A Handful From Barbeito : Blooms, The Third Eye Blues, Pucho Mollyreach, In The Middle Of Nights, and Valley, Summit, and Saviour

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A Handful From Barbeito : Blooms, The Third Eye Blues, Pucho Mollyreach, In The Middle Of Nights, and Valley, Summit, and Saviour

By Brian Michael Barbeito
May 8, 2007

Blooms

The sidewalk blooms by the whistling sun and the stray dogs know only their own ways. Forest and stream or the rustling gleam, and the crowds run rowdy round Jupiter and Saturn. Air, earth, blankets and flowers in the wind. Look at the shores and the musical tides; go to the rivers and the valleys of silver. Over by the trees of dusk, rabbits just want to be rabbits and don’t bother with the ways of crows or worms or lights from the sky. Retaining walls, and fruit baskets with three levels. Do you know the secret of garlic, onion, or the men that walk and walk by the desert sands? Oceans of emeralds, with diamonds for whitecaps. There are restaurants, open aired, and if you can’t fall in love by the sea by the moon by the sand divine it wasn’t the fault of Mars, Mercury, or the vagabond towns of shacks. Oh, the rough towns sitting beside Saturday night, and a small crowd is there. So many cars roll down highways forever. Remember the times of sadness, but the sadness had a depth and sweetness all its own? You’d not give it up as easily as you claim, this Godly melancholic madness, by the walls where you taped what caught your eye. And what caught your eye? A black and white page, where a bridesmaid or a bride sat and smoked. Of course the whole thing was staged, but forgive the idea, and bless it, because there was no real bridesmaid in nicotine need. Oh, black cats that are cats, and ones that are not. Look at the sunken ships, where the pirate phantoms roam, and they can’t get to the treasure, and can’t kick the habit of living. The great thunder or the lightning too. The sky is purple. Do you remember the sun when it was a neon beet going away down down by the urban sprawl? Letters, numbers, mountains, and crickets in the minds of the times of the rhymes of the lines of the grinds of the shines of the kinds of the sun hats in the rain where the centipedes dance where the storm dreams enhance where the dandelions chance. Floating and rowing and breathing and talking and walking and seeing and trying for once to know. Autumn comes and you better buck up or madness and circumstance and karma will get you. They will give you a welcome to the league check and you won’t know what hit you. No worry. The sidewalk blooms by the whistling sun and the stray dogs know only their own ways.

The Third Eye Blues

What if I love the man there

Crossing the street gesturing thanks

To the woman in the car

The history of the world

Bringing him this much along

Or what if I love the man

From by Bloor and Spadina

That sat down and didn’t speak

English but nodded and put

His hand to his head

When the sun was setting

The color of tides

There was a man

That couldn’t order his

Food and the order taker

Didn’t care only looked

Ahead with a blank

Way of non-empathy

What if I love Port Mungo

But I left the thing on the airplane

somehow even though I was determined

not to and for that my heart

Sinks and I wonder what

Patrick McGrath would

Say

What if I love the

Dominican sands

Or the stray dogs

there what if I

Love Brian Johnson

Or Garcia Lorca

Or the long

Stretches of streets

What if I love

Cold corners

By the Galleria Mall

You know there

Are ripe times

For nervous breakdowns

Man

What if I love the

Plum tree in

Autumn because

There is nothing

Like a plum tree

Then by the black

Iron railings but

I suppose people’d

Not understand

What if I love

Her in cowboy boots

That Virgo Queen

That dimpled brown-eyed

One and Kokopelli

Dances with his flute

On the wall

What if I love

Jesus Christ and

learned there

Was a heart

for eternity when

He said he makes

All things

New

What if

I love the scar

On my leg

And the one

On my arm

They do

No trouble

But what if I loved

The dream (she hangs

out in my dreams)

Even and always

When the dream

Is a nightmare and

You thought

You’d come so

Far but you have come

Nowhere you can’t

Trick the psyche

You can’t trick the

Soul you can’t

You can’t

The only really

Bad thing is

Literariness and the

Arts or mean old

Women with hardened

Hearts

Well, there

Is also acrylic

And millions

Of gauche souls

That all

Want the

Same things

Like decadent

Furniture

Or paperback books

And the

Evening news or

Worse things like

Baseball or

Veal

What if I love

Birds on wires

Or trucks on

Tires or the

Union dues

Or the subtle

Cues

Or the third

Eye

blues

Pucho Mollyreach

I’m dreaming of the rabbit, the rabbit that has now seen me, and after a few seconds wherein we lock eyes, I move forward and he leaps off. Now we run and run along the forest floor and its various coverings. It’s always the same. I can smell the wet bark, and the remains of fresh evergreen needles under my feet. The rabbit is fast, and he is already a few trees ahead, but I am determined, and am skipping to the left, because he always seems to go left, and if I can cut him off a bit, cut down the angle, I shall have him this time, yes I shall have him once and for all and I can go onto other dreams perhaps…

I have been awoken. It is morning, and the dream will now have to wait. There is the sun in the window, and with it the promise of a new day has been fulfilled. I think they woke me up this time, again, because I was shaking, acting out my night visions. They worry. Since I grunt and groan, and twitch a bit, they think I am having some seizure, or at the least, a nightmare. I am fine though, and wish they would let me be. I stay in my chair. It is my Master’s old reading chair, but he passed it to me, and I can assure you it is uniquely comfortable, one of a million.
I go down the hallway, and to the stairs, then down for a drink of water. Soon they will come down and put some dry food in my bowl. The area is a hardwood floor, and the blinds are not open yet, but the sun shines through one spot, and I peak my nose through there and make an opening. It looks warm out, and I will be going on my morning walk soon. The night spirits seem to have left, and the air is fresh and clean. I can see the spirits, many of them anyhow, but people think I am just looking in the distance because I hear some noise.

Here I am on my walk. The forest path is wet from the rains of last night, and if I think back, I can remember hearing rain against the window before I slept, and noticing that the cats are scared. The cats startle easily. Sometimes I think they see more spirits than I do, but I don’t know for sure. So here I am, and the path feels good under my feet, and I have been unleashed, because we are far enough in from the main roads. I never turn around and go back to the road, but my Master is cautious that way. Now I roam here, and run there, jumping into patches of water, and it’s refreshing. I smell Oaks, Birches, Evergreens, and many more. I run by the wildflowers that are small and come in white, purple and yellow.

Back home I lounge around for most of the day, and dream my light dreams, or look out the windows some. At the early evening, I go for another walk, where I see some spirits roaming around the woods. They are lost souls, attached to the earth, and they have much trouble passing on. The forest devas and river sprites on the other hand, belong there, and often nod to me with a smile. When we return, I have some snacks, but its mostly only carrots. Then it is time for the chair, and to get ready for sleeping. Tonight it feels like it will be rain again. I can sense it in my bones, and besides, I think I hear the beginning pitter patter against the window. Soon I will go to the depths, and I will see the rabbit. Our dance will begin anew.

In The Middle Of Nights

In the middle of nights,

Shadow people might roam,

Looking around gardens,

Walking by walls…

In the middle of nights,

Trucks with lights take wide turns,

Finding there way simply,

From here to there…

In the middle of nights,

Crabs dream of rainbows,

And its then that they smile,

And its then that they sigh…

In the middle of nights,

Coffee is still and waits in cans,

Adding to the ordinariness of things,

And it is curt, sensible, applicable…

In the middle of nights,

Wanton ladies turn, sweat, and move,

Sometimes touching themselves,

And sometimes desiring…

In the middle of nights,

Kings might by kings,

And kings might be kind,

And paupers can be kings also…

In the middle of nights,

Your love might orbit a crazy planet,

Where the atmosphere dances a strange dance,

Where roses are raspberries and clouds seem to strut or stroll…

Valley, Summit, and Saviour

I was led down through a valley where there were rains and winds making a mess of the ground, and bending flowers and trees violently. I walked and walked, in boots and extra raiment. It was the middle of the day, and it was dark. It was a Good Friday, and the world felt upside down. There had been power outages, and there had been residential floods. Animals acted strangely, and the moon was out and it was full. As I carried on, there were strange sounds, otherworldly sounds that did not belong, even in the darkest of days of a deep valley. I could hear strange whispering noises, but the whispering was loud, and this puzzled and was frightening, because it was as if angry and vengeful souls were yelling, but their cries were muted and muffled. On I went.

Soon I got to a summit. I began to climb it. Crows were yelling, and there felt like there was something evil indeed coming up from the earth, the very earth I had just been walking over. I started to climb faster, and a low vibratory hum showed up in my right ear, and then in my left. The sound had appeared before, in childhood, and I had been assured that it was indeed the Holy Spirit. Now it was back, and in both ears. It was being turned up, and it felt extremely comforting. Up I went, for what seemed like hours, but I was given strength and didn’t eat my bread or drink my water, both of which were in my rucksack. Soon I did become tired though, and sat to take a rest, while looking up at the moon.

After about ten minutes, many lights appeared in the sky, and I got up and began to walk again. There was a part of the hill I came upon where the sun shone brightly, and there was the lightest of breezes. A man sat there in a robe, and looked straight ahead. I didn’t know who or what he was at first, but felt like I could, and more importantly, should, go and sit beside him. Sitting there, I looked ahead as he was, at the cities and the skyline. He looked over at me, and I looked at him. He smiled a knowing smile, and something about him made him seem like he was no ordinary man.

I had the strangest feeling. It was a feeling of infinite joy and rest. I began to receive knowledge about things many and varied. We sat there for what I now know to be hours, but what seemed like eternity. I questioned him, but I knew the answers. I said, “ This is the end of the world, isn’t it?” He nodded yes. I said, “You are Jesus The Christ, aren’t you?” He nodded yes. He picked a flower from in front of him. It was a small wildflower. He looked at, and he seemed to approve of it. He held it in both hands then, and he turned to me and he gave it to me. I thanked him and held it, and then waited. He stood up then, and turned one of the palms of his hand upwards, raising his arm slightly, in order to motion that I should stand too. I did. Then he started to walk, higher up the hill, where there was more brightness. I walked also, slightly back and to the side of him. We began a journey up the hill and into the light.

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