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Under The Poet Tree ©Sachi
#5
LIFE
My cats dance like ballerinas in the sun
I can hear the river flowing next to the house after the rain
Birds sing and flutter by my face like faeries
Deer stand frozen, knee deep in snow somewhere on winter mornings
I eat papayas in the sun for breakfast.
The peacock offers me his irridesence in payment for a handful of seeds.
Right now, I'll just feed the baby peacock some more sweet papaya.
September 7, 1997--POEM5
#6
THE OPENING
Once the needle brought her back to life
She Entered, Slender
Dark and Statuesque
Smelling of Gold & Silver
Transparent green wafts past dillitantes
Filling up her every space
She, The Queen of Openings
in a parade
Of flies
You, the ravenous trout
Snap hastily at her shiny lure. .
A Timeless Waterfall...Thrown relentlessly
Deep, Under and Over
Frothing, Raging
Within an incessant stream
Of deep lustful gazes
She hooks from you
a frozen plaster smile,
While paddeling the olives in her martini canoe
And You beg
For spiritual deliverance,
Oxygen,
And crowbar for your face.
May 5, 1996~ Sachi#6
#7
THE HIVE
Produce, or walk the streets begging for change
This world is not for the faint at heart
A hive of activity
In the parade of tiny liceike beings
With people faces from up here
Scurrying around down on the small blue orb
I, Suspended in space
Down there, no room for love, imagination or art
Self expression is against the law
Punishible by poverty and banishment, starvation.
Produce or walk the streets begging for change
A world once filled with wonder, nature and living things
Now, spiritually bankrupt
A hive of ruling chiefs
Without enough Indians in fear
In the parade of silicon chips
First, implanted in pets for their safety
Then in children for theirs
In twenty years a generation of robots
Soulless, mindless, and heartless.
Produce or walk the streets begging for change
Computers have no mind
No way to qualify
Integrity, kindness or mercy
Inventions are created through imagination
Information is transmitted through the internet
Secrets can't be secrets anymore
And the Chiefs hate that.
They say,
"Produce or walk the streets begging for change!". . .
I sat circling the blue orb of mind's space ship
Gazing down at them
A species that once had hope
A garden of plenty with fruits, herbs, seasons and splendor
They ate from the tree of knowledge
Judging who and what
Were the good - while others evil
Banishing themselves
Making God in the image of foolish men
Calling Life
Good and Evil
Only generations away
From bodies and brains of apes.
Produce or walk the streets begging for change
Spirits still intact
They forgot about love
It took one who first cried out
"Wake up and smell the herbs"
There is a place for love in this world after all.
When we remember
Imagination, invention and joy
And all things material are free,
There will once again be
Time for play
To walk in The Garden
Abundant with fruits & Herbs
Created for pleasure and joy
For beings
With bodies and brains of animals
Evolving Spirits
Constantly changing
No longer insects, apes
Or robots
That once walked the solid earth
as Chiefs and Indians..
September 7, 1997 Sachi #7
#9
A DAY IN 1979
Wind blowing
Sun Warming
Sea rolling
Endlessly
Rocks glistening
Wet with water
Dewdrops on flowers
One at a time
Clouds in formation
Always changing
Like Life--
Always a surprise
Like
Colors
And smells
And feelings
Alone and naked
Not always naked
But always Alone.
Sachi 12/79 #9
#10
THE FIGURE STUDY
Wet black hair shines
sloshy sable brown
full wet brush
loaded for the ballerina
dancing across a page
of lights and shadows
bare breasts peek
out pink from
blossoms of
indigo purples
Spirit hands
close eyes
while the Muse works magic
on wet paper
colorful pirouettes
leap and pink oranges bounce
on the tip of her nose
the sweet victorian lacy angel
clean puffed and powdered
Not real or human
but suddenly someone.
FINI
Sachi 4/30/97-#10
#11
PRACTICALLY ART
Art!
What a frivilous endeavor
Dig a ditch instead!
Left handed, critical
Dominator
Psycho babbler
Self Loather
Mind of my male
HATES
Over population.
Breeders,
Killers,
Forest Eradicators,
Biology and Orifices.
The Love Boat Leaks
So save a Whale
And
Use the News
Instead of
a roll
Of Toilette Papier
...Sachi 1/97
#11
#12
ALMOST SUNNYBROOK
Tears & Fears
From five hard pops
on the bottom
and one to grow on.
My Birthday Bashing,
They baked a cake
With blackberries
On the wood stove,
It filled the kitchen
With purple perfume
And cinnamon butter.
Warm and safe
Where creeks trickled over shiny pebbles
Tiny tot toes tickeled
By water skippers
Barefoot baby loved the woods
And Grama
But not PaPa today--
Wet black lashes and her lower lip
Told him so...
So...
He wiped her tears
Gave her a scratchy whiskered kiss
And a squeeze
Then we ate the cake
They baked on
My fifth Birthday
Sachi 1/97--#12
#13
THE YELLOW KHARMANN GHIA
L.A. to San Francisco
By way of Big Sur
Flying convertible pilot
Like Snoopy
Past green hills
and empty pastures
Waves crashed under high bridges
Vertigo reminded me
of earthquakes and falling things...
Like me.
Flying high in the rain
Blasts of hot air seeped
through Worn Fry boots to frozen toes
Wet hair ripped
cold blue lips and a windburned face--
And there he stood...
Nameless, with red parasol,
Purple velvet skirt
A character from a Fellini Dream
With John Lennon's glasses.
I screeched to a hault and fearlessly
Gave him a ride.
We talked and talked,
He of his time in India as a naked Holy Man
Me of my time in Hollywood
As a naked Playboy Centerfold
We had bare butts in common.
Spiritual war stories
wiggled his comical top knot
as we laughed and laughed--
Later silenced by the majesty of redwood giants.
We drank in salty mountain air
and woodsy fragrances
along the coastline
in the wind
in the Yellow Kharmann Ghia convertible--
Then hugged,
Parting in Silence--
Never to Speak Again.
Sachi 10/96-#13
#14
NUCLEAR VISION
Inside one head
a trillion pictures
a world invented
for future use
A history of man
prances and swaggers
dies and dances
that reflection
blazes in my own eyes
And rages within...
Armed for nuclear fusion
A candidate for
Spontaneous Combustion.
....Sachi 7/8/95#14
#15
AGHAST
Poets and Linguists
Must look at us
As a group
In somber gazes
and
Shake their throbbing heads in disgust.
The work of the past
Language of the philosopher
Aristotle The dreamer,
Now cast aside
For Mud Pie
and a
Diet Coke with lotsa caffeine.
Too much information
For a scurrying breed
No time for reflection
But rather scoff manically
at pretention
and surf the net
For phone sex.
............Sachi 1997-#15
#21
BUDD~HA
I thought I'd walked a thousand miles
Alone and Forgotten
The scent of eucalyptis pods
in the wind
Checkers, chess and scrabble
jogged my memory of wet rocks
On the beach
Glistening, steadfast
They sat a zillion years
caressed and pounded
Manicured by salty sand
And sea foam.
Suddenly black robes of a zen monk in winter
flapped as we passed...
On that Santa Barbara sidewalk
One, perhaps two seconds passed
Before I turned and ran
Offering tea and sweet biscuits with honey.
We sat on the floor of the sunny Victorian sun room
Exchanging energy and laughter
He was walking to Mt. Shasta
And I loved him for that hour
Now he walks a thousand miles
Barefoot in winter snow
In my mind
another lifetime.
........Sachi 1/97#21
RELEASED MAY 1, 1999
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