joined on 01/22/05
last updated 03/22/12
about me
poet for hire(or exchange/collaboration). Emerging Visions visionary art ezine emergingvisions.blogspot.com
Creator of Cosmic Poetry - poetic interpretations of astrological charts; rituals, ceremonies, lyrics and poems custom created for any occasion.
Email: libramoon42@mindspring.com
Web Page: lunaramble.blogspot.com/
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May 15, 2007
What a talented beautiful inspirational poet you are !
Hugs
Leslie
March 6, 2006
Libramoon is a very talented and soulful poet. Her words touch me so deeply I can sense her inner being and mood.
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OPERATOR'S MANUAL
notes playing to a theme
om2317.wordpress.com/
it’s not you; it’s me
I told myself this silly story
I’m telling it today to clear the fog away
make of it what you will
or try again tomorrow to see
if my stories speak to you
Sun, May 19, 2013 - 12:02 PM
permalink -
0 comments
patchwork narrative - Monster
MAY 10
postapocalypse13.tumblr.com/
Monster
“Maybe he does love us. Maybe it’s a kind of love that’s about ownership.
You know, you own what you can destroy. Maybe the base idea,
underlying truth, is about securing what you love with total control,
power over, complete dependency. I guess it may be that he gets a thrill
from an intimacy of pain, giving what is his to give, taking satisfaction
from that intensity of power.”
Autumn speaks of her father, the monster who in a sense devoured
her life. He is part of her creation, an overarching part. He is the
beast who devoured, destroyed her mother’s beauty and innocence,
and will to live, belief in anything like love or security or pleasure.
The need to escape his violence sent them on the run, landed them
in this dismal place. Yet Autumn loves her father, in a simple, complex
wishful desire for belonging, for family myths of entangled love.
Perhaps her primal, formative experience in monster love allows her
to feel safe with me. I am certainly dangerous to those strangers I
prey upon who seem quite at home in monstrous desire.
Perhaps I could subsist without draining, killing, could take just
enough to weaken unconscious drunks or junkies, derelicts who
would never be believed if they did remember me. Would that make
me less a monster? What if I fed on lesser animals, rats, coyotes,
feral dogs? Would that look like penance for my crimes against nature,
my unnatural afterlife?
I do as I do, among all that I can do, what feels natural to me.
Monster nature, without assured end, its own retribution, punishment,
enduring burn of caustic guilt.
No, the shame did not lessen on my experimental diets of nonhuman
vermin or hits of drug infused blood. I have walked undead long
enough to try it all, discover my vampire nature, with all of eternity
yet before me.
It’s not the loneliness, though I have often told myself, private pity
party cried that lie.
I do enjoy this amazing interval of fantasy, hours with Autumn away
from relentless confrontation with my truth. There is no real escape,
relief from the story I inhabit. I have no hope of welcoming home.
I died so very long ago. The monster who makes appointed rounds,
hides from day, becomes shadow through the night, knows this is
no way to live. There is no better future in my neverending sentence
without possibility of meaningful change, meaningful connection
with any kind of interactive social world. I fill my days with fantasy,
nights with necessity. Long since dead, mine is a parody life,
perhaps a homage to the archetypal monster vying for control.
Fri, May 10, 2013 - 2:03 PM
permalink -
0 comments
emergingvisions.blogspot.com/200...html
The Earth screams
People die before their time
or never get much life
Species die, their music silenced
Crazy theories of wealth
belie obligation or simply seeing
the laws of consequence
Scream Earth!
Pierce the cosmos with your
terrible cry
Acid rain burning through gold
falls
night blooms
Come, say I
Enjoy the desert night blooms --
rare, exquisite, alive.
Quiet, the primeval cold,
parched, freeze-dried.
No purposeful future
divined.
The stories I spin ...
Old, alien
unmarked steps upon the Earth.
no meaning
no warmth
I walk primeval, exquisite landscape
dry, old, eternal
to enjoy the blooming.
Sacred Geology
Rich earth
decomposing life
imbuing myriad layers
of sacred spirit
Memories upon memories
scarred into the land
making it holy
a bounty of beauty
irrigated by tears
and less voluntary bodily fluids
living loam
revitalizing
luscious fruits
giving back what was taken
Partaking of the feast
we are blessed
renewed in holy essence
in the fullness of time
the cycle reclaims
all that we are
that we may become
yet more richly
layered
Sun greets Earth
a hearty slap
hot and sassy
Mothers' Night
cascading shards
uneasy
echoes falling
"It's our calling."
Rape of Earth,
hot spurts of words
savage knives
Abiding Mothers,
sacred and mundane
twist into harridan
cold stars
wail, hurtling waves
Sad, old, crust of ages
sliced, screwed, carved up for profit
"It's not the color of the skin,
the culture of the smile"
the scent of danger,
the inborn stranger --
all excuses for Us (superior)
and Them (inferior)
"They are not like we;
but lower curs."
we may harm with unfettered glee
Cursed to be cut to our requirement.
Borders clear
"Here, fear fences in
our livelihood and wives."
Leave THEM to putrid pits
cunning jabs,
our pleasure.
Thus, all treasure that might regale,
heal, reveal true worth,
of man and Earth
sold for pittance of potash
to dance a weary jig
Earth’s Sign
Under the Wesak Moon
Where the Buddha crossed the quarters,
graciously approached liminal wisdom
Our Lady Goddess guides
We who dance in shadow
We who turn the Earth,
bless the seed,
feel awakened in darkness,
feel the turning sacred, consecrated
to the between air of transformation
where enlightenment,
eternal bliss
encounter life
Burst of joy quietly encountered
Fly my eyes into such belief
Where sweet Earth heroically replies
to my pleas for splendorous relief
just over the border
moving through the periphery
pattern-seeking epicenter runs within
swirling cosmos fire, flood, cerebral hemorrhage,
tsunami
herded into healing net
The love of love
The hope for blinding light that bathes
all cares with caring
_ emergingvisions.blogspot.com/_._,_._
Sun, April 21, 2013 - 9:44 PM
permalink -
0 comments
Why are drugs part of common culture?
Why is weed part of youth culture?
Kids aren’t held down and force fed pot smoke until they are hooked. It’s a great deal more than the simplistic label “peer pressure” implies.
It is what we do, cultural norms.
People want to get high together. If we saw that not a sin but a normal desire, why not educate ourselves, our kids in what these chemicals do?
Not “no-no” negative emphasis, but useful information so we could best enjoy the sought for pleasure with the least to no unwanted consequences.
Why not be honest about what we want, who we are, rather than playing these horrific games of virtuous denial?
We are safest, sanest, happiest, truly dealing with these realities.
4/20/13
www.youtube.com/watchwww.youtube.com/watchwww.youtube.com/watchwww.youtube.com/watch
Thu, April 18, 2013 - 1:11 PM
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0 comments
patchwork narrative - Silence
postapocalypse13.tumblr.com/
APR 10 · 2013
Silence
These men who think they prey on me,
who desire to defile childhood,
who become mine for their brief transition
into lifeless eternity, what is their compelling
story?
They too are hunters, are monsters.
Perhaps, they too were made such without
consent.
Why would a sexually motivated male who
could pay for willing receptacle or even play mate
take on the shame, the venality of demanding
satisfaction from bodies not yet ready for
that trade?
Perhaps it is the power thing again. Patriarchs,
fearless fathers herding familial flocks,
facing wolves and bandits. All’s right through
the dangerous night because I am between
thee and them.
Daddy deserves some sugar, a sweet taste of
my little dependent. Daddy is big and strong and
throbbing. Daddy has an itch, an irritation needing
tending. Daddy wants. There is no practical reason
not to have. We who are strong take from the flock
as we will. We rely on their weakness, keep them
enslaved in ignorance, keep them alive at our pleasure.
It is simple, while the illusion is maintained.
Or so I imagine in this spin into historic scenario.
I have not experienced the pressures, motivations,
imperatives biological or psychological, that inhabit
mortal men. I will never be one, only a monster in
a child’s body, with only the mortal experience of
a servant child. I felt the glorious defilement
offered by my mortal masters as pain. I was not
grateful for their attention. I did not feel honored
to be their momentary reward for all their
self-appointed responsibilities. I understood my
place because it was self-evident. I did not
understand why it should be mine.
Children are given no choice, no social contract.
The adults who grow through their initiations,
ritual scars, climb into manhood, womanhood,
know only a temporal ladder to ordered positions,
attitudes; what contract did they sign?
Of course there is personal responsibility, payment
for choices. But who sets the price? Who really pays?
We all know that game of selling the price forward,
like a hot potato. Those who accept the ultimate
price are so often the poorest. Nothing to pay but
pounds of misery that please no one.
So, yes, I am guilty. I steal life to feed my
unnatural death. I am by definition perversion
itself. I have no excuse. I have no socially useful
reason for being. I can not compare my case to
human waste and expect acquittal or lenient
judgment.
I can wonder why designated victims don’t rise up,
demand the power of self-sovereignty.
No, I understand, too self-involved, cut off from
solidarity, cut off from realizing the possibility of
self-determination or the energy of purposeful
fusion. Dark, furtive, shamed by unavoidable
sin, the voiceless stay silent.
Fri, April 12, 2013 - 3:50 PM
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patchwork narrative - Resilience
postapocalypse13.tumblr.com/
APR 3 · 2013
Resilience
While in our time together, I feast on
Autumn’s presence, a more wholesome
and unfamiliar pleasure than my custom.
“That night, when you rescued me, when we met,
I had to tell Kathy something, why I was out
past dawn. I told her me and another girl
from school had been stalked and waylaid
by a gang of bullies. We had to evade them,
and wound up at her place because it was
closest. Her mom wanted to call the cops.
We were scared and didn’t want a confrontation.
I said I would call and tell you where I was.
In all the confusion, that didn’t happen. Sorry.
We are all, you know, upset, keyed up, talked
it out all night like old friends, comforting, you know,
too focused to think beyond, to be considerate of
what you must have been worrying.
I told her this story. Of course she bought it.
She is so defeated, so empty, I think, used up by
the life she never had but had believed in,
a reality too sad and way too heavy to move beyond.
But, you know, I included enough truth to make it
believable, real. I told her, bright silver lining,
I thought I had finally found a real friend.
She likes that hope, a sliver of happy thought
to lift her day.”
Autumn calls her mother Kathy. It is unclear
which role she assumes in their dyad of
mother and child. She speaks of feeling
guilty for their life on the run, away from their
once fine home. She resents the dreary limbo
that life has become. She is thirteen, an awkward
age, uprooted and aware of the crumbling foundation
of danger. I, strangely, can be a strength of
stability, a dependable constant. Strange
realization, I am not broken and defeated like
Kathy, Autumn’s long abused, irrevocably scarred,
single parent. Maybe because I have endured so
many more years, because I never had better
expectations, because I have supernatural powers
and so much practice in invisibility, and remorse?
Is this resilience?
Autumn is fierce. She throws herself full force
into defense against all self-appointed enemies.
She exudes readiness for battle like a repelling
perfume. Fingernails enameled green and glittered,
she files into sharp weapons. She protects herself
in reputation as too crazy to mess with among her
daily peers. Intelligence learned to guile, she
presents to teachers as an adequate student, quiet,
shy, unobtrusive, unremarkable.
I alone have the privilege to know her better.
Thu, April 4, 2013 - 3:38 PM
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Sagittarius Full Moon
(in visionary arts and minds)
Sagittarius Full Moon
The many faces of the Moon
reflecting starlight in her many moods
entrance the sky.
My mortal eyes want to believe
adventures, mythologies, romantic rhymes .
Tell me, hoary elders,
rejuvenated for your fling
in s...
read more
discussion post on Fri, May 24, 2013 - 2:39 PM
Secret Language/Fairy Tale OPERATOR'S MANUAL notes playing to a theme
(in visionary arts and minds)
Secret Language/Fairy Tale
OPERATOR'S MANUAL
notes playing to a theme
om2317.wordpress.com/
discussion post on Tue, May 21, 2013 - 10:23 PM
Wind Song
(in visionary arts and minds)
lunaramble.blogspot.com/2013/0...ng.html
Wind Song
Caught a’fall through cobwebbed memory,
balance calm within storm,
echoed enchantment.
Joined merriment of dancers,
glide of movement
choreographic poetry,
mindful
po...
read more
discussion post on Tue, May 21, 2013 - 6:04 PM
Re: Art Spirit Now
(in visionary art)
shared on G+
discussion post on Sun, May 19, 2013 - 5:22 PM
OPERATOR'S MANUAL
(in INFP personalities)
OPERATOR'S MANUAL
notes playing to a theme
om2317.wordpress.com/
it’s not you; it’s me
I told myself this silly story
I’m telling it today to clear the fog away
make of it what you will
or try again tomorrow to see
i...
read more
discussion post on Sun, May 19, 2013 - 12:03 PM
OPERATOR'S MANUAL
(in Raw Wisdom)
OPERATOR'S MANUAL
notes playing to a theme
om2317.wordpress.com/
it’s not you; it’s me
I told myself this silly story
I’m telling it today to clear the fog away
make of it what you will
or try again tomorrow to see
...
read more
discussion post on Sun, May 19, 2013 - 12:00 PM
OPERATOR'S MANUAL notes playing to a theme
(in visionary arts and minds)
om2317.wordpress.com/
it’s not you; it’s me
I told myself this silly story
I’m telling it today to clear the fog away
make of it what you will
or try again tomorrow to see
if my stories speak to you
discussion post on Thu, May 16, 2013 - 3:30 PM
latest patch
(in CREATIVE WRITING)
patchwork narrative - Monster
MAY 10
postapocalypse13.tumblr.com/
Monster
“Maybe he does love us. Maybe it’s a kind of love that’s about ownership.
You know, you own what you can destroy. Maybe the base idea,
underlying ...
read more
discussion post on Fri, May 10, 2013 - 2:08 PM
latest patch
(in New England Freaks for Fun)
patchwork narrative - Monster
MAY 10
postapocalypse13.tumblr.com/
Monster
“Maybe he does love us. Maybe it’s a kind of love that’s about ownership.
You know, you own what you can destroy. Maybe the base idea,
underlying ...
read more
discussion post on Fri, May 10, 2013 - 2:07 PM
latest patch
(in visionary art)
patchwork narrative - Monster
MAY 10
postapocalypse13.tumblr.com/
Monster
“Maybe he does love us. Maybe it’s a kind of love that’s about ownership.
You know, you own what you can destroy. Maybe the base idea,
underlying ...
read more
discussion post on Fri, May 10, 2013 - 2:05 PM
latest patch
(in C.G. Jung and Archetypal Psychology)
patchwork narrative - Monster
MAY 10
postapocalypse13.tumblr.com/
Monster
“Maybe he does love us. Maybe it’s a kind of love that’s about ownership.
You know, you own what you can destroy. Maybe the base idea,
underlying ...
read more
discussion post on Fri, May 10, 2013 - 2:05 PM
Memrise
(in Social Alchemy)
"Millions of people have learned what you want to learn. That’s why on Memrise we’re collecting all the most effective ways people have found of remembering all the most interesting information.
As you learn, you share your ideas to help others...
read more
discussion post on Sun, May 5, 2013 - 5:35 PM
Walpurgis Knocked
(in visionary arts and minds)
We born other than imperial, torn into what we are told is real
without power to protect ourselves from venal brothers of the order
spreading hatred like any venereal disease
We no longer need to meet you cowering on our knees
Karma's a hot po...
read more
discussion post on Tue, April 30, 2013 - 4:25 PM
“It was the year when they finally immanentized the Eschaton.”
(in visionary arts and minds)
www.american-buddha.com/illumi....9b.htm
* * *
The sudden cry "Kallisti!" reverberated through the Bavarian hills louder than the music of the Ingolstadt festival had been. Trailing a cometlike cloud of sparks, the golden ap...
read more
discussion post on Tue, April 30, 2013 - 1:20 PM
Re: patchwork narrative
(in visionary arts and minds)
patchwork narrative - Acceptance
MAY 6
postapocalypse13.tumblr.com/
Acceptance
Her hair efficiently braided, long thick tail
of dark luxury, even darker than her eyes so deep
and brown like rich earth. She stands lithely ...
read more
discussion post on Sun, April 28, 2013 - 7:54 PM
M. P. FOLLETT
(in visionary arts and minds)
api.ning.com/files/-w4nK...aProcess.pdf
Community is a Process
by M.P. Follett
Reproduced from Philosophical Review, Vol. XXVIII, 19...
read more
discussion post on Sun, April 28, 2013 - 1:48 PM
lunation
(in visionary arts and minds)
Full Moon Harvest
I could
if I willed it
go inward
beyond the cognition’s sphere.
Infinite bliss
the whole of the real
I know, I feel.
Eternity pulls me,
grasps my ambient air
into awareness.
All ways my destiny.
Incandescent tra...
read more
discussion post on Thu, April 25, 2013 - 10:01 PM
Earth Day 2013
(in visionary arts and minds)
emergingvisions.blogspot.com/200...html
The Earth screams
People die before their time
or never get much life
Species die, their music silenced
Crazy theories of wealth
belie obligation or simply seeing
the laws ...
read more
discussion post on Sun, April 21, 2013 - 9:45 PM
Earth Day 2013
(in GAIA - the earth is alive)
emergingvisions.blogspot.com/200...html
The Earth screams
People die before their time
or never get much life
Species die, their music silenced
Crazy theories of wealth
belie obligation or simply seeing
the laws ...
read more
discussion post on Sun, April 21, 2013 - 9:44 PM
question authority - 420
(in Raw Wisdom)
Why are drugs part of common culture?
Why is weed part of youth culture?
Kids aren’t held down and force fed pot smoke until they are hooked. It’s a great deal more than the simplistic label “peer pressure” implies.
It is what we do, cultural n...
read more
discussion post on Sat, April 20, 2013 - 6:06 PM
question authority - 420
(in Freethinking Artists of Cascadia)
Why are drugs part of common culture?
Why is weed part of youth culture?
Kids aren’t held down and force fed pot smoke until they are hooked. It’s a great deal more than the simplistic label “peer pressure” implies.
It is what we do, cultural n...
read more
discussion post on Sat, April 20, 2013 - 6:05 PM
question authority - 420
(in visionary arts and minds)
Why are drugs part of common culture?
Why is weed part of youth culture?
Kids aren’t held down and force fed pot smoke until they are hooked. It’s a great deal more than the simplistic label “peer pressure” implies.
It is what we do, cultural n...
read more
discussion post on Sat, April 20, 2013 - 6:04 PM
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