Category Archives: Marty Wilde

Gypsy trash

I’m one of the ones
They came in from the road

This fire burns
on invisible ink

A slow
quiet panic
translates
as blinking lights . .

Words that no longer mean—
words used the way they don’t seem—

Who lost their face
in the dark
casting shadows
lit up by the fire
burns on invisible ink—

Who went out of the way
to let go
even though
there was no undoing
our inheritance—

A steady drumbeat swings—

Who looked down the well—
who fell—
small droplets cling
to a magnifying glass

No,
no, that
wasn’t it

Who dries up and hangs from the sun—

Who spoke in moths—

Who picks up the symbols
and shuffles them
into little boxes of misunderstanding—

Who left behind
Durga’s in the sand—

Who could no longer wait
at the bus stop speakerbox
disconnect neon highlighter

Behind Dark Wings

Whose are these dark eyes that stare diamond-like from behind dark wings?

That carry the shadow of a small boy that loathes his own vessel.

 

The shame of not being the same.

The shallow stoney grave scratched in the path by fear.

 

I will wipe the lipstick from the child’s face

and hold you in the excellence of my heart

 

I will throw witchcraft at your smokescreens

and gold your beauty

and will tenderly touch your cheek

with the back of god’s hand

 

I love you in this instant of a stolen moment

 

For love values the other

as it values its self

© 2017 Martin H Wilde

Im Dyin Lord

They call it depression
In the looking glass
I do not know
I call it the path

Emotional healing
And I can’t complain
I’m looking up ahead
An approaching train

It stops to get me
And I climb aboard
It takes me down
To the place that I’m…

Dying Lord
I’m dying Lord
Said I’m dying Lord

I’m Dying Lord
Emotional upheaval
Said I’m dying Lord

© 2015 Martin H Wilde

The Authentic Offering

Communion with the Great Primal Other is made possible through an authentic sacrifice or offering. It is not necessary that the offering be perfect, but it is essential that the offering is authentic.

The authentic offering makes it possible to move from literal space to ritual space. It is in ritual space that the Great Primal Other can provide the energy that powers the spiritual transformation.

THE LIE OF ROMANCE

Of all the lies we’re fed
on which we gorge in our comfort-addicted world,
none is more insidious than the lie of romance,
the seductive but infantile notion
that somewhere there exists
someone to complement us in every way
someone who will make us complete.

Of course,
this illusion keeps us
from ever being complete in and of ourselves,
and eventually encourages us
to despise our shortcomings, our flaws,
everything in which our humanity lies.

Our humanity, without which, of course,
we are nothing.

Life is Short (music)

Life is short
She said

Life’s too short
He said

Too short to feel
Too short to wait

Can you hear me?
Can you hear me?
Can you hear me, my friend?

Life is short
She said
Wanna do what I wanna do
Don’t want to wait

Life’s too short
He said
Don’t wanna feel
Life’s too short
He said

Life too short
Too short to wait
Too short to suffer
Too short to love

Life is long
So, so long
So, so long
So long my friend

© 2015 Martin H Wilde