Next Century's Child

I am becoming next century's child
If I live I may go plumb wild
I'll have feral pets... like cats, foxes, and ferrets
And live in the forest in style

I'll build a glass house on a lawn
Where grey mice play and are gone
Feral cats will appear with the neighborhood deer
And curl up in my hut to stay warm

I will paint pictures and call them words
Say them in colors and sing them like birds
I will be sleek and I will be wild
When I shall become next century's child.

-Jehanah-

With Love, Jenna

Hunger

There was miner's lettuce and plaintain

   and dandelion growing
In parks and lawns
   and cracks in the sidewalks
And chamomile and fennel, nasturtium even
Peeking through someone's picket fence

Wild mother earth offered her bounty
But I wandered absent-minded and
   careless of food
Like a dreaming child

Wandering down Haight street
Approached for spare change
But I was fasting
Since I had no spare change anyway
Approached
Reproached
But I laughed
When he said he was hungry

Wild mother earth laughed
As hungrily as a dreaming child
The street opened up
The cornucopia flowed, untended

Memetic Science for Poets

What of memes and photons?
Is there a quantum language?

Having grown up on the Martian Chronicles
and Star Wars, can I expect less from my government
wherever and whatever it may be?

Templar bankers plot with Merovingian rock stars on-line
while Arab grocers hack and complain "No Can Do"
in the streets of Baghdad

Ghosts of Alexandria visit poets in San Francisco
wondering "has the desert arrived yet?"
the answer came "after the haiku is read"
the Mayans are coming, the fat lady will sing

Asperger's geeks are at their computers
creating meme-structures like a fancy spiderweb across the sky.
Earth sails across the photon band
random photons fall together in new patterns
Quantum poetry arranging itself
in gathered response to autistic thought waves

Practitioners of memetic science gather their best rituals to share
their images recall the universal tarot,  the major arcana
we call them shamans, wounded beyond recognition
we disguise them in the garb of poets and architects and musicians.

The newest megameme emerges and spreads.

Merry Xmas

Micro Macro

Big Trip

I am a priestess of the seasons
   and a princess of the realm
   the sacred cow through whose udders
   flows the nurturing substance of all the universe
   the holy vessel of the natural temple
I am Kali
   fearsome mother of life and death
I am Shakti
   the primal energy
   the source
   that which cannot be named
   as priestess my function is to serve
   to mirror
   to point beyond
   in the direction all men fear but indicate
      in the very turning back
   the secret need
   whispered in churches and in bed
   in kitchens and in sickrooms
   called by frightened children in the deadly night
   articulated by outhouse minds (dirty motherfuckers)
      trying to escape the curse of Oedipus
   the name always close to utterance
      on the tongues, and
      in the minds of men
I am culture, country, and one woman in the memory
   of every man
Demeter
Mary (God himself is subject)
   the green and moving, ancient sea, that warming
      chilling womb
   impregnated by the sea
      the cradle rocked by the moon.
        Whatever form,
         Thou art that.

Jehanah