20

In the before time

By Malinda Meadows

Back before the wild was tamed
Back before i knew your name
Hounds would whistle on the plain
And i would cry quite insane
Back before the wild was tamed.

Back before the wild was tamed
Back before you knew my name
The bores grunted loudly when they came
And timeless inertia strove in vain
Back before the wild was tamed.

Back before the world was changed
Back, way back, before the pain
Lies something still that must remain
Something I must find again in memories of
Back before the world was changed.

8.16.19

Kali Yuga, amen.

By Malinda Meadows

Home is here
The mob of voices cheer
And the expiration date for kings
Soon draws near

In the now
A snafu soon was spread
To prey on victims
Feeble in the head
Oh no, no, no, now this.

She’s been gone
Oh so many years
Iniquity and sin they disappear
As destiny approaches.
What she has said some may fear
But it happens anyway.

A long time since a ransom paid,
A ransom hard to find.
History will record
How many are her friends or are foes
The timeline spidering; so it goes
Until she arrives.

11.13.19

Heauton Timoroumenos

By Charles Baudelaire

I mean to strike you without hate,
As butchers do; as Moses did
The rock. From under either lid
Your tears will flow to inundate

This huge Sahara which is I.
My heart, insensible with pain,
Caught in that flood will live again:
Will care whether it live or die —

Will strive as in the salty sea,
Drunken with brine and all but drowned,
Yet driven onward by the sound
Of your wild sobbing endlessly!

For look — I am at war, my dear,
With the whole universe. I know
There is no medicine for my woe.
Believe me, it is called Despair.

It runs in all my veins. I pray:
It cries in all my words. I am
The very glass where what I damn
Leers and admires itself all day.

I am the wound — I am the knife
The deep wound scabbards; the outdrawn
Rack, and the writhing thereupon;
The lifeless, and the taker of life.

I murder what I most adore,
Laughing: I am indeed of those
Condemned for ever without repose
To laugh — but who can smile no more.

— George Dillon, Flowers of Evil (NY: Harper and Brothers, 1936)

Lady Lazarus

BY SYLVIA PLATH

I have done it again.   
One year in every ten   
I manage it——

A sort of walking miracle, my skin   
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,   
My right foot

A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine   
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin   
O my enemy.   
Do I terrify?——

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?   
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be   
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.   
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.   
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.   
The peanut-crunching crowd   
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot——
The big strip tease.   
Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands   
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.   
The first time it happened I was ten.   
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.   
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else.   
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.   
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I’ve a call.

It’s easy enough to do it in a cell.
It’s easy enough to do it and stay put.   
It’s the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute   
Amused shout:

‘A miracle!’
That knocks me out.   
There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge   
For the hearing of my heart——
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge   
For a word or a touch   
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.   
So, so, Herr Doktor.   
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,   
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.   
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash—
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there——

A cake of soap,   
A wedding ring,   
A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer   
Beware
Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair   
And I eat men like air

Kahlil Gibran’s thoughts on love

“When love beckons to you, follow him,

Though his ways are hard and steep.

And when his wings enfold you yield to him,

Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.

And when he speaks to you believe in him,

Though his voice may shatter your dreams

as the north wind lays waste the garden.

For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.

Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,

So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.

Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.

He threshes you to make you naked.

He sifts you to free you from your husks.

He grinds you to whiteness.

He kneads you until you are pliant;

And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God’s sacred feast.

All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life’s heart.

But if in your fear you would seek only love’s peace and love’s pleasure,

Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love’s threshing-floor,

Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.

Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.

Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;

For love is sufficient unto love.

When you love you should not say, “God is in my heart,” but rather, “I am in the heart of God.”

And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.

Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.

But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:

To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.

To know the pain of too much tenderness.

To be wounded by your own understanding of love;

And to bleed willingly and joyfully.

To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;

To rest at the noon hour and meditate love’s ecstasy;

To return home at eventide with gratitude;

And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.”

An excerpt from The Prophet