Day before Autumn Poem…

A fluff Faerie

The autumnal equinox is tonight.

I feel like I cleaned some stuff up.

Today I hear ringing in my ears.

 I don’t mind much. I feel something in the air.

I think through generations of life lived.

I opened my art closet.

I let it air out.

The cats are curious right away.

Me I am not so curious.

So much time, creativity,

and options of delight, yet not today.

I feel like it needs to be a rainy day.

Every item in my art closet has a story.

Inspirational hopes.

A magic place that turns my imagination into projects.

I sit waiting for I don’t know what…


Innocuous Surreal-intrinsic

One of the three sister goddesses known as the three Graces who are the givers of charm and beauty in Greek mythology…. I call upon her now…. we need real beauty….,

You may think the story I am about to tell you is a bizarre story, but it is real, we are living it… yes now… it is redundant.

I have foresight. It means I can see things. The Covid-19 and all variants are not what you may think. It lives and expands through our bodies. Spreading from human to human …

If you could see it like I can, I encourage you to change your mind about things. If you are playing it safe, you will understand that what you are doing is for the common good of all human beings.

From another realm the Covid-19 virus is like a vast spider’s web. It takes and expands. It goes around and around. Humans are just a source of temporary expanding blissful glory of this multidimensional expanding life force.

It hovers and attacks those who are unaware and stupid. It can read minds and goes after those who play this death game. Some humans are in on it. They think they have control, and they want other people to die. It is a form of mass hysteria of denial that the virus picks up on. It is not stupid. It wants to survive. Until the very end.    

I can see it. My foresight tells me to tell people to beware, be careful… yet they play a lost game of denial, ignorance, and defiance. They tease it. This only makes it hungrier. The common good of humanity is not their concern.

I wait and watch from my cave. Deep grieving I feel.  I see it all from my electrical fire. I see the variant spreading. A dancing organismic virus web going around and around… and every time I see it from a distance, it sees me very aware.

I give it the finger because mine is cleaned and watched, my mask is on and I social distance. That is the one thing this creepy multidimensional monster hates.

I hope you know what this vast nympho wants… close together people, human beings who sweat on each other, jumping up and down against each other. It is a nightmare, Surreal-intrinsic… and all I can do is watch from a distance.

Innocuous in my cave around the electrical fire, for now… what a real sickness I see…

The beauty of a flower and a bee.

From my garden

A Summer Poem

By Hudley Flipside : An Underground Bard


So much given to us for free

All of creation

Watch the flowers open up

To share nectar to the bees, butterflies, bumblebees

The hungry hummingbirds.

In return pollination.

A free giving cycle…

We humans are as flowers,

We can open our psyches

Give out our creative soul nectar

Out into the world

And in return get pollinated

There are the invisible makings of nature

As there are the invisible happenings in a human being…

How accidentally nature shows us this beauty

From our living gardens.

We look out and there it is

Sharing, sharing, and giving

Life vast and beyond.

Following the motif of

The simple flower.

Clouds that hold moister

Then rains upon the earth

A summer overcast day

That cools the dry dirt.

The open window that shares

This active beauty from tall trees overhead

And above me.

A song that inspires us to be

Loving and understanding

The beauty of a flower and a bee.

A Call to Narrative Flipside Fanzine Poem

Creation

My creative dream

Of challenging work and dedication

Is dissected over the electric fire.

Let it go but

Sometimes I gather it around me

The memories, bands, and friendships

To tell a story…

We were more than

archives of words and images

now history

once a living reality.

A modern-day folktale

That has a dance

And songs and stories

Of myths and some say

Legends.

A curse to me because

It will not let me go

Created then sold and shared

Brought tighter and tangled

Its web around me

Around us that remember.

More than dust on a fanzine

It is more than an image

Of rebellious youth….

Piping songs of pleasant glee with the Moody Blues and Charged GBH

Tralfamadorians watercolor by Hudley

——————————————————————-

The fabric of prophet’s ages old

Drones on and gathers mould

Gets a weekly airing from a fool on high

Who talks and talks till his throat’s dry

The Prayer of a Realist

GBH ~ City Baby Attacked by Rats

I awoke to an amber moment this morning swirling in my mind and like Kurt Vonnegut’s character Billy Pilgrim from the novel Slaughterhouse-Five, I like to dwell and investigate these moments of experience. See if some golden truth is pushing itself up from my unconsciousness to my consciousness. It may be similar as a grain of sand irritating an oyster some wonderous pearl. Maybe only linking up a few different generations of people or friends like butterflies taking their nectar from the same sunflower. Is it all randomly placed in time … maybe not? In truth I do not think so. Which gets an old dame to pondering.

Two bands from Birmingham, a major city in England’s West Midlands, brought forth two of my favorite bands. Each band speaks and supports a different generation. The members of the band walked the same streets and know the smell of their home. Mothers (music venue) lingers in both of their memories.

The Moody Blues and Charged GBH were playing the same week. One at the Greek theater and the other at the Roxy Theatre (West Hollywood). They both touched down on southern Californian soil. It was revelatory to me. Just the fact that they were both playing the same week was enough to satisfy my glowing and rebellious soul.

Was this a random happening or is there more to the story. What is the possibility of this happening and did anyone else notice this random act of Birmingham music? A mist joining two generations of music ached in my inner being of light and dark particles and both danced and started vibrating to a strange tune.

It was a contrary experience for me. I got two tickets for the Moody Blues. I bugged Ross to be on the guest list at the Roxy. This was going to happen … I felt it when they both touched Los Angeles county. I think the best feelings are when waiting for a band to play while they are touring. The element of music and surprise and favorite songs playing is a revolutionary experience… even if I am the only one feeling this.

It was so intense that coming week. It was like when I found out that my great Grandfather was born in Middlesex a historic county in southeast England. It was a big deal for me because William Blake also was raised there as a child, they both walked the same streets at one time. Both sharing the smell of their home. Though I never met either my great grandfather or William Blake they both left me with stories and share in that pleasurable place of my good imagination.  

“Piping down the valleys wild

Piping songs of pleasant glee,

On a cloud I saw a child,

And he laughing said to me:

‘Pipe a song about a Lamb’…”

The “Song of Innocence,” ~ William Blake.

On Sunset. May 2015.. also I am wearing my Bernie Sanders T-Shirt for president 2016…

—————————————————————

Husband was not able to attend the Moody Blues with me. I could not find another at such short time to go with me. I was not strong enough to attend myself. The parking, crowds, and elements of being alone did not appeal to my nature at the time. Maybe in younger years I would have taken on the challenge by myself. I do regret not going.

We hit my old romping punker ground on Sunset. The streets and the alleys of friends, clubs and running wild in the streets. It was different now. Husband and I had a pizza and then a couple of beers at the Rainbow Bar and Grill. When we got to the Roxy, I found I was not on the guess list and the show was sold out. Since it was a Goldenvoice event, I spied Gary Tovar and he got us in the show. There I found Ross Lomas hanging out with Dora Sundoval and Alison Elliott.

Ross: You must have been bumped off the list.

Hudley: Do not worry Gary got us in.

Giving Ross a big hug around his waist I said.

“It is so good to be back and walk the streets of my youth as a wild young punk.”

Ross gave me a look and that was the last time I talked to him.

The aroma of the event was exhilarating but filled with smoke. Husband had a major asthma attack and we had to leave early. The good news is I met up with some punk chicks from a younger generation. We had met up at other shows. The continuity of them going to see GBH made me happy. I’d have to say I think the band most likely prefer these beauties then the old punker I’ve become.

There are times in life when one must pursue a dream. Run to it and become one with it. Other times one needs to step back and let it happen without you. I read about the Moody Blues in the news after their event. I saw the pictures posted on Facebook backstage with GBH. It irritated me a little but not too much. I made the effort, yet I guess the random act was not complete. At least I can write about it and share my memories.

What would the Tralfamadorians say?

“There is no beginning, no middle, no end, no suspense, no moral, no causes, no effects. What we love in our books are the depths of many marvelous moments seen all at one time.”

————————————————————————–

From darkness to light

    And in your hand brandishing your night-

    lighting flame, with god-possessed frenzy

    you went to the vales of Eleusis

    where the whole people of Hellas’

    land, alongside your own native witnesses

    of the holy mysteries, calls upon you

    as Iacchus: for mortals from their pains

    you have opened a haven without toils. ” *note below

————————-

“On an island in the sun

We’ll be playin’ and havin’ fun

And it makes me feel so fine

I can’t control my brain.”

Two and a half years ago

I made it back

From the darkness…

Today I celebrate

While driving home

From my secret market

The special song came on

my car radio

I remember the first day

I awoke

From the darkness to light

It was such a sight

Wizard the Lizard

Doing arm lifts

Singing

“Hip Hip”

Up and down

“Hip Hip”

On top of the red brick

Next to the Wild Promethean Fennel

The aroma still in my nose

When I heard the beat

I was walking around the block

I heard the song Island in The Sun

neighbor kids were rocking out

guitar, drums and singing

In their garage.

Today yes today

Driving home

On the anniversary of

Returning to the light

The song played

On my car radio.

In my brain again

I reached up as

The promethean Thyrsus

Pulled me up and out

Dionysus declaring to me…

Hip hip

Hip hip

“We’ll never feel bad anymore (Hip hip)

No no (Hip hip)

Hip hip

We’ll never feel bad anymore (Hip hip)

No no (Hip hip)

Hip hip

We’ll never feel bad anymore.”

*An inscription found on a stone stele (c. 340 BC), found at Delphi, contains a paean to Dionysus, which describes his travels.[98] From Thebes, where he was born, he first went to Delphi where he displayed his “starry body”, and with “Delphian girls” took his “place on the folds of Parnassus”,[99] then next to Eleusis, where he is called “Iacchus” “

The Rose That Fell in Love with The Owl.

Owl Cluster

Autumn always takes on a new flavor of life. Looking for a poem and an image in my vast collection of poems, course essays, watercolor paintings and photos can be overwhelming.

I looked so different through my 30, 40 and 50s. I was round and motherly sometimes with exceptionally long hair. Yet with a family to take care of I guess I did not worry so much about how I looked. I was healthy. A little depressed about my images but kind of happy how I look now which is much different and polished.

I was looking for a poem I wrote in 1989 entitled, The Rose that fell in love with the Owl. I thought about this poem due to my current discovery of two clusters in the constellation of Cassiopeia.


Caroline’s Rose or the White Rose Cluster

Caroline’s Rose or the White Rose Cluster and the Owl Cluster are in the same constellation of Cassiopeia. So, the poem popped into my mind. That is one thing I have learned in my old age. My mind is particularly good at holding on to things and analyzing information. I must admit it is a strange poem after typing it up and not reading it for close to 40 years.


The Rose That Fell in Love with The Owl.

The owl to the rose:
“Come visit me if you can,
Don’t come if you can’t,
For I won’t be waiting for you,
And don’t be waiting for me.
For I don’t need you,
I don’t want you,
But If you do share yourself,
That is fine with me,
Or not,
I’ll be happy either way.
For your happy, sexy, and warm,
Whether you’re with me or without me,
I’m happy, sexy, and warm,
Whether I’m with you or without you.

For we are two individuals,
I’m an owl and you are a rose,
When together or apart!

Any blending while together,
Is an experience from the heart,
For you care for me,
And I care for you,
But don’t want me,
And don’t wait for me,
For you are wanting to hold me,
Is like grasping ambiguously,
In the dark.

Watch my wings glimmer,
As I fly away.
And your needing to be with me,
Is only an illusionary warm spark.”

The rose took a long gulp of air …

The owl:
“I don’t want to desire or have any expectations for you,
So, don’t want or desire or have any expectations for me.
For if you have any of that stuff for me,
I’ll make me as a mirror,
And reflect yourself back at you,
Cracking the hope,
Spearing that bond,
Throwing you back to yourself,
Any gift you wanted to give, my dear.
Don’t want what you can’t have!
I’ll miss holding you,
I’ll miss caressing you,
Even if your thorns stick me.
I’ll give you a few little essences of myself,
But the only thing this will be,
Are the memories.
And when you are on your way home,
You’ll still be happy, sexy, and warm,
I won’t be there,
But I do care,
Don’t think that you need me,
Because you have you,
don’t think that you want me,
because you can’t have me,
because when you thorn’s cry,
aching for the owl you love,
I won’t be there,
Take what is around you,
Another owl or another friend,
Because you can’t have me.”
The owl quickly flew away crying a “Hoot.”

The rose,
Cried herself to sleep

Knowing that the owl’s honesty was
something she had to accept.
And her open bloom so heavy with a peak of scent,
drew back and closed.
A bud back and her way home from the blossomed
dreams reached expanded
and now had contracted, calmed, and withdrawn,
shaking, shaking with
the warp and weft of the living patterns of life.

But while sitting there she heard
a cat talking to a dog behind her.
He barked and cracked a joke…

Rose: “He, He, He” … her belly knotted with humor.


 

Shadow Unity

My simple glance at America … a motif poem about human vulnerability!

ICU intensive. 4 patients sick with COVID19.

All on ventilators.

The respiratory team monitors the machines as the doctors do online visits.

Nurses attend to bodily functions as CNAs change diapers and turn patients.

Janitors and the full team wear special gear sterilizing everything. The CNAs are watching for bed sores and making sure patients are comfortable and clean.

We have a black woman who is a strong supporter and protested on the streets for Black Lives Matter. Jane is 34 a single mother with 3 children.

Next to her is Daniel. He is a southern Baptist who was attending services when his community came down with COVID19. Many are fine and only three died. He misses his grandchildren.

Tom is a single young man in his 30s and is a professional federal agent who contracted the virus at a community protest. He was called in by an underground community alert squad who asked for protection. He was only there to monitor the situation. Their city was inundated by people hanging out all hours. Graffiti all over and businesses are closed due to protests, looters, and the virus. The local business community and residents want the protesters to go home.

Dan is also extremely sick he is one of the unidentifiable vigilantes. Local small businesses raised funds to have these military people around to protect their businesses and communities. He was born in India and his family lives locally. They are also fearful and want their communities back. The protesters and media have labeled them fascists.

Meanwhile alleys are filled with human waste and trash from endless nights where people ignore curfew.

The news is showing statistics as we view a monitor as the COVID19 rates are increasing day by day.

A child of 12 views this same video with her father as they are sheltering safe at home. He lost his job as a chef at a local restaurant.

Together they both try and understand why the virus is spreading as the doctors’ state clearly.

 “Don’t hang out in groups or clusters of people, if you must go out wear a mask. Don’t pull it down to scream.”

The 12-year-old thought that was funny but was told by her parents that she will not be going to school this semester. She wants to go swimming at the local beach because she sees so many there on the TV monitor. Her mother says,

” lets run through the sprinklers in our backyard where we are safe.”

The 12 year old is learning about responsibility and caring for others. Her mother is a journalist and works online.

Her parents are struggling as many are, yet they are doing their part not to spread the virus.

They wear masks and practice social distancing! They will not be given their tax break for having a K-12 school age child this year because they refuse to let their child go to school.

A tent is arched under a freeway. A homeless man watches as protesters take over his town.  He does not care what their political persuasion is.

My simple glance at America … a motif poem about human vulnerability!

ICU intensive. 4 patients sick with COVID19.

All on ventilators.

The respiratory team monitors the machines as the doctors do online visits.

Nurses attend to bodily functions as CNAs change diapers and turn patients.

Janitors and the full team wear special gear sterilizing everything. The CNAs are watching for bed sores and making sure patients are comfortable and clean.

We have a black woman who is a strong supporter and protested on the streets for Black Lives Matter. Jane is 34 a single mother with 3 children.

Next to her is Daniel. He is a southern Baptist who was attending services when his community came down with COVID19. Many are fine and only three died. He misses his grandchildren.

Tom is a single young man in his 30s and is a professional federal agent who contracted the virus at a community protest. He was called in by an underground community alert squad who asked for protection. He was only there to monitor the situation. Their city was inundated by people hanging out all hours. Graffiti all over and businesses are closed due to protests, looters, and the virus. The local business community and residents want the protesters to go home.

Dan is also extremely sick he is one of the unidentifiable vigilantes. Local small businesses raised funds to have these military people around to protect their businesses and communities. He was born in India and his family lives locally. They are also fearful and want their communities back. The protesters and media have labeled them fascists.

Meanwhile alleys are filled with human waste and trash from endless nights where people ignore curfew.

The news is showing statistics as we view a monitor as the COVID19 rates are increasing day by day.

A child of 12 views this same video with her father as they are sheltering safe at home. He lost his job as a chef at a local restaurant.

Together they both try and understand why the virus is spreading as the doctors’ state clearly.

 “Don’t hang out in groups or clusters of people, if you must go out wear a mask. Don’t pull it down to scream.”

The 12-year-old thought that was funny but was told by her parents that she will not be going to school this semester. She wants to go swimming at the local beach because she sees so many there on the TV monitor. Her mother says,

” let’s run through the sprinklers in our backyard where we are safe.”

The 12-year-old is learning about responsibility and caring for others. Her mother is a journalist and works online.

Her parents are struggling as many are, yet they are doing their part not to spread the virus.

They wear masks and practice social distancing! They will not be given their tax break for having a K-12 school age child this year because they refuse to let their child go to school.

A tent is arched under a freeway. A homeless man watches as protesters take over his town.  He does not care what their political persuasion is.

Even he wonders about the situation. No one is leaving coins in his cup. He wears a mask and practices social distancing. As he always has. He is hungry.

Even he wonders about the situation. No one is leaving coins in his cup. He wears a mask and practices social distancing. As he always has. He is hungry.

______________________________________

The Saints Are Touring Again.

A great dream last night
Those best feelings
of hanging with your favorite band 
Touring as they were 
Family and friends were nearby 
Chris Bailey was sweet 
His lovely sly grin shone my way
as he looked at me
a rich heavy Irish accent 
formed few words
“I’ll see ya tomorrow!” I said.
Adoringly glowing a depth of love
and mutual respect
John and I left the band 
until tomorrow’s show. 
We walked by waving
At Nathan Jones 
We walked by a
large window coffee shop on the Blvd. 
There Ed Kuepper sat alone. 
Having a cup of coffee and a smoke. 
Standing in front of a backstage club,
I looked at the band’s list.
Many names flew by
Under crew - stage 
I saw Holly Cornell. 
John pointed it out 
Feeling a joy 
Only a favorite band 
could give ya 
We will be there 
early tomorrow. 
To help and see the band . 

Punk Poem by Hudley April /2020


Reed


reed_webp

Goodbye rebel friend of my youth you touched my beating heart! In the circle Of fire He came forth now A motif of youthful Rebellion. We remember together A time of music And knowing attraction. A smile A wink Water guns both soaked to the skin Touring van was warm Your test cassette of Metallica On your Ghetto Blaster. Outside The Whisky A Go Go He circled round me Slowly dancing and singing “Me and Mrs. Jones we got a thing going on” I walked around him following round his circle embarrassed boldly declaring. Two punk friends a guy who plays the drums a girl who writes for a fanzine. Who else observed this friendship? And this continues still From the start. The good feeling of being desired Innocence and fun I will remember you always this way. ~ Poems about punk friends by Hudley Flipside