Ken Morrill

am trying to listen for the difference in this older but brighter and more current applicable imagination–it sends me back in time this town hurtling with human sounds, hurting with the brave wounds that the earth has received. I trust the truth of the people around me, see them concerned for me, letting me be alone–the birds and the dusky music of the town at night.

bright brave humble heavy faces
voices smooth with honey-caring sounds
gaze a constant sacrament of praise
ruffle tousle fantasize brush regard
heaven can be conquered when I look at her smiling face
bright with liquid fire deep inside
proud and tense and erect
swaying, alluring, and stimulating
her bare brown shoulder, her shifting laughing face and hips.

I fled over the sea to a place that was distant
but which is becoming where I am.

Swell in the dwelling.
Swirl in the unfurling.
Linger by the tangle of brush.
Lush is the first flowering tree.
Plush are the clouds.
Plod along the path by the river.
Thrash the soft corn.

As the bluest sky was in the beginning so the first star shines best.
Blush for the fragrance hangs about the blossoms.
Curl in a swirl of heavy light; splash in the bath of light.

Fragile is the path of the heart.

I fled to the sea and wept so that
the sea which is made from tears
shone from the moon
blushed in the bluest fragrance
is the heart which swelling

I fled to the blue sea
and my tears trickled down the sand

The moon, the river, rose, to remind him of the sea
And rain, and blossoms in the trees
So that he was only closer to home
With earth and the songs of several birds.

Far from home he heard the songs of many birds. Doves are delicious in harmony with sea. Clouds take pattern from the mind. Words and sounds are one. The heart believes the sounds it hears (there are no lies in the flesh). The wish is a kiss, a flight, a sight of light at kite-height.

Today again the food was good /the wood/

I love the brown road vegetation on the side children playing out front of houses, dogs wagging their tails–the clouds towering, plunging in the deep deep sky I praise–these are the marvelous ways strengthened by the nourishing food, listening to the rhythmic music, feeling the humid air, waiting to praise tonight tomorrow frightened by the faces more sensual, deeper with the body–alert to other faces, the bodies revealed toward revelation toward languorous leaning which is love and above a sky which isn’t seen the shine is in the eye, the skin the sheen in the hair, not the air not the sky, pause wait pat laugh, forget, let, oranges wet–let the pet blossom may the day seem until tonight pausing

an almond oil essence, frisky milky well
light blue

Journal, Travel brazil

brown voices murmuring faith hope love
charity and the peace that sleeps with understanding
good food like a pizza covered with onions and the heart of palm
ripe grapes cooled a long time in the deep delved earth
fancy shimmering into the truth
song and smiles and good food a vehicle for
the shifting emotions of the growing person
alive on the road to the motion of the tall feathered grasses
and the moon all alone weeping
into the night

blue bursting sunrise a child learning to read
the road brown and dusty leading between the fields
search and in the distance stones smooth and round
rivers crossed by bridges trees flowering
the sky a myriad of billowing clouds
seek the feeling by the river
rest weary one
sorry one smile

Journal, Travel brazil

The dream I call Rio is my new way–soon it will be basic to my system–perhaps too soon to write about it–certainly yesterday’s impressions won’t fade soon, though now it’s a dream.

Can I be here? In Jacarei, a Brazilian town in a river valley with characters on the corner, deep green grass and flowering trees–there’s joy in my heart and my eyes are bright and clear–for seeing beauty in every face.

And they are a rapid taxi ride, a garden in the back, the smell of the earth, the trees in the park, the soft smile of the proprietor.

Journal, Travel brazil