and smite the world
with a poem
messages from the deeps
by Joel A. Wendt
What is a poem, but a magic incantation the poet uses to evoke a gateway
into the heart of the spirit world - the place where
resides the yet uncreated and unformed
these poems must be read aloud
or fairies will haunt you in the dark of night
for the sin of having no imagination or passion at all
May Flowers, from April Showers
the day is Grey, and dark
clouds mask the sky
I watch Hannibal on TV
obscene corpses presented as art
drama appealing to the dark side of human beings
where are the screams of the politically correct?
where is the conscience of the network that uses
such beastly titillation in order to sell advertising ...
ten million Caligula’s Haunt our passages through this Age
sung to music by ten million Nero’s fiddling
the worst dreamers of Rome reborn
dance among us now
like the flasher opening his raincoat
surprising us and taking delight in our
we, the strange mirror to their devices,
what do we reflect to their observation of us?
Should we kill them, knowing they play
us like a deranged new orchestra of mad serial voyeurs -
we the mouse - they the super intelligent cat
licking its paws, and staring into space
having forgotten the prior moment,
and waiting only for the next
ball of yarn - ball of human desire
waiting only to push our souls down into the
nasty smelling pail of kitty litter we call a brain ...
are Cats and Dogs actually domesticated,
or is it just human beings that have been trained
and had their animal nature seemingly castrated
We like to believe we are light only,
having so many clever ways of denying our
own dark hungers and actions ...
Do Saints and Guru’s really gain the highest,
or do they only stand on our drowning shoulders
like the sailors standing on each other trying
to reach the air above and live, while floundering in the sea
of civilization’s raging storms,
We forget that the beautiful tree in our yard
can only live because its roots go into the deepest
darkest places of the Earth, there to find food and water
for its buds and leaves and flowers ...
A gorgeous forest is also an underworld of tangled roots
and hard stones, and caves wherein the rodents thrive
with the worms - that strange creature with a face at
both ends, and which when cut to pieces just grows another ...
birds eat worms, and then fly in sunlit spaces ...
would you eat your own self-worms in order to fly?
I am haunted by the truth ...
For years I sought this seeming ghost
of how to describe reality as both
spirit and matter ...
I read books, studied teachers,
I found my way to the
School of Life’s Mysteries, which surrounded
my individual biography, and
gave myself to what it taught ...
surrendered to the secrets
hidden in my own tale ...
following their lead
I still dreamed dreams,
of which some turned out
to be maps to the future,
not just fantasies
At the same time I am haunted by myself
who am I
what am I
why am I
how am I
when am I
where am I
the worms of dark feeling
devour the traces of my best self
and turn me into food for my “darker other”
Lucifer’s Pride haunts me too
Shouldn’t I save the world,
take home every homeless person
only eat what starving others eat?
Why should my life be good
and full of laughter and love
when so many other-Thous
The Father of Lies too
rides my soul, ...
can I distinguish his tangled roots from my own
Do I know the TRUTH!!!!
What is that?
Ancient Wisdom says:
we are the small world, which is
a duplicate analog of the great world
in us resides a version of the Good,
of Christ and the Holy Mother ...
my soul is a musical instrument which
I can learn to play, by deciding where to lean my
attention, and what to create with my intention
do I study worms and roots, light and darkness
seek fame, seek love, seek revenge
or ... do I
hide in forgetting, in insanity, in death
or in sleep ...
each night I do this, do I not ... sleep, die a bit,
forget and wander in the halls of madness where
impossible dreams seem all too real
then there is the stuff of my mind
ideas, concepts, generalized concepts and
mental pictures - all borne and driven on seas of
invisible feelings with the storms of fear and anger
and rage and terror ... sadness sorrow and hate ...
unless I dance and sing on my happy feet,
and smile and hug and play with puppies and
kittens, or get drunk with old friends, have an affair
with someone where I work ... plot to blow up anything
within reach of my raw passions against ...
to be human, is, as Walt Whitman said:
“I am multitudes”.
and to be haunted by all my possibilities
meanwhile living in the deranged house of
cards that is my biography,
my persona tale,
little of which I
control, some of which (or more) I would
change, unmake, do over ...
there are so many kinds of thoughts
so many shades of feeling
so many worms and roots
so many angels and demons
so many gods and causes and ...
sunny days, where nothing happens
and I can have a smoke or a drink and just
watch the clouds paint the sky ...
just as my dreams, desires, wants and needs
paint the life of my mind ...
He touches me you know, Christ touched me.
more than once ...
He sang of love and forgiveness and
healed me in those wounds I most needed healing
more important ... He sang that I was just fine as
I was ... there was no need to be better
or any kind of other -
I was loved just as I was.
and, truth to tell,
and be haunted with:
so are We all.
5/11 and 12/2013
a place, a time, an Age
ancient, modern, futuristic
wanton, obscene, deadly
bright, holy, innocent
I wander there,
free perhaps ...
tired, rested, joyful
near 7 billion souls
are with me,
wandering and wondering
and then there are the quiet ones,
the ones who don’t need to shout
and get everyone else’s attention ...
the ones who are content just being themselves ...
that’s a hard enough task, being just the human being
we want and need to be.
we inhabit the World
we billions ...
but just what is it we inhabit?
what is this World?
Does it have a story?
Our time - via the “scientist”
sings songs of big bangs and long
hidden sea swells of evolution
upon evolution, upon evolution
until the human being appears,
on this grave stage: the World
so there are two now
us billions and the stage - the World
we seem to be its progeny - this World
of big bangs and evolutionary trees
made us out of itself ... or so the tale is told ...
but when ever did the stage make the actor?
do the floorboards transmute themselves into
feet and legs and hair and teeth, and
ultimately speech and song?
by the myths of science, a long long tale
to be sure,
the stuff appears out of nothing, and
having more time than god (who it is
declared by some to only have taken seven days),
the stuff from nothing makes a human being ...
a miracle of accidents and random chaos
a mad tale we tell children, who lacking
yet reason have no basis on which to disagree ...
when these children play with sand on the beach
we might suggest how they too can create castles in
the air - visions of billions of years where everything
is made of pieces of sand, thrown up into the air
where wind and tide take all these little pieces
and rearrange them into countless forms
stars and suns and planets and plants
and animals and us billions on a stage ...
great power and wisdom must this miracle
of accidents and random chaos have,
for its mad tale lets us breathe and
bleed and talk and walk and fuck
and get drunk and cry and be sad
and run and wear silly hats
when I was young, I was told this tale
in books and bits and pieces of language
although the tale in Church was not
the same tale is in school
until one day I discovered thoughts!
invisible to others, mine only to have;
but thoughts nonetheless ...
whence came these miracles of meaning
in which I swam .... the tale of the myth-making
scientist was that I had a brain - some material stuff
that lent me thoughts, and perhaps even lent me the
thought (not true it seemed for some) that I even existed
so now the tale got stranger .... a miracle of accidents
and random chaos made a stage on which us
billions danced and with grave madness and certainty
the priests of science declared:
I was not! I was not! I was not!
I do believe I prefer my silly hats, and
would rather have tea with a mad hatter
then believe the miracle of accidents ...
why ever would I think us billions had
no point, and were but a virus and a disease
on the poor earth-world, hell bent to destroy it?
that strange thought others sell me
is their vanity - their belief they know better than me ...
I’d rather remain a child in love with play,
than follow the mad scientist off the cliff
in the cart of the miracle of accidents
who is he to tell me what to think ...
How shameful to insist he knows better
of a past no scientist has even seen
but only dreamed, taking his theories
for great truths, ...
all the same too, the priests of books,
called religion, who also tell me what to think and believe ...
how crass of them, how arrogant ...
is there a truth which is sounder and better
than the miracle of accidents and the old teachings
in dusty books shoved in my face in Sunday school?
who do I ask?
not these men, these priests of science or these
priests of religion - they hardly seem reliable ...
perhaps methinks, I should ask the World from
whence it came ... will not the world itself know its
home, is place of birth, its future ...
the World lets me dance on its surfaces,
hide in its caves,
play on its sea shores
walk in its rain,
and parts the clouds for me at night so
I can see the stars ...
a good companion this World ...
it gives me fruit and grains and meat
and eggs and fur to wear if I am cold ...
its lightening gives fire, and while I
pursue its secrets there is one thought I
have which rebels against the priests of
both science and the books of so-called gods ...
it is the thought I first felt in early childhood
that the World was alive and magical
and that She/He/It knew me as I knew it
we were kindred this World and I
both of us billions and the World
had self-consciousness and Being
I was its Child! Its beloved Child!
Now there is a tale well told - some think
it is too primitive, given how many aboriginals
tell the same story, where trees can talk, and
rocks can sing and stars play on seas of light
I like that story ... I want to be part of that story
I want to be the Child of Father Sky and Mother Earth ...
so boo I say to the miracle of accidents and the myths of dusty old books
go away and leave us billions alone - stop confusing us with
the madness of priests of either science or religion - we billions need
none of that in order to touch and love and dance and sing
and play on the stage of the World that loved me into Being
and gave me thought so that I could know and sing myself the World’s
we are all brothers and sisters, cousins and kin ...
animal, plant, stone and star -
and we billions -
all related and loved
and in love, should we so choose.
letter to President Obama #1
Are you my President?
I don’t believe so.
I don’t believe you are even your President.
I don’t believe you are who you want to be
Maybe you are Michelle’s President,
but mostly I think you are the President your
advisors want you to be, safe, cautious,
intellectual, disconnected, cold, aloof,
outside looking in.
You got to the door of the candy store
but have just stayed at the window
America needs a President who takes risks,
and who cares passionately about something ...
almost anything ...
we can forgive mistakes of passion,
but not fear driven errors of
too much carefulness ..
Benghazi came from that,
from the errors of caution
whenever politicians act with “restraint”,
not risking their “elections”
our public life dies the death of too little too late
they call you a “lame duck”, yet ...
if you paid attention, this is the very
best time to take risks, for your election
in the future is not in play
your party might complain, they want
to own you, and save their own elections
from the vagaries of voters
but you don’t work for them,
your work for us,
for “we the people”
and we need risk taking statesmen
not liars and cheats, and
those who put things off until
its to late ...
there is a reason we hate you,
you know ...
and you only have yourself to blame ...
you are dis-likable, and in wanting to be liked
you also kill what we need from you
we don’t need to like you,
once elected and granted so much power
we need you to act
.. . to act you fool
we need you to be willing to die,
to risk what you ask all our
children to risk,
when you send them off to war ...
we need you to displease the powerful
to upset the wealthy
to make the other weak and lame
to make the press wake up
to make us all wake up
you belong to the world,
not to Wall Street
or the Democrat Party
You belong to us ...
not even to yourself ...
and, if you are not ours,
then you are nothing
but a vanity waiting for
the fools that write history
to tell pretty stories about you
that will not include how
“we the people” suffered
the slow death of a thousand cuts
because you lacked the guts to
do the obvious
leave the moral swampland
that festers there and only
and deadly mushrooms
in waters full of decay
polluted by too much money
and lacking any ideas at all of value
Washington is stupid, its inhabitants
a joke for late night comedians ...
you play games and do nothing there,
while we suffer and you have lives the
rest of us need ...
politicians are useless parasites on
the body politic ...
come to us,
ask us for advice,
not your political friends
who serve everyone’s needs but ours ...
take off the suit, and the tie
and the glib bullshit face,
be part of our pain, and let me give you just a couple
actual ideas ... there can be thousands if you
start to pay attention to your poets and
your singers and your playwrights
and your comedians.
roll up your sleeves and get your hands dirty,
work in a fast food restaurant for a day,
in a hospice for another day
and in a cubicle in front of a computer
for third ...
know our lives intimately
as an experience, not as a vanity
of imagined liberal fantasy ...
hang out with a gun toting red neck
family, whose yard is full
of old tires and trucks
and useless things
that broke before
sure, use the secret service
to keep you safe, we
don’t want you to die,
we’ve been there before, and done that before ...
but there is no truth in the swampland,
only in the heartland
where real people live and suffer
and age and die ...
Washington is an illusion ...
there is nothing real there at all
to be an actual man of the people,
actually be of the people every day ...
you won’t find the people in the halls
of congress ... just parasites and fools
who believe that by going to Washington
by going to a place of seeming power
they can fix things ...
You know who actually fixes things ...
“We the people” do.
All the idiots that live in the swampland do
is make problems for the rest of us,
while serving the rich and the powerful
and lying to the public
Are you with them,
If you join with us you’ll have
more real power than any politician in
years, for “we the people” are the engine
which makes America go,
we are America’s muscles and bones
and brains and heart and spirit and soul
and hope and truth ...
Washington is just a cancer that needs to be excised
from the body politic ...
We are life,
there ... in the swampland ... is only death ...
the Mystery of Lust
In the dark of deep night
I want to have her
to own her body
to possess it
I want to become engorged
and penetrate every orifice,
and I want, I used to suspect, to sin
I need to dominate
to satisfy any sexual hunger
I don’t always want to romance
or to be gentle
what is most worst
is this Hunger
this near unfathomable need
includes wanting her to give in to me
completely of her own free will
I need her surrender
her yin to my yang
I need her to want to be dominated
and hungered for
in all the raw ways possible
everything I can ask
she must choose to give
yet, this is not about debasement
how can Lust debase what is freely given?
nor is it about power
I want no power over her at all
for I too want to surrender
to give into the Lust
to embrace the untempered Hunger
yet not be there, in that dark seeming place
of raw Lust
I want, need, her company
in the dark deeps of the night
when the Hunger is aroused
Not only that I want her to urge
take me she must say
have me she must say
she is to open to me
to spread her arms and her legs
and lay back
and tell me to penetrate her
my hungry mouth
or she turns herself over
I go into her
must burn through both of us
taking away all inhibitions
for in this burning the Lust is pure some way ...
how can that be?
a primal power of the creation is appearing
a need for uniting that overcomes all reluctance
where the resisting mind fades away
and the body itself surrenders
to all sensation both inner and outer
to all urgent demand
to plant the seed
to plow her
and plunder her
and shower her
nor is this a gesture of animalness
this is the urge for pure generation
for combining egg and seed
electric and magnetic and atomic
is this desire, this Lust, this Hunger
this is not sin in fact
but something holy
we are making something together ...
we are making a new body
a new avatar
for a new person
for the fire of the Lust comes
also from outside us
from the spirit of the child who needs and wants
a physical body in which to be born
there are three of us here now
we two, male and female
past and present
making a beginning place
a first iteration of a house
meant to become a temple
for the mystery of the future-other
the one who can’t come from their star
and descend into
until we surrender to its Lust
for earthly life
that flows over and around us
this Other-Hunger wants to
to own us
to possess us
and needs us to submit to
the gate into physical life
is through Lust,
through the overriding
Hunger of the spirit to
be in flesh
Even the Gods knew this, for the poet sang:
And the Word became Flesh and dwelt among us
Is not each child to be born
its own spirit/word?
no wonder St. Paul
feared the power of the Hunger
the freedom of the physical earthly body
to surrender to the non-earthly spirit
to submit to the needs of the body
seemed to him to give up his power and freedom,
not realizing that nothing that exists
is outside of Gods’ Love, in all their holy glory
so then did the Church too
born in Paul’s confusion
Lust was a power
they sought to control but could not
so they stole it for a time,
from nuns and monks
and made little fake temples they
called monasteries and nunneries,
but which were not true temples
for their purpose was to possess
to transmute and transform it and
to own its generative and creative powers thus changed
for the Church itself
without the captured primal passions of the Religious,
the Church had no moral heart
the primal Hunger of life to begat life
was given no room for its natural expression,
and in the end this coerced celibacy
could not defeat the holy and sacred
nature of Lust for Life,
yet by the Church’s capture was so deformed and transmuted
it became in some a true source of evil
masked as love
the Church also sought to confine
procreation to the marriage bed
but Lust was not to be bound
or controlled there either
when the spirit needed to incarnate in matter
it came, regardless of authorities
lost in fear or the need to dominate
which is why men and women came sometimes to fear it
to fear to surrender to it,
and began to name something holy
and so powerful a sin
but the old goddess religions knew this power,
knew the significance of generation
and embraced it
we moderns think to call the priestesses
and priests of the holy arts of Lust
and from our warped time and point of view
made of Lust and raw desire
when the patriarchs took social control
thousands of years ago, and manufactured
the monotheistic religions dominated by
then did maleness through fear of the generative spirit,
fear of Lust,
and its threefold partnership:
male, female and incarnating child
introduced then all the horrible distortions
of holy human sexuality
that we call porn
or genital mutilation
Oh, the Churches tried,
the religions tried
the male dominated priesthoods tried
but the primal powers of creation
were not theirs to possess
Lust belongs to itself,
and we can only surrender to it
and submit in wonder
and in awe
when in freedom the male and the female
through arts of mutual provocation and intoxication
let in the Hunger
of the incarnating spirit
seeking a body in which to enter into earthly existence
so it can rush earthward headlong from its star
toward the stage of life
this world, and the needed company of
so as to dance and sing
while He reminds us gently of this truth of innocence ...
lest ye become again as little children, ye cannot enter the kingdom of heaven
for Lust is adult play of the highest sort
a surrender to the world of sensation
which is also part of the Creation
We were not made to suffer
to resist the impulses for pleasure and joy
why else do we sing and dance in the temples
and shout and praise
the body is a temple,
lent to us by acts of Lust,
we are all from a father and a mother
we are all from our own star
seemingly hellbent to enter into the earth existence
to enter into the deeps of the body
but being not yet perfect
we descend partial and often lame
the Hunger of the spirit
for incarnation in the avatar
temple of the physical body
includes the need to learn
to master self
to become something more
so we want to temper Lust and
hope that at its root it is Love,
which as a truth is surely divinely real
for the divine does not create in error ...
even we humans do not error in the sense of sin,
we only make the mistakes of the unlearned,
the not yet wise ...
so the Lust and the Hunger
the joining of male and female
and child to be
in the generative act of procreation
is such a primal power that it cannot
and will not be confined by human
religious hectoring, which is too much Beam
and almost no Mote at all
the Divine Mystery knows not rules
so why would it decree we adhere
to laws and commandments
an act the patriarchs of the monotheistic
religions decreed a sin in their twisted lust
for power and domination
jealous of women’s power
to carry the child’s growing temple in their womb
and to be naturally a principle source of love
for this incarnating spirit-child during its whole life
these old men lorded their self-loved pain
over women, repressed them, for millennia
but the spirit cannot be repressed
cannot be stilled,
so today, in our Age
Lust bursts forth its chains and
women will not accept control of their
bodies, their temples
for their instinct is sure that something holy
is at risk,
and the twisted lusts of men for domination
must be fought ...
or all of us, male and female and child
will be ruined,
and hate of the temple of the body
will be thus fostered,
and hate of the independence of the spirit
will be thus fostered ...
and the modern World of we-billions
drowns in the raging seas of Karma
a civilization must Fall to make room
for the next one
the Goddess religions honored the Father God,
but the godless monotheistic religions dishonored
the Mother God,
thus founding Western Civilization on a great Lie,
one so great that the Lord of the Dance Himself
had to come and die on a Cross
to lead us all toward Redemption
the Redemption of Eros,
the true name
of Lust and the Hunger for unity
of the primal power of generation
to overcome separation
and help us seek a World made whole
and Holy once more
yet, why then abortion and porn
and genital dis-figuration and rape
and all the other crimes against women?
Because the ever and again incarnating spirit
voyaging the ages and times from past to present
and into future - this reincarnating spirit, going from
one physical body avatar to another ...
learns only through strife and struggle
so that in our Age, we are faced
in the most direst of ways with
deep questions of moral confusion ...
the Lust and the Hunger, once managed
through social do’s and don’ts are now
ours alone to discipline ... and we will
only learn their mastery by trial and error
and through the alchemy of ups and downs
and choices ...
we are to be personally responsible for
what Eros, what Lust and the Hunger -
what the generative power of the creation -
does in our lives ...
these are our choices, and no religion
or any science can deny our freedom to determine
and rule them by ourselves ...
the gravitas of life is ours now to know ...
a great gift, in a mystery dance often
only captured in verse and song:
an “Amazing Grace” for all.
Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.