This is not a poem about Henry Garfield: Les Yeux Sans Visage

Don’t mess with my reservoir of self-loathing,

Insecurities and low-self-esteem.

This is what encourages integrity and humility

Keeping my ego at bay.

Making accessibility

Fresh insights

Constantly renewed.

Self-doubt is a golden

Experience of being human.

Icons and pedestals

Melt in the realm of

Imperfection.

Celebrities slide down

Into the muddy earth

Of echoes that reflect

A world that does not

Need their marble forms

Of style and copycatting.

Don’t mess with my reservoir of self-loathing,

Insecurities and low-self-esteem.

This is what encourages integrity and humility

Keeping my ego at bay.

I see my shadow

On the wall where belly

And boobies are pronounced,

Nurturing new possibilities.

Here is the light

From these female shapes

Creating from this darkness.

Illuminating the darkness

Blowing and moving

Towards reflection and

Moments of the absolute.

Don’t mess with my reservoir of self-loathing,

Insecurities and low-self-esteem.

This is what encourages integrity and humility

Keeping my ego at bay.

Golden Shrill Sistrum

A poem / dream by Hudley

“Many things were among her accouterments, In her right hand she held a brazen sistrum, a flat piece curved like a girdle, through which there passed some little rods – and when with her arm she vibrated these triple chords they produced a shrill sharp cry” ~  Apuleius, The Golden Ass

Letting orthodox belief systems go and rooting in the emerald-green nether lands.

Grey crooked trees. Black crows. Whirling rouge invisible wind blowing dirty golden roses on the ground.

I breathe in and count to ten.

Total darkness.

Only the red lines of  blood vessels and moving snapshots of light.

I breath out.

Slowly the dark wooden boat sails on the indigo sea. The white sail slowly flapping in the salty breeze.

He sits there with his dark skin and darker beard.  Wearing a white kaftan and tight braided cord made of black donkey hair.

He leaned toward the woman dressed in orange. Wearing the headdress of Hathor.

Then she raised her arms up in the shape of a cup and sang,

“I am eternity.”

Her voice echoed and shimmered golden rays around us.

My heart-felt this and the purple vibrations of laughter opened my eyes to the colors of my backyard.

An older rose…

Greens, light dry brown and dirty golden-pink-yellow- rose on the ground.

 

hear the shrill in this song… that is the sound of brazen sistrum !!