The Living Air by Masiela Lusha Book Preview

7/26/2019 The Living Air by Masiela Lusha Book Preview

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THE LIVING AIR

MASIELA LUSHA

B L A Z E V O X [ B O O K S ]Buffalo, New York


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The Living Airby Masiela LushaCopyright 2016

Published by BlazeVOX [books]

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced withoutthe publishers written permission, except for brief quotations inreviews.

Printed in the United States of America

Interior design and typesetting by Geoffrey Gatza

Cover Art by Fadil Berisha

First EditionISBN: 978-1-60964-256-3Library of Congress Control Number: 2016937146

BlazeVOX [books]131 Euclid AveKenmore, NY 14217

[email protected]

publisher of weird little books

BlazeVOX [ books ]

blazevox.org

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Poets

We stalk the truth

As poets

SensualistsA dualityLimited in sanity.

We labor in our muse.

Carving alphabetsOf experienceInto our hearts.

Bound in primal longings,We pine to be understoodBy ourselves.

As poets,

Our lamentations are glorious,filled with the virtues angelswould learn to envy.

We fall in love foreverMany times, and many times

We die.


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Circe

CirceOne body

Of moving seaA shattered tide leads you home.One wind to own your willAnd shift your value into swine.

She holds your loyalty in her accord;Your anchors are bubbles against her rage.She is Circe the goddess,

Shining her truth before your eyesShining her sorcery onto your shipOf journeys.

She embraces you as prisonersAnd releases you as learners

She is Circe, your sorceress

Of Woman and Tides.


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Muse

To be absorbed in ones thoughts; engage in meditation

~ Websters

In other words: to exist.

Sincerely.

To dress the night and liveAnd search the very breadth

Of languageto seek and marvelTo disagree and openThe clarities. To ponderThe lyrics. To re-inviteInsanities, to shineAgainst the weak.

To sing

To bubble inside ones other halfAnd to measure ones growthIn poetry of reason

To muse, muse,Until its rhyme

Is recalled, rewrittenAnd one might even say then:

To muse is to liveAnd die in the spirit of words;Never to dream, never to silenceAnd pluck petals in meditation

Humming wisdomListened by stone-etched stars.


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Medusas Wisdom

It is the wisest craft of rebirth:

A union of illusions dualities:One birth, one death of course--

The planes of immortalityDevoured by her tusks of knowledgeOn our eventual demise;

It is the truth we muse away from to escape;

But a binding to our fates, nonetheless.Our treasures as men and womenAlike. Yes, she is a woman, but she is fair

In her game of transformationsA liberating truth that through death

We return, reborn.


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Eternal Love

Meditation upon a photograph of two skeletal remains

wrapped in their final embrace

Your passions are asleep now,Entangled in the mass of nights,Beneath the sheets of hours,Inside the braids of your companion.

Sleep now.

Sleep inside your wonders,And ossify your placeInside our muse.

Rest within our illustrationsOf eternal truth.

The night is patientFor your return,When you

Rise

Through words,

And take the hand of your beloved.

Ten little bonesEmbrace, grip and kissFor the eternal relief of love,

The little temperamentOf your affections

Can only rise,

Rise.


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Hawai'i

On her history.

In the thickening distanceA red blush calms and reels.

Before me, the quilted seaTrembles into an awakening,Into raw, inexorable dance.

I rise before you.

Tender statue, perennial promiseOf whispering palms and rising wind,Sinking as your body of dreams,

Vast in its shining glory,Calling remembrance,

Calling all that was, all that will remainAll that softenedInto a tender,

indelible dream.


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Kumari Devi

The living goddess. In Nepal, Kumari Devi is the tradition

of worshiping pre-pubescent girls as manifestations of the divinefemale energy in Hindu religious traditions.

Lead her; teach herTo draw this tantric sacrifice--It is another form of offeringlike her own, in which she gives--unknowingly from perfection and youth.

Kumari Devi will not fear this darknessAll darkness; it is her caveof new worship and jewels:It is a test, dear child, to weighyour divinity.

Teach her to float upon this earth

Within her palace of prayers,for her feet have discoveredthe bareness of idolization.

Teach her not to cry,to whimper before the king--before her adopted people,never to rub her eyes before

her children.Her pearly drops (valuedby mother) are cause for alarm;calling the voice of deathBefore her painted eyejust between herTwo dilating windows into another realm.

Grip her hand and kiss her cheek,This pale child needs reason to believeHer blood is valuedOutside the walls of her divinity.


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We Are the Mob

We are the mob,

We are your family,Your gods,

The words that stitch your fate,The sighs, the sounds, the fiery lipsThe fists. We are your loyalties,The mending of your faith.

We are your forgiver,Your intruder,The canvas of your taste.

And you.

You areOur servant,

Our neighbor,Our enemy,

Our friendly prayerBefore the feast.


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One More

Here is one more letter from one poet

To the poet feasting in you.One more frame of natureOne more touch of symmetryOne notation of humanity.One measure of wisdomRounding your lipsAs the reader

Here is one more disguise,One mask of philosophy

One more actor speaking one more line.

Here is one more truthAnd one more lie.


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Ode to Mother

Two angels

Play & in their rosy chamberThey weigh your nameLike rhyming treasures:

If there were a word, mightier

Than Love,

Mother

Would be mightier,& far more loyal.

& if a single wordCan command from Kings

A pause or tear, what wordIs greater, & far more dear?

A word far loftierThan that humble praise,

The other angel plays.

Fate

Hangs high aboveThis cradle in which we stir,& concurs all kings, both vile& sincere. Fate concurs all,

Fate is the word.

Fate may steerHappiness we bestow,


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Thus I bowWith respectFor your word.

But can this fate collapseThree allied gods

Of love,& moral dynasty?

Can this word you hold so dear,Quake immortality

With windward fears?

Mother can combatThis splintered shadow,My word is armed with love.

Fate can breed & die with work,But love is the child of mother.

& mother is saved by child.As mother cradlesThe child in youth,The child shines her nameWith proof

Above the fatedEclipse of death.

This vital truth of MotherWeighs far greaterThan the commonMapping of your stars.

This humble praiseI proudly pronounce:

Mother

Hugs your fateAs time hugs the scars.


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The other angel stirs:Please considerMy word, Fate

Is armedWith much:

Joy, death,Envy, & a maskOf love, we drawAs obsessions--

What stirsMy words workIs a single measureBound to every person,& even in your child

Of love

This occasionalPoison we mourn as hate.

My word can commandSuch venom, I sadly admit,

Such venom, indeed,

That feasts awayAt the tender craftingOf this nurtured childs faith.

Through my fate

Your product of love

Your cherished child

Has learned to hate.


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& if there is no love,Is there a mother?

If love is to abandon

Your word,Your word serves mineThrough mortality.

Through my word,Yours must die.

Mother is but folly

To the hidden demonsOf my fate

& lives as long,As my stars can trace.

I disagree, the first angel boastswith light. I disagree

With your disvalue of love.With what esteemDo you shame & weakenThis seed, which first floweredInto infantine humanity?

Was it hate, this weapon

You justify with praise,That which nurturedThe birth of progress?

Was it hate that unitedBrothers & sons?That bred kings& marked countries & seas,

& fed healthy passions,& rising charities?


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Was hate that men valuedConsistently above self,

Was hate their light?

Does man count the stars,& scour for hate?

Does he wake for hate?

To this you must agree,It was 'Mother'

Love of country,Of self, of companionship,& immortality,

That nurtured our progress.

& my word,

Mother

Taught the trade of loveTo members of progressionSo man has means to dream.

After all, aren't all dreams

Cultured by desire?

Desire nurtured by some love,

All love nurtured by Mother

Mother nurtured by progress,

Progress nurturedBack to desire

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The Living Air by Masiela Lusha Book Preview