Under the Flowering Jacaranda

Fragrant, lilac colored flowers cluster

Together, like hands from a multitude,

Stretching out five-fingered petals, pinching

At the air, reaching out in a last gasp, to grasp

The idyllic serenity their aura emanates. Worries

And judgments fail to cloud their perceptions –

Blossoms signal a momentarily eternal spring.

Purple carpets the ground, providing a regal

Setting for a picnic tryst. A lingering

Scent of harmony drifts on the laconic

Breeze, calmed by the jacaranda present.

A nearby brook enunciates the whispered

Secrets which the gentle wind whistles

Through the tree’s branches. Along the Paraná

River valley, just like a mother’s love, its

Music never ceases, singing through Brazilian

Guitars made from its wood in the way

A baby coos its contentment after suckling.

The jacaranda nurtures without words,

Caresses without touching, and spreads influence

Throughout its sphere without arguing, teaching,

Scolding or demanding. It simply loves for the

Sake of loving because all-which-is deserves

Every ounce of love it can well up and offer,

And nothing is ever lost when love is shared. 

Somnolent Caterwauling

A dark, summer night melts the icy moon

With undying, undiscovered memories

From within the heart’s furnace.

Tomorrow’s eternal wick

Glows, golden, beyond reach:

Pinching fingers

Try their hand at cheating.

Phantasmal fantasy

Flicks dandruff shrugs

Off stooped shoulders -

Another galaxy rejoices.

The unbinding grasp

Releases somnolent caterwauling

From the screeching scratch

Of a desolate desert. 

Destiny's Highways

Birds glide
through calm breezes
and knife
through turbulent winds.

Sages trudge
over rough roads
and stroll
on smooth byways.

Birds and sages know
all influences -
strife and suffering,
joy and serenity -
as equal partners
on destiny's highways.

The Poetry of Don Coorough Is Finally Published

Dear friends and readers,

My book of poetry, "Love-ism Volume I: A Critical Mass and Other Poems" is now available for purchase. It is a 442-page quality paperback. 

http://www.publishamerica.net/product50927.html

 

"Love-ism Volume I: A Critical Mass and Other Poems contains the complete poetry of Don Coorough. The title poem is a contemporary, epic creation tale which incorporates material from wide ranging sources, including: cosmology, physics, neuroscience, biology, politics, economics, sociology and mythology. Destined to be a classic, this experimental poem was written utilizing techniques like: formal structure and rhyme, free verse, projective verse and organic composition. Also included in the collection are poems from the following categories and genres: love poetry, nature poetry, impressionism, surrealism, psychedelic poetry, dream vision poetry, transcendentalism and poetry of political, religious and social commentary. The material will inspire its readers with its breadth of styles, its foundation in a vast array of topics, and its highly emotional content. It's influences are readily apparent, including: John Donne, Alexander Pope, John Milton, William Wordsworth, William Blake, Walt Whitman, Allan Ginsberg, Charles Olson, and Denise Levertov."

I hope my friends and readers will consider ordering a copy. Please also feel free to share the link with your friends. Please click on the link to get your copy today.

Warm regards in peace and with love,

Don Coorough

By a Stream

As water undulates and flows
over and between rocks and pebbles,
winds breeze and billow
their frolicking oscillations,
and soil nurtures life, providing
the stage's platform, and moments
inscribe hallucinations upon mirage.

A bird flutters from a tree limb
and delicately perches upon a rock
to sip cool refreshment.

Trout linger in eddies,
their watchful eyes scanning
for unsuspecting insects
to buzz within leaping range.

I sit in an inarticulate hush,
shaded by the broad-leafed arms
of a walnut tree, thawing
in the summer morning,
reverie soaring among the clouds,
polished by simplicity.

Abandon to the Mission

A clarion call rang out through the still ocean;

Octaves resonated harmonically in waves,

Rippling out in every direction, singing a melody

Whose harmonies stretched beyond the audible,

Ringing tones through light, calming the constant,

Frenetic action, condensing dew drops of form

Out of pure potential’s cosmic continuum.

The taut fabric which stretched throughout the whereless

Gave way to indentations and the sudden weight

Manifested by illusion snared companions in attraction’s

Web; together, they danced across the eternal sea.

Wings of doves whistled as they fluttered,

And they whipped up motion out of contentment;

Great orbs sang their harmonies to the celestial

Melody weaving colorful thread trails,

Implying order in the splendor of illusion’s fabric.

The melody of the primal song urged the inert

Into spontaneous activity, and illusion came

To life, electric magnetism generated awareness

Within every thread of color, and the rainbow

Wrote upon the face of the waters with infinite

Voices, each singing a harmonic counterpoint

To the ageless yet haunting melody: an unending

Choral mass fizzed through the cosmos effervescently.

The sacred rite of universal love uttered

Its call into every corner of illusion:

The mission of every consciousness;

The undeniable motif sprang forth –

Forsake personal entitlements,

Yield to cooperative inclusion;

Fulfillment requires we abandon to the mission. 

The Existential Moment

Streaks bend perspective

into spiraled staircase clusters

of stagnant, static, stiletto-

bladed magnets that revolve

in undetermined orbits,

while gravity improvises

unceasingly with matter

to a variable time signature.

The effort to endure

strings together

happenstance beyond

probability’s grave and

out of limitation’s reach,

while infinite possibility

plays jacks with

the existential moment.

A rungless ladder slips

on horizon’s shoreline

beneath a B-flat chart bearing

Miles Davis’ signature,

while Dizzy cheeks balloon

to breathless intervals,

re-imprinting jazz’s jagged

edges upon a smooth delusion.

The master sculptor’s

marbled impressions incubate

upon a Kaifeng Jew’s silent stele’s

hieroglyphic history, while a frozen

instant’s cubed, crystalline equations

compensated for incapacity

with certain death, awaiting

the existential moment.

The Last Door

Peering into night's deepest ebony wash;
Barely witnessing the last, tiny sliver
Of the moon wane into invisibility;
Palpitating with anticipation as Segovia
Demands absolute silence before plucking a note;
Trudging on, step after step, after exhaustion
Depletes the last ion of energy;
Driving at 3 a.m., still up from the previous 6 a.m.,
Yet unable to find a motel with a vacancy;
Fingers barely gripping handholds near the summit;
Sustaining the last note without taking a breath;
Weeping through dry eyes;
Sucking the last drop from a glass through a straw;
Anticipating the last wave's was upon the shore;
Deafened by light passing through the edges of the last door. 

Imperceptibly Etching

Red dirt surrounds
cedar trunks whose roots
ache from thirst
but the leaves
flutter on branch fingers
as a slow breeze
inherits moisture
from an electric cloud

A red ant crawls
toward noon's tolling
boil weaving a sticky
trail to a rabbit
carcass already
picked clean by coyote
pups still shrilly howling
triumphantly charged glee

The first drops of blood
seep from the spreading
doe mule deer's vagina
bearing her first calf

The sun moves
imperceptibly etching
a golden arc on an azure arch

Tired hands roll
tortillas by a fire
where carne asada spits
and sizzles in a pan

Children's voltage squeals
escape from naked bodies
as they slither through
shaded stream banks
under the watchful
gaze of tomorrow's
red-tailed hawk
demanding from its nest

In the night where
no moon reigns Grandma
threads smokey fingers
through an old man's
dreams making tacos
for the little boy she
once knew and now sees
bouncing up the porch steps

Haiku-Koan Variations Study

The four winds begin
and meet in the nebula's
sacred space moment

Unquenched offerings
set sail on rudderless ships'
eternal return

Nothing lies hidden
in ceaseless activity
but nothing appears

Ripe fruit to the taste
snuggles under the covers
with yesterday's seed

Slithering pictures
gurgle newborn contentment
on ancient cave walls

Black rolling caisson
through the muddy streets of tears
reveals the infant

Perpetual Revolutions Shimmer

From All Hallows Eve
until the next Samhain day
a worthy operation works
upon each of three hundred
and sixty-six midnights
soar through dark's blackest reaches
fathom the staircased bowel's depths
of the Great Pyramid
seek out the calm eye
of turbulent Jupiter's hurricane
which no hazy mist obscures

From All Hallows Eve
until the next Samhain day
the magical rite performed
screams its birth on the final solstice
when a cold wind gusts
through the northern winter tide
and judgment bells bellow
the highest neap captures
greed and lust in ebb's onset
and the dreams of the meek
etch future's glyphs on the blank wall

From All Hallows Eve
until the next Samhain day
time circumscribes impregnation
gestation a mere
fifty-one spins more
until the door to Aquarius
creaks open gaping-eyed hearts
witnessing the Great Wheel
perpetual revolutions shimmer
a constant seed
an eternal garden

Unrecalled Dreams

Walking through ancient corridors
over rickety bridges
behind new moon shadows

Singing atonal melodies
without breathing

Collapsing umbrella fantasies

Stranded on the edge
of a sand grain
without any salt

Drenched by your wordless rhymes
in my unrecalled dreams
as a cricket gasps

A tiny black kitten
with white paws
and a tiny white tufted ascot
who mews in the softest voice
scampers over to me every night
so that its owner raises a fuss
as it nuzzles into my lap

I hear my dead mother's voice
in the haunted river willow
awaiting the hand of cancer's taut grasp

Always, Never Again

Goodbye
but not for good
only never
again always
always
never again

Hello
amid blue skies
and warm winds
you returned
and my smile
came with you

Goodbye
this time for good
I know never
again always
always
never again

Without a Lighthouse

Grinning innocence
broadly disarms
the recalcitrant; while distant,

bright, wide eyes
capture the periphery
nakedly unaware.

Pastorally pristine
property pockets
pantomime, partially
premiering play's
partitioned preference.

Unrewarded redemption's
fog bank snares
without a lighthouse.

Montevideo's Beaches

Montevideo’s beaches I want to sip margaritas there
Where a bright sun bakes the sand concrete asphalt into an oven
Yearning a cause for celebration
The ancient Atlantic splashes blue in my reveries
Why does ice cool me from the inside out and freeze me from the outside in
War leaves me crying myself to sleep at night
Love seeps through my fingers like water I try to hold in cupped hands
The world shovels dirt over me as if I already lay in my grave
I’d have toured the royal courts of Europe
Or I might have been illiterate and poor
Expressing universal passion matters
I am like a snail morphing into a butterfly
As a four-year-old I almost drowned in a swimming pool
I keep my mother’s ashes
Commiseration contaminates contemplation
I’m not looking for a “Heart of Gold” just a woman to smile with me
Her rose-petal skin could soothe my aging aches
Let me taste her whispering flesh with my fingers and smell her ecstasy between my teeth
If only a she existed to ignore my faults and find the latent joy
Love seeps through my fingers expressing universal passion
Passion is my raison d’etre
Passion is my undoing
I miss bodysurfing in Malibu in the summer
I miss Sunday morning polo at Will Rogers State Park with champagne, strawberries, sharp cheddar and fresh baked sourdough bread from the Pioneer bakery
I miss smelling my mother’s kitchen
In dreams I hear the Atlantic waves breaking on Montevideo's beaches

It Rains Every Day

In Hawaii, it rains every day. The light rains barely disturb the seemingly constant sunshine. Foliage blooms, and the island is awash in a rainbow of orchids. Stress and tension melt away to the strains of The Beatles and Mozart. My mind now draws blanks at times and cannot recall trivial things, but I remember I once saw palm trees dancing to Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds. Young, bikini-clad ladies still stroll along beaches, catching the eyes of angst-ridden young men. Children run and play in thick grass, tumbling with glee. Adults sip Mai Tai drinks sharing knowing gazes, oblivious to the strife and poverty at the core of Oz. I lose my train of thought in mid-YellowBrickRoadsentence. Pink Floyd’s “Atom Heart Mother Suite” reeked of Stravinsky as I reeked of marijuana in the wee hours, listening. I wonder where my words come from when I talk; I don’t think of them before they come out of my mouth. Bonfires illuminate hula dancers draped with leis at luaus. Everyone shares in the feast of roasted pig. How the scent of the charred remains of dead animal flesh induces lustful saliva. The most complex ideas cannot survive. I laugh hysterically. Frank Zappa provides the soundtrack to my life. Pollen drifts on the breeze. The Hawaiian tropical storm passes before it is even noticed.

Chasms' Rifts

Beyond the ivy covered walls where hallmarks chisel tears
a camera snaps its shutter shut on toothless, ungreased gears.

A field mouse lying motionless blends into his landscape
until incendiary bombs lay waste to quick escape.

A village wraps itself within a net-webbed fishing weir
catching all the floating nothing passing a hushed cashier.

The morning kissing rays of summer curves upon noon napes
shimmer ground gold into russet, autumn-ripened rain-drapes.

Lost locks of amber cascade hues head-first hurtle, diving;
divining, sage pyres, filled with dew and death call arriving.

Corruption spilled from rotting, fleshy, bloody clogged debris
blow strewn upon serenity's once ordered pedigree.

Unkempt, unshaven, blind, unwashed, a powderkeg pump ticks
moments away, one by one, for consternating cynics.

Gladhanding politicians smirk behind their ally's backs
as courtyard countrymen recline they’re shaded by smokestacks.

Under flaming sunset skies, eon's current slowly drifts,
the setting of an era’s sun spans past bridged chasms' rifts.

Rubies

In August,
chrome electricity
measures
Tennessee rubies.

Caramel asylum
chrome fiction
measures
rubies' condensation.

Silver eyelid
reticence petrifies
asylum
caramel electricity.

Elsewhere ghostlike
rubies illustrate
Tennessee
eyelid chrome.

Paris' sprawled
portrait drapes
caramel
rubies' romance.

Honeycombed veneers'
fabric sails
ghostlike
skyline asylum.

He Yearns

He yearns to hear her breathe in her sleep,
and gaze upon her timeless and serene features.

He yearns to nuzzle the delicate lily radiating
from her soul during the moments that well up
in the heart during quiet, hesitating intervals.

He yearns to sip wine from her lips at midnight
under the full moon, while her cheeks and neck
blush from the adoration of unrestrained longing.

He yearns to embrace the scent of her perfume
as it wraps him in the blanket of her allure.

He yearns to wander through unfenced ranges
with her on spirited steeds, unfettered by convention.

He yearns to shudder from the grace of her
finger as it grazes over his shivering flesh.

He yearns to glimpse her expressions
as she sketches a kitten and a ball of yarn.

He yearns to know what it feels like
for their hearts to beat in the same rhythm.

He’s afraid that unrequited yearning
will only drive her out of his dreams.

The Queen of Atlantis

Come with me through
the mirror into which I peer,
a reflection of the past revealing
the future, to the legend
which spawned all legends
and reveals the dream of all dreams,
to fair Atlantis, and be the queen

of tomorrow as you radiate the light
from the Lady of all ladies,
the light of the Queen of Atlantis.

Clouds drift beyond the horizon
carrying harmonized chorales
who cry to the ancient oceans;
Sewn silver seeds wait to sprout
from the plowed rows. Cover
them over with the finest
Chinese silk, woven by Empress
Lei Zu from the most delicate
mulberry silkworm cocoons.
The parting clouds reveal
Luna’s countenance as
the seeds germinate
into the sublime hopes
of antediluvian prophesies.

Plato never foresaw
a utopia of nowhere
quite so somewhere.

When one heart whispers
to another, the seas freeze still
in abeyance, the winds caress
the words, lightning brilliantly
illuminates the thunderless
pulse, all swords rust
into dust, ploughshares
carve harvests out of deserts,
and the one certain truth
in the universe echoes
from the highest Himalayan
peak: a rose without thorns.

Venga conmigo
a través del espejo que observo
el reflejo del pasado,
que revela el futuro,
a la leyenda que dio lugar
a todas leyendas,
y que revela
el sueño de todos los sueños,
a la serena Atlántida,
y sea la reina de la mañana,
mientras que irradiando la luz
de la Dama
de todas las damas,
la luz de la Reina de Atlántida.