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The Four Faced Wind

Poetry by Valeria Castellanos

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art

I Do Not Need a Miracle

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“I do not Need a Miracle” – Ink and colored pencil on paper – 5 1/2″ x 7 7/8″ – My Artwork

I do not need a miracle.
I have a dragonfly,
With multi-facetedeyes and a wingspan as wide as my hand,
Who has whispered the secrets of the morning to my ear.

I have a yellow leaf who has danced befor my eyes as beautifully as a butterfly,
And, brought to me a golden, sun lit afternoon when she landed in my lap.

I have a purple, heart shaped pod,
Which has falling off of the vine, into my outstretched hand,
And, has promised a moonflower for my hair will be born tonight.

I have a root which has been an intimate friend of the earth,
And, a rainbow which has enclosed the entire sky.
I have a cloud to lay my head upon.
I have a star.
I have a dream.
I have a songbird and a child.

I do not need a miracle.

I have all the proof I need.

V. Castellanos – November 2014

Unwanted

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“The Edge of the Everglades” – Oil Pastel on paper – 11″ x 8 1/2″ – by V. Castellanos

The Everglades do not want us,
We who would be kings,
We who would be scientists,
Would be magicians,
Mathematicians,
Or, even poets,
We who would crack the genetic code,
And, understand quantum mechanics,
We who would walk in the dusts of the moon,
And, on the rings of Saturn,
We who would build pyramids and bridges,
Conquering empires and devouring the earth,
We who would have the weather under our control,
And, the wind under our command,
With robotic slaves and computational miracles,
Clones and the keys to unlock the secrets of immortality.

We are out of place.
We are not really welcome here.
Only the changelings are welcome,
The fairies raised as humans,
The humans raised as fairies,
But, you know, the changelings are part of the past,
There are no changelings now.

What the Everglades really want,
Is for the dragon souls of its trees,
To be free and unfettered,
To slip beyond the confines of their bark into the clouds,
To sing with the mud and to soar with the eagles,
To celebrate snakes and snails,
To creep out of the darkness,
Into the bodies of beetles and the tongues of the tortoise,
Into the breeze and the alligator’s souls,
Into the panther’s eyes and the wings of heron,
To keep the worlds quick shadows,
And, the green heartbeats,
All in tune with one another,
And, in harmony with the rains and sunshine.
They only want time to pass the way the breezes pass,
And, sunlight to continue caressing the ripples under the grasses.
They want the air to feed the trees,
And, the mud to feed the insects.
They would have the simplicity of chaos,
Excite the complexity of nature,
And, keep the universe expanding.
They would nurture every form of life,
Without limitation, without gradation,
Without judgment.
Keep wanting. Reproduce.
Dancing to music we cannot hear.
Laughing with hurricanes.
Breathing emotion.

But, the spirits can no longer do that,
Because they know we are coming,
Instead they are holding hands,
Holding tight to their dreams,
Holding their breath,
Hiding inside the leaves.
They know who we are.
They hear us, almost upon them,
Surveying equipment in hand,
Trampling through and shouting,
Singing of our accomplishments,
And, ready to take over,
Ready to change,
Everything.

If you stopped trampling about so much,
Could you be as quiet as the blue-black beetle,
As calm as a cypress tree,
As graceful as a ghost orchid,
As insubstantial as a rainbow?
If you could, you might hear the thoughts,
Of the lizards and the leaves,
The Spanish moss,
The sap inside of the twigs.
They are whispering into the spaces,
The places,
Inside of one another’s minds,
Where the winds neither enter nor interface.

Wary of every step we take,
They have been around a long time,
And, they have seen a lot.

“Go away! Go away! Go away!” they say.
“Go back by the road on which you came.
“Go away and shut the door,
“Behind you when you leave.”
But, we, who do not believe in spirits,
We don’t hear a thing.

Like the toys in your childhood bedroom,
Who came to life only when you were asleep,
They are keeping their secrets.

And, what are we doing here anyway?
Did we just come to play with Peter Pan?
Did we come here to find the Fountain of Youth?
To make our fortune?
To gain our fame?

Did we come hungry for knowledge?
Did we come for vision to grant us power?
Did we come to break everything apart,
Or to steal the gold egg?
What did we come to change?
Why do we want to change it?
What are the plans we have here,
For our logic and laws and our rational minds?

The Everglades never were intellect’s minions.
They are not challenging the heavens,
Reaching for the stars.
They are not trying to conquer anything.
They are not burdened with the need for evidence, or analysis,
For facts and information,
Statistics or probabilities,
Or, even a personal vision of truth.
They live by the strength of their hunger,
And, the beat of their hearts.
They only want what is, and care not for what if.

The Everglades’ spirits are getting to know us,
And, the wind has begun to shift.

“Aren’t you ready to leave yet?”
“Aren’t you ready to leave?”

We are just like the Everglades.
We can only be what we are.
It seems that none of us have a choice.

What can we learn from one another,
Moving in different directions?
Will we meet at the end of the circle,
Or, will I go on and on until I am dizzy?
Will I follow myself until I’m lost?

After we are gone, of course,
The Everglades will take everything back.
The landscape will reassemble itself.
The leaves will abandon their camouflage.
The birds will grow a thousand wings,
And, the bodies of beasts will manifest,
In multiple additional dimensions.
The lizards will dance for the wild anhingas.
The heron will sing to the strangler figs.

Tonight the Everglades will be in my dreams,
But, I think it will forget about me,
As quickly as they can.

V. Castellanos – 1998

To NYC and Back

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“Improbable Paradise” Digital Art – Photo Art – 9/11/2018

Continue reading “To NYC and Back”

The Incurious Beatles

The incurious beetles
Are scurrying over the broken shards of reality
Slipping into the illusions of crevices in the canvas
Into cracks of absurdity, of obscurity
Obscenity, infinity
Into five fold mutations
Mutilations
Radiation situations
Stimulations
Simulations
Manipulations
Interrupted continuations
Eradications
Fornications, ejaculations
Fabrications of instability and insanity
Extinction events enclosed in a jar

It is the perfection of nature’s immutable laws
Which keeps me in balance
But, I am still descending into gravity
And, time is catching up
Space running out
Water turning into ice
Hair turning white
Bones cracking
Every mirage a possibility
But, don’t forget Fukushima

I am only a whispering flower
Made of dust
Thirsty
On the edge of the desert
On the edge of emptiness
On the edge of my own extinction
And, maybe the extinction of everyone else

Burned by passing asteroids
By raging daylight
Distant moons and meteor showers
And, howling, cosmic energies
Vibrations feeding my aura with sensations
And, revelations
Struck by a comet from another solar system
Bringing dreams fed by heavy, black stones
Moans transformed into a trembling, musical note
Of unimaginable beauty
And, a smile fed by the memory of every day which ever was

 

Off to the Shore

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“Off to the Shore” – My Digital Art – 2018

If I should have my way,
I would be off to the shore today,
Where the air is full of breezes,
And, the sky is full of birds.
The bright, clear, brilliant, liquid light,
Is cut into by palm tree silhouettes,
Lizards quick and slick,
Are hidden in the thick,
Spike shadows,
Smooth, gray driftwood,
Swirls in the tide pool,
Prancing, bright eyed, hermit crab fool,
Hovering yellow butterflies,
Adorning perfect turquoise skies,
Spring waves murmuring,
Beneath azalea mists,
All kissed,
By periwinkle sprinkles,
Breezes graced by silver gongs,
Invisible songs,
Water the color of the fishes scales,
Wave the color of mermaid’s tales,
Hibiscus the color of sunrise,
Sands of ancient oyster shells,
The color of kisses pure,
Jasmine white,
Perfume and salt.

I am an ocean of my own,
Composed of blood and bone,
Of minerals, metals,
And, mostly water,
Flowing under the surface tension of my skin,
An ebb and flow of emotions,
Premonitions, preconditions, preconceptions,
Imprinted on the space between time and God.

How could I be anything then,
Except a reflection of myself?
I am a fluid being,
Flowing with my currents.
Even when I am not at the edge of the sea,
I am required to bend with the tides,
Washed by weather and seasons.

These patterns cannot be understood.
They are larger than my perceptions.

The morning dew calls me by name.
I answer, my footprints sink in the sand,
In the morning tide,
Wandering, here and there,
My feet are bare,
Frangipanis are flowering in my hair.
I am bowing to floating clouds.

I am still young,
And, trying to learn,
To smile with all of my being,
Trying to find a way to live recklessly,
And, completely,
In the present.

March 2015

The Queen of Bees

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The Queen of Bees – ink on paper by V. Castellanos

When I awoke this morning
I found I was a fragile flower
Flagrant
Perched on a sunbeam’s edge

I am inviting you to treat me, today
As a special jewel
A crystal with a thousand facets and inflections
A rainbowed dew drop with uncountable reflections
A holographic fragment containing the entire universe
A flowered, honey bee with sides and angles
You have never contemplated before

If you take up my invitation
I will treat you, in the morning, as an angel
In the afternoon, I will treat you like a king
And, when the fire burns bright tonight
And, you become a dragon
I will treat you as a god

I will be vibrant and perfumed
Enticing, with my eyes, your fires
My seething heart will breathe
Will heave
Igniting your desires

Buddha, secure in his detachment
May disapprove of my excesses
My caresses
My emotion
My devotion
But, I still, will
Bring to you
The pungent nectar
Of ten thousand flowers
Which burst
To quench your thirst

I will dance for you and sing
Give to you, my fluttering wing
Here, beside the blue bell’s ring
I will meet, your sweet demands
I will give to you my sweet hands
I will give to you my sweet dreams
I will give you all my rainbowed facets
And, my sweet sunbeams

If you search my quiet shadows
And, the darkness of my eyes
If you brush away my showers
And, the hush of my disguise
I will invade you
And, persuade you
To believe in myths of old
To believe in warriors bold
To believe my body’s gold
And, that I am
The Queen of Bees
I’m sweet as swamp fed, dogwood trees
Sweet, white clover, honey breeze
Swinging on my high trapeze
Through skies of amber, buzzing, please

My body’s brushed
With pollen’s dust
And, I am here to interweave
I am here to intertwine
I am here to wind
About you
Like a lavish, jasmine vine

I will feed you with ambrosias
Of the sweetest, wild perfume
Distilled from whisps of distant clouds
Which decorate the afternoon
And, the wishes of sweet flowers
Who have kissed the fragrant moon

If you wish me
If you kiss me
If you come and take my hand
You will see me
(You can’t be me
But, I know
You’ll understand)
I am just a fleeting notion
Yet, I am a potent potion
Like the sighs that fill the ocean
With restless waves and breathless motion

When you meet me
You complete me
You mistreat me
You defeat me
Yet, you are my revelation
You are my extreme elation
You compel my transformation

For you, I’ll be my most sensational
In your arms I am insatiable
And, still, I am a fragile flower
Perched on the edge of a sunbeam’s bower
My rainbowed, dew drop wings are sunny
If you kiss me, I’ll turn into honey

Art

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“A Fabulous Fractal” Artist Unknown

Art for the sake of beauty is not possible as beauty is too idealistic –
Art for the sake of love is not possible as love is too intangible¬†–
Art for the sake of dreams is not possible as dreams are too ephemeral¬†–
Art for the sake of immortality is not possible as immortality is unattainable¬†–
Art for the sake of imagination is not possible as imagination is too untruthful –
Art for the sake of glory is not possible as glory is self aggrandizing –
Art for the sake of money is not possible as money is meaningless –
Art for the sake of control is not possible as control is too corruptible –
Art for the sake of enlightenment is not possible as enlightenment is too unreliable –
Art for the sake of morality is not possible as morality is a tale told by liars –
Art for the sake of the gods is not possible as the gods are not interested –
Art for the sake of humanity is not possible as humanity is too capricious –
Art for the sake of celebration is not possible as celebration is always passing –
Art for the sake of entertainment is not possible as entertainment is frivolous –
Art for the sake of art is inevitable and thus art exists for the sake of its own madness

Kiss Me

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“Late Autumn”

It is late
The autumn wears away
Into winter mists

The leaves are crisp and thin
Brown, and worn down
Tattered and torn
Gathered on the ground
Remembering the pastel winds of yesterday’s sunrise
Assaulted by today’s cracking seed pods
The vivid colors of the marigolds
And, the pomegranate’s delicious shine
Memories of cinnamon, sharp in the wind
The sting of nutmeg in the bewitching darkness

I am intoxicated by
The blood red, screaming brilliance of life
And, don’t let go

It is late
So, kiss me, quick
In the forest’s shadow
Before I become an autumn leaf
The ravens do not have to know
Kiss me, quick
Before I become a memory

The trees are too busy to care
Self contained, restrained
By their own internal emotions and auras
Gossiping about feathers and the colors of the sky
About the weakening clouds
About the wickedness of winter
About how time takes all
How time will always have its way
But, snowflakes, too
Must have their season and their reason

So, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me
Kiss me quick and don’t let go
Kiss me in the forest’s shadow
The ravens do not have to know
Kiss me here and kiss me there
You can take me, anywhere
With the rising, autumn moon
Brown leaves, breezes, golden wine
With the colored marigolds
With pomegranate’s shine
You can take me, anywhere
Kiss me here and kiss me there
Yet, even though, you let me go
Your kisses I will keep, as mine
Forget-me-nots will bloom, in time
And, I will wear them in my hair

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