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.

-Hudley

From darkness to light.

Lenai is another name for Maenad, referring to the lenos, the wine press. The Lenaian vessels illustrate women dancing, making music, carrying the thyrsus, and pouring out wine before a pillar with the mask of Dionysos.

Aguilar, A. Marina. Alchemy of The Heart: The Sacred Marriage of Dionysos & Ariadne . Chiron Publications. Kindle Edition.


Celebration another year back… made it thought March again… and even the darkness comes to visit I have earned my way back… only shadows on the wall.

“a flash of lightning. Dionysus visible in emerald beauty.

(Today I bought an edition of Dithyrambs of Dionysus by Nietzsche… a thrift-store purchase. October /3/2021)


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.


“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…

To light

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” “

Dionysos with Sirius in noting the similarity of the words Iachos (a Cretan variation on the name Bacchus) and Iakar, the Minoan name for Sirius. Finally, the ancient Greeks themselves considered the vine itself to be a gift of the star Sirius.

Aguilar, A. Marina. Alchemy of The Heart: The Sacred Marriage of Dionysos & Ariadne . Chiron Publications. Kindle Edition.


Sterling Hayden’s anima, maybe.

Pictures of Sterling Hayden
Sterling Hayden the wise.

Today is International Women’s Day, and soon follows St. Paddy’s Day and then the Spring Equinox.

Consider the following statement. Every river began its life as a stream, and every stream had its origin in the minutest trickle. In turn, every trickle is the result of filtration through rock and sand and soil, and from this process a single drop of water arises. So often most of these single drops have not seen the sky or the light of the sun for hundreds, if not thousands, of years.

Hughes, Kristoffer. Cerridwen (p. 20). Llewellyn Worldwide, LTD.. Kindle Edition.

How did Hayden Sterling the best Noir dude and Cerridwen the Welsh Goddess of inspiration twine together in my heart, blood and water in my body’s imagination? The earth, male and female, sea, sky, rain and the divinely profound now cumulatively and happily joined together to reveal an old image to me.

There is no new water on earth. In turn, there is no new myth on earth but only the retelling of the same rivers of mythology, flavoured only by the passing of time.

Hughes, Kristoffer. Cerridwen (p. 20). Llewellyn Worldwide, LTD.. Kindle Edition.

Cerridwen Stencil by Hudley Flipside 1995…

The image is Cerridwen and she is holding her cauldron and staff. I once thought the image was Persephone…yet now I know who she is. A subtle part of my heritage.   

Where from, you growling water? How old are you? Did you come in from the sea with the midnight flood? Were you sired by an iceberg out of the South Polar Cap, or was your dam a cloud knocked up by the High Sierra? Were you falling rain short months ago? What’s the news from Donner Pass and Emigrant Gap, and how are those new motels? You look a little wan, as though you’re tired of the land. Tried to trap you, did they—up Sacramento way? Piped you through a tunnel, dumped chlorine in your face, spun you through a toilet bowl—small wonder you’re brown as a sportsman’s chest. Don’t quit now; two hours will see you through the Gate, and once you’re clear keep rolling on. I’ll join you one day soon. Maybe.

Hayden, Sterling. Wanderer (p. 7). QM Classics. Kindle Edition.

The Nasty woman is me.

The Nasty Woman and the

Smörgåsbord of words and feelings… some very nasty…. like me.

“In his late works , he embodied these and other ills in the nightmare ridden figure of the cosmic giant Albion, or universal humanity, who has fallen in to deadly sleep of mundane existence. In humanity’s coma, the divine is a remote and forbidding sky-god: nature a sterile heap of atoms, lovers and family members, enemies; and one’s own innermost being, an unrecognized alien.” 

~Blake’s Poetry & Designs ` A Norton Critical Edition.

Hudley The Crone

I realize I am being confrontational, nasty, and outrageous. It is that two-week time as we move into the autumnal equinox. I hate this time of transition, but I love autumn.

Today I had to get gas on the way to where I was going. This local gas station charged me a 30 cents gas fee. Yet this is the normal way to skim the top and make a lot of money off millions of poor people. I remember when gas stations had attendants pour the gas, check the oil, and fill the car tires. It was service with a smile.

I wish one of these monster gas companies would be brave and bring the service attendants back. They could collect the cash and we could give them the service charge… instead of a fucking machine.

 Every time we take away a person’s job and replace them with a machine, we become less human.

I went into the mini-market and the cashier, who seemed to be acting as an employee, knew nothing about the fee and said,

“I don’t know why you are asking about it. You are the only one that cares? No one else has asked about it.”

I looked at her silently and squarely.

“You should know about it and all the things around you here. I must pay a fee and it is dirty filthy outside around the gas tanks. I remember the day…”

A man came forward and interrupted our conversation and the cashier looked away.

“Excuse us,” I said.

“We are talking.”

I used a finger to point to the cashier and me.

“Grumble,” said the man under his breath.

I left, telling the cashier she should lose her job for not knowing anything.

Then I came home to find standing outside my home a strange older man smoking a cigarette.

“Are you waiting for someone,” I said.

“No.”

“Then why did you park here?”

The street had no other cars around. He then looked up at the tree. I then asked him to please move his car I needed to park our truck there. He seemed nice enough for not having a reason for being there besides smoking a cigarette. We talked back and forth.

“We have had issues with drug dealers around here.”

He soon left and I moved the truck out. I know I was being ridiculous. I thought it strange that he would get out of his car with his cell phone in hand to smoke a cigarette under our lovely olive tree. I did say to him.

“I don’t like the smell of cigarettes and I am sure the tree doesn’t either.”

I think upon a poem I wrote.

Any time of the year but now it is moving into the Autumn poem.

Green-gold olives

This eve

I take my broom

Last ray of sun is dead here

 …it is real…

The shy clouds hide stars

Only the Moon, Jupiter and Saturn shine their breast plates.

Of radiant light…

I take my broom to the front of our home

into the dustpan goes

Dry brown and yellow

Pointy olive leaves and hard green-gold olives…

Into the waste bin…

away away.

Goes all the thoughts of this day

Of a wooing Crone…

Looking around as I sweep and bend

For any Fay to show their haunting ways

In the clouds sailing on the night or

Upon the grasping arms of the olive tree.

Queen of Elphame mocks me

As I move quickly and consistently,

I call her Sabrina…

How symbolic have I become?

Wild movement… yet strangely calm.

Sweet sweat dripping

My dusty perfume…

I do as many an old Crone

Sweeping clean the front of their home

At this transforming time.

Today I am a nasty one..



Resilient

“Without contraries is no progression. Attraction and repulsion, reason and energy, love and hate, are necessary to human existence.” ― William Blake


fire monster pic by Hudley

burnt tree pic by Hudley

return of mustard greens pic by Hudley


It was terrifying living through the California fires. I took a picture across the street then of what I see as a fire monster. At least it looks like one. The fires approached so close to our home.

When Spring came so did the Monarch butterflies. A flying path over our home called us to visit the burned hills. I was beside myself with wonder. How resilient nature is.  I know these hills well, and I saw blooming flowers I had never seen before. A multitude of creatures and fresh green hills. Roadrunners and rabbits have also returned.



Purple mystery flowers from the Santa Monica HIlls. Pic by Hudley


Today I study the ideal of contraries. It is part of who we are as human beings and nature and the cosmos. I cannot think of a better quote then William Blake’s above to understand what we are going through right now. I want to share a hopeful part of nature as well.  Contrary as is may seem now. It is a dependable pattern we can trust.



Flowing Myrrh

Sandro Botticelli (Alessandro di Mariano di Vanni Filipepi) (1445 � 1510)
La Derelitta

I slept but my heart was awake.
Listen! My beloved is knocking:
“Open to me, my sister, my darling,
my dove, my flawless one.
My head is drenched with dew,
my hair with the dampness of the night.”
I have taken off my robe—
 must I put it on again?
I have washed my feet—
must I soil them again?
My beloved thrust his hand through the latch-opening;
my heart began to pound for him.
I arose to open for my beloved,
and my hands dripped with myrrh,
my fingers with flowing myrrh,
on the handles of the bolt.
I opened for my beloved,
but my beloved had left; he was gone.
My heart sank at his departure. [a]
I looked for him but did not find him.
I called him but he did not answer.
The watchmen found me
as they made their rounds in the city.
They beat me, they bruised me;
they took away my cloak,
those watchmen of the walls!
Daughters of Jerusalem, I charge you—
if you find my beloved,
what will you tell him?
Tell him I am faint with love.

Song of Solomon 5: 1-8

myrrh



 

Ivy; It will be a good day !


(11-18-18)

Feet steeping around
In light purple tennis shoes
Morning crisper than it was
Cyprus tree tall as a tower
Dark green tall I upward gaze
Looking straight up
Noticing the ivy that embraces the climb
Wild element of the neighborhood
Sadly, gardeners often slash off all the blossoms
most times, yet not here
Half a block overtaken by tall Cyprus
And wild dark shiny green ivy
Light greets angled points and blossoms
Look up and stand still
Wild order
Sound of harmonic honey bees
Everywhere
Enthusiastic peace
The humming bees
As I gaze silently and listen
A dark crow lands on the tip-top
Upon towering Cyprus tree
Gloria told me once
“When the bird rests on the
Tip-top of the Guest house
At the Rosy Fellowship
It will be a good day.”

(11-24-18)

Today I knocked
An old gentleman
Opened his door
I thanked him for his
Climbing ivy
How he lets it blossom.

He told me he planned
To cut it down
Yet the branches were too thick
He will not be
Cutting the ivy down.

How happy we were
I told him how the
Sound of the bees
Is a religious experience
For me.
He said “thank you:
“For your kind words!”

I know the bees, humming birds
And song birds as yellow as the sun
Love the blossoming ivy.

My chapel is mutable
Here the goddess be
Humming and shining
For all who take the time
To hear, feel and see.

dscf4908s
The wild ivy is an ancient plant… let a part of your garden be wild…for her. 

` Hudley 11/18-24-18