Category Archives: blog – 1: ART (comics, film, music…)

Poetry Reruns…

Standard

So, I’ve decided to rerun some of my poems because I have recently gotten involved in an illustrated poetry book. I am pleased with the images and thought I should run them with my poems… plus, no one ever reads my poetry, so I figure if I rerun a few of them, maybe 3 or 4 more people might read them.

Below is an illustration for a poem I did not write.

The rest (below) are all illos. for poems I did write… enjoy!

Existence

Existence

Goddess Of The Azaleas

Standard
Goddess Of The Azaleas

Goddess Of The Azaleas

Goddess Of The Azaleas
by Barefoot Justine

In a sea with no sound but my own warmth and vibration,
In such resonance Shiva, Atman, Aum and all resolve,
To Destroy, create, maintain, I, one sinuous forever,
In whose gravity particles alive as fireflies revolve.

And I, a Goddess, aglow, the color of the azaleas,
Ten arms undulating in waves of roiling magnificence,
Three eyes closed in the silent harmony of eternity,
No din of thought to dim the melody of pure existence.

Floating in the cosmic sea, a mountain of sacred peace,
Soaring weightless over rock and tree, river and sod,
And I am light, and I am joy, and I am life hereafter,
And light and joy and life in self are all as one in God.

When Shiva Whispers

Standard
When Shiva Whispers

When Shiva Whispers

When Shiva Whispers
by Barefoot Justine

When solitude comes to me as its lonely worst,
A cloud of suffering mists my mornings.

When solitude comes to me as the breath of Shiva,
my vision is awash with shimmering saffron.

When I am she alone battling in my darkest hollows,
With a soured stomach I long for silence.

When all and one purr like twin tigers in my heart,
Silence flows clear as crystal springs.

When I alone am bloodied by demoniac struggles,
I see no path to virtue or release.

When I alone am one with all and one with truth,
I have no desire for the songs of men.

When Shiva seems to me but paint and fragile plaster,
No wisp of peace wafts from stillness.

When Shiva’s whispers warm my ears full of grace,
I melt into him with tearful trembles.

When maya barks its verses to me the virgin Mara,
I cannot hear the wisdom of the shlokas.

But when I wander quietly the lush green forest,
Every tree drops leaves of grace and wisdom.

Jai, jai! Every tree drops leaves of grace and wisdom.
Har Har Mahadev! Har Har Mahadev!

I Am Therefore

Standard
I Am Therefor

I Am Therefor

I Am Therefore…
by Barefoot Justine

I am not the pillar cypress swaying,
I am not the rattled dirty window,
Nor am I the wary eye of my watching,
I am the very movement of the wind.

I am not the harbor of my precious pains,
I am not the gnawing claws of my regrets,
I am not my beliefs, nor the believing,
I am this peace that need know nothing.

I am not a shadow of he who travelled with me,
I am not of the bile he held in our bellies,
His whiskey breath could not contain me,
Nor am I worm, cocoon or Rapunzel’s butterfly.

I am not this headache which cannot touch me,
I am not this clot, nor stroke nor cancer,
Nor these thousand thoughts eating their tails,
And further not redoubling doubts and dreading.

I am not the echo of those who hurt me,
Nor the barbs of canker in those I’ve wounded,
I am not the song of our sad hearts singing,
Nor even the rumble of our forsaken laughing.

I am that silent breath of Shiv which wants not,
That altar of Ganapati’s heart which needs not,
That which travels to reach beyond my all,
That whose wanderlust has been sated and reborn.

I am the fall of a million cloudburst sisters,
I am far beneath the low of this long fall ended,
Yet far above the cloud of this fall’s birthing,
And I, of one, and all are of the fall itself.

I am the wet that manifests the drop of rain,
That becomes my sisters on the ground,
That knows no breathless pain for falling,
That knows no fear in fateful ending.

I am silver dew of grass into which I fall,
And I am the rain rippling in the pooling,
I am all the rain that has become one center,
And am every heaven reflecting in my puddles.

I am both feeding roots and flooding stream,
And I the sunken stones ‘neath river running,
I am all the storm does by doing,
And am the sea and depth with no light shining.

I am not what I was willing to know,
Not what thinking thought were so,
And I stand on nothing that I cognize,
And am only knowing in knowing being.

I am only what I am alone with all,
Not that which thinks therefore I am,
I am that which tastes the infinite nothing,
I am the forever still between my thoughts.

I am that silence between unspoken words,
I am that center, that hearth of home,
And I am sometimes so far and spinning,
From that home where silence holds its center.

I am not that simmering head that chatters so,
But am the stillness of silence in each ecstasy,
Yes I am only endless when one alone,
And reaching for forevermore now in one together.

I am not the steadfast earnest seeker,
Yet am the length between myself and all I’ve lost,
I am no more than the unteachable wisdom,
And more than every truth I have forgotten.

I am every birth of your becoming,
I am myself in all you dream without me,
I am the life in death’s concentric rhythms,
I am, most humbly, one only with God.

Neither I nor you have ever been here,
And neither I nor you will ever leave here,
I am an experience only briefly passing,
I the one and you and all are all.

I am the pillar cypress swaying,
I am the rattled dirty window,
I am the wary eye of my watching,
I am the movement of the very wind itself.

The Bear

Standard
TheBear

TheBear

The Bear
by Justine

A bear, the beast upon my chest, a cumbrous coat of want and greed,
If I could move I could not breathe for suffocating need,
If I could move it’s teeth would bare, wide eyed would I recede,
This bear it pins me in my place, my life it does impede.

His gums are black, his teeth are yellow, and bloodstained all around,
His beastly fur darker than nights when stars dare not shine upon the ground,
His breath the sea and undertow in which so many lost souls have drowned,
Beneath sharp black eyes I tremble still, and my senses he does astound.

This bear, the beast, blinds me to my path, no sky blue can I see,
The meat-blood breath it takes in turns and draws my will from me,
I fear to move, so mighty he, my heart it cannot flee,
I forget myself, sweat and cry, and wish the beast to set me free.

This bear, my beast, it caught with me as I scrabbled up Longing Hill.
The brutish rhythm of its breathing drives it’s weight throughout my will,
This bear it snarls holes of fear all through dreams I’ll not fulfill,
Paralyzed the beast presses me to the earth and drives me like a drill,

To blackness I fade too slow, though never a sleep of dreams,
The leaping salmon this bear ignores, like me they fight their way up streams,
Afraid to open my mouth for fear I could never stop the screams,
This bear this beast was given birth through my life of mad extremes.

The black of sleep I would welcome now but dear God it never comes,
A minute here an hour there, the peace of sleep comes to me in crumbs,
Please I beg you, let me sleep and still the army of warring drums,
The bear, dear God, the darkness too, my tallied karmic sums.

I seek release from the dark cocoon the bear around me he did weave,
From this web I would struggle to be free but with nothing can I cleave,
So mighty the links in his chain of web I’ll never have my leave,
For now I must surrender myself, my hopes I must relieve.

The forest of the bear is deep, his dark breath thunders deeper still,
The darkness is his blood, and thicker than the web, it will not spill,
I’ve lost myself to fur, breath, webbing and the darkness of this hill,
For want and need I’d lost my way, ground to powder in my mill.

This bear is mine, my soul released the beast which chased me down,
The dreams I dreamt and the paths pursued lost me to this last ghost town,
And all my needs have grown such teeth and growled all my golds to brown,
I’ve lost my way but cannot pray while this bear he keeps me down.

The Battle

Standard
The Battle

The Battle

The Battle
by Justine Mara Andersen

A thousand slobbering snarling Rakshasa Demons spit rage,
At my hilltop gates, they know the highest weakness of my walls,
They know every secret chambers in the cellar of my heart,
Though time and again I have thrown myself in surrender,
This once I will hold my own with Ma Durga’s fury as my will,
However foul their jibes and cries, we’ll stare them back to hell.

A thousand Rakshasa Demons spit acid at my every stone,
Fueled by the memory of my many sad sinking surrenders,
They have grown large as elephants and mightier than storms,
These demon fires in my skull surge hell throughout my veins,
And though they bash and batter sorrow at my walls without relent,
I grit my teeth and in my fists clench hard-won holy weapons.

They will not advance a single step under Ma Durga’s tiger’s eye,
Whose breath is like a blacksmith’s sparks spraying through my hair,
With rage and fury we set ablaze my oily doubts and tears,
And fly these black fires from our parapet into the clutching horde,
Ten arms of Durga raise their weapons to shield my every failing,
I still myself on trust in her whilst our fiery blaze consumes them.

Emboldened by so many battles won, again the demons charge,
Battering me with obscenities and curses they’ve handcrafted,
From the rhythms of my beating heart and the crimson of my blood,
In peace and with one breath of God I blow out all their flames,
And in the stillness bind them to each nightmare they inspire,
They’ll not have me, this time at last, for I am not of them.

By the still of day I sit beside the fountain, head in hands,
Bowed down under the weight of battle, we bind my every wound.
I catch my breath and hold still the panic, for even now I know,
What horrors are to come this night, I cry to think them mine,
To Temple I go to silence the raging of such deep infected wounds,
And seek the peace of stillness in the heartless hell to come.

They will come and come again, undeterred and in great hordes,
Until I deny them these coals of cowardice crumbling from my soul,
Until I live less my every weakness and live more my every strength,
By day the birds sing golden sunshine swirls above the temple tower,
From below wafts songs of temple spice and the sweetness of prasadam,
Whilst within the Temple of the silent self waits all I have to hold me.