The Goats are Dancing

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“The Goats are Dancing” – My Digital Artwork – V. Castellanos – January 2019

“One must have chaos within oneself, to give birth to a dancing star.”           –         Friedrich Nietzsche

 

The goats are dancing this morning,
With smiles and rectangular eyes.
No one seems to know why.
Least of all me.
The mist, not yet burned off by the sun,
Hangs pale and blue over the earth,
Caressing the tree’s roots,
And, the candy stripped mushrooms.
Fogs in the forest,
Flowing downstream,
Ghost gray in the branches,
Kisses under the falling leaves.
This is not a surprise,
Because,
I was up before sunrise,
Under the faded moon.
Even then, before the stars closed their eyes,
The sky was the color of water,
And, catfish were laughing at their own whispers,
Jumping out of sinkholes,
Swimming in a river of stars.

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Two Fishermen and a Fish

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“Two Fishermen and a Fish” – My Artwork – 3″x 3″ – Pencil on paper – December 2018

One fish, two fish,
How do you do, fish?
Black fish, blue fish,
I am after you, fish.
A bold fish, a cold fish,
I don’t care how old, fish.

Green fish, mean fish,
Swimming in the stream, fish.
Fat fish, lean fish,
You are on my wish list, fish.

Brown fish, clown fish,
Swimming up and down, fish.
Blow fish, glow fish,
Nowhere left to go, fish.

Red fish, dead fish,
You will make a tasty dish.
Hatch a fish, catch a fish,
You will be delicious, fish.

A hook, a pole,
A roll of twine,
And, pretty soon,
You will be mine.

Butter sauce with lemon-lime,
Sage, oregano and thyme,
A lovely glass of cold, white wine,
A meal which will deserve a kiss.
I’d like to know, so I don’t miss,
Are there other words which rhyme with fish?

Vale

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“Vale” – My Artwork – pencil on paper – 3″ X 3″

In fairy vales and fantasy
From Tara to Ultima Thule
You may dance with the King
You may dance with the Queen
You may even dance with the Fool
It should be no surprise
When you open your eyes
There’ll be butterfly puddings
And, dragonfly pies
With a gingerbread bird
In a chocolate disguise
And, a jingle bell Jack
You can win as a prize
With an apple red sunrise
In blue cheese cake skies

 

Wind

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“Wind” – My Artwork – pencil on paper – 3″ X 3″

It is the wind which changes everything
The unsettling wind
Which is filling the swelling, invisible tension of movement
Replacing it with space
Announcing itself in whistles
Speaking in unknown tongues
Using only vowels and moans
With overtones of jazz and chaos
Actions dictated by anarchy
And, directed by insanity
Without regard to the rest of the world
It is the wind which changes everything

Desert

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“Desert” – My Artwork – pencil on paper – 3″ X 3″

As I awake
The purple mesa
Is hovering above the horizon
The orange sands
All aglow
And, struggling
To remember last night’s dream
The appearance of clouds
The taste of rain
The unfolding of flowers
Disguised as rattling thorns
Singing to phantoms of yesterday
And, dust devils
Uncovering silver mirages

The Leaves are Laughing

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“The Leaves are Laughing” Painted Leaves – My Artwork – November 2018

A thousand green leaves thick
Seeking sunshine
Inviting Bach and song birds into its arms
Caterpillars bristling under the breezes
Purple lichen and spider’s laces
Sacred places
Dark blood Pluto
Stirring the truth in my bones
Leaves turning yellow
Mottled brown
The blazing orange of autumn
Falling into the thick, black mud
Covering discarded twigs
Sheltering snakes and beetles
Waiting for the frost
Dancing on underground roots
Embracing enticing perfumes
And, the silhouette of a hawk
Etched into the clouds
Laughing at the afternoon moon
And, the arrival of winter

 

The Dark Datura

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“The Dark Datura” – Gouache on Bristol Board – 1982

The dream world enters the waking world,
Merging together and unable to separate.
Vibrations are altered.
Sound is sculpted.
Vision disrupted.
Doors open,
The unfolded map of the gods giving directions,
Answering riddles.
Kachinas laughing and making bets.
The desert is lit up with faces of towering red rocks,
Toxins and imagination,
Growing into clouds and duplications.
The eyes of giants are weighing down the sky.
Mirages fill the road.
A skin of illusion covers the morning,
The afternoon. Another day.
Time is no longer synchronized with itself.
Light breaking into jagged, dancing auras,
Revealing pathways,
Directions and the darkness of reality.

I have read: “Datura is often one constitutent of the Amazonian drink ayahuasca, and in coastal Peru it is sometimes added to the mescaline drink cimora made from the cactus Trichocereus Pachanoi. The Jivaros of the Amazon use datura as well as the harmaline drink natema; they regard datura as stronger, more dangerous, and more suitable as a preparation for war. It is taken for spirit voyages to encounter the supernatural, but is not used in healing because the effects are so uncontrollable that the shaman cannot retain his ties to this world while journeying in the other one.”

“Known to cause dark visions and erratic behavior. Used for puberty rites and to make contact with the spirits which inhabit other worlds.”

The Navajo Indians take it to “talk with the Gods”.

I took it once, not knowing any better at the time, and it changed my life.

V. Castellanos – November 2018

Tomorrow and Tomorrow

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“Tomorrow and Tomorrow” My Painted Leaf – Autumn 2018

A lonely leaf, yellow, orange, crimson red
Only half way in this world
The other half is dead
Fallen, disconnected
Weighed down by gravity and  time
And, the winds insist on tomorrow
And, tomorrow, and tomorrow
Even if tomorrow is the Day of the Dead
Even if the world turns into winter
Nothing to do but celebrate the dances of the seasons
And, watch while the tilt of the earth
Becomes a blanket for seeds
And, a nest for sprouting weeds
Someday, in the returning spring

The Painted Forest

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“The Painted Forest” – Pencil, ink, watercolor and leaf on paper – My Artwork – 5 1/2″ x 7 7/8″

The painted forest is still this morning
Involved in dreams of atoms and energy
And, acorns choosing a home in the quiet earth
While the squirrels, awaiting their decisions
Watch their reflections in the clouds
Wondering why swollen seed pods have fallen
With the brittle and discarded twigs
Into fairy rings of golden mushrooms
In the same patterns as this morning’s tea leaves
Wondering why the bits of broken mirror
And, the stones the color of the sky
Have been carried off by crows
To the place where the dream of the forest goes
To the place where the golden mushroom grows

 

So, tell me a secret, painted forest
Tell me something no one knows
Tell me why the seed pods fall
Tell me where the echo goes
Tell me why the dew drops fade
Tell me why the white cloud grows
Tell me what the squirrels are thinking
Tell me what the acorns chose
Tell me, tell me, painted forest
Tell me something no one knows
Tell me what the tea leaves say
Tell me what the pattern shows
And, tell me, tell me, painted forest
Why the wind no longer blows