POLISHED BY THE SEA written by SCOTT UTLEY #20/33 POEMS FOR THE NINTH MUSE

I saw a river of flames running through the sky of my mind. Star pine marionettes in deep green silhouettes made love to the powder grey canvass of dusk. A cluster of Bumble Bee palms milked honey from the air. There were smiles everywhere. In this silence that is the universe unfolding, I heard a voice from deep within my inner knowing say “Brother Jesus is a diamond polished by the sea. He is the sunrise bleeding red into the day. Buddha is a butterfly deep inside of you & deep inside of me. He is a sacred pearl shimmering black. Mohammad is the desert wind shifting shapeless. He is nothing & everything in between. Confucius is the rain nourishing the clouds we walk on. Yahweh is a songbird singing good-morning to the day. Mary is our mother. Her breast milk gives us life.” I felt the breath of our loving creator cleansing the drowsy husk of dawn. I remembered once again what I had forgot so many times before, we are one and all, diamonds polished by the sea.

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A NIGHT SUCH AS THIS

On a night such as this in a land far away came the Raven ~ joyously surfing the warm winds of night, a breathtaking sight, such effortless might mocking the dusk with her spellbinding flight. A luminous bird with jet black bright eyes. The truth in her passion seared holes in the sky. She held close to her heart a message which bore, “I am Raven of Faith, I’m a great beast in haste.  I’m the very same bird of your ancestor’s lore.”

Having never known fear, our entire town cheered. We silenced our trembling so each one could hear. She circled our village with precision and glee. There were moments I felt she looked right into me. Although it was night the sky remained bright; a thrilling, astonishing, brilliant white light. She finally descended our ancient oak tree. We circled around, my people and me, making certain & sure our babies could see.

“Come hither, dear friends. It’s been such a long time. My heart is near bursting to give you God’s rhyme. His word is His promise and now is the time.” As she started to speak our knees become weak. Some of us fainted, a few of us shook while most of our babies just giggled and looked.  

“Our loving Creator expressing His mind had fashioned your souls at the beginning of time. An infinite number of worlds came to be, much like the proverbial flowering tree. He gave each soul free will which you all possess still, so thanks for embracing me here on this hill. Lift your heads high. Blessed be our creator’s sky. The words written there will make your hearts sigh. “

“My treasure, my children, you are all dear to me. Everyone’s here I am happy to see. First may I say how proud you’ve made me? You’re my divine proof of just how great love can be.  While other worlds plundered my great gifts of wealth, you consistently used them with wisdom in health. You have never waged war. You have never kept score. You give all your heart and when asked you give more. You have treated this land with the utmost respect. You have never shown hate or callous neglect. You have never preached lies or righteous division. You use all of my love in every decision. While others defamed you, you sincerely forgave, so all of your souls I will assuredly save. Know without doubt, we’ll never part. Forever we live with the same beating heart.”

Then there was silence as our hearts filled with bliss. It was a magical moment not to be missed as we savored the warmth of our sweet Savior’s kiss, when the Raven did come on a night such as this.

 

MY NAME IS PROPHET written by SCOTT UTLEY

My name is Prophet, but they call me, “Hey, you!” I’m a penniless drifter shod poorly, diseased & despised. I sing for a seat near the hall down the path to the shed used by swine. I’m gleeful with joy for any place to dine. Crafty by circumstance, I am blessed with a spark of divine mind. I trade hope for shelter. I barter truth for a comfortable lie.

I feel privileged, indeed, honored to share my most cherished possession with whatever lurking beast or saint there may come a knocking on the door of my rice paper heart.

The possession I speak of is my inner light, my love;, the most powerful force in the universe. More often than not I possess neither food nor shelter but light has never let me down. My huckster mind tries convince me otherwise. To that joker inside my skull I say, “Shyster thoughts be damned!” Belief does not make an invidious fantasy real.

Those evenings I am cold, angry, lonely, rejected & filled with remorse for coming to this place in the first place, are the same evenings I forget to be grateful. On these occasions nights crawl painfully slow to that trickster I call dawn.

What I lack in essentials I make up in wisdom. Vagabond wisdom is priceless so I give it away for free.

I must. Like my father before me I stand hunchback just as his father before him. My deformed stoop is the result of an incalculable weight I carry upon my shoulders.

My mother raised in New York City’s west side shanty town; Hell’s Kitchen. My father was orphaned at the age of two under crushing dank Mississippi Delta poverty which knows no equal. Foreboding omens for both of them, They fought back their twisted fate of birth with passion, ideals & love. They had to dig deep to survive. I have learned to dig even deeper. I have learned to love getting dirty. Either do or die.

Yet I wonder if being born deformed & senseless is easier to bear than this weight, this soul numbing weight?

I fear the worst should I stumble or fall. I fear for the innocents striding between land and cobalt blue seas. When I fear it is because I’ve abandoned gratitude. Sometimes my unbridled dejection paralyzes my connection to God. It is easiest then to dismiss divine light as a dreamer’s hallucinations run amok. And I do. Yes, I do. I dismiss like a diva.

 

 

 

MY PROPHET RISING ~ FEATURING ABSOLUT NACHT ~ “Winter (scene 13, cue 5)

 

My prophet rises from snow white sands. He is cut & bruised with bloody hands. His metamorphosis is marked by purple flowering feathered wings immaculately conceived. He reaches into the eye of the sky & fondles memories from before my time, back when this river flowed with twice its heart & the sky more volatile with twice its strike. When this desert land was twice as young, He walked along these very skies now dusk’d across my mind like a churning holy electrical explosion.

My prophet rises from the deep blue sea with gaping wounds for all to see. His metamorphosis is marked by the inhalation of deep & conscious breath. His yellow diamonds are draped upon his brawny chest strung side by side with cosmic thread. He is future, present & the past. He’s courage fed by fathers brave & mothers strong. They’ve taught him well, both right & wrong. This world unceasingly expands its view. With opened eyes & a child’s pride, He is my harness. I love this ride.

My Prophet rises. I am He. I’ve wept in pain but now I’m free. Upon this sand my heart is burned. There is so much I have to learn. My metamorphosis is marked by the song of my soul echoing through the cathedral of my mind. I know I am more than looks perceive. My well is full. I have no greed. Christ is here & surely bleeds. He is my lover. I am He.

SHE’S MERCY – HE’S KIND

FANTASTIC DANCE

His ascension came twenty-one days to the day he left his beautiful body. A silhouette was all that we could define through the sun drenched smile he wore. It is impossible to mistake his world-class smile for that of any other. A starlight flurry of goodness blotted out the pain of our broken hearts just as dawn galloped in.

We told each other later that we had witnessed a chariot of gold sutured with platinum thread; a glistening chassis beriched beyond conception with spinning, light-bolted studs & each masterpiece capped with an astonishing precious gem. Some jewels were not of this world. Some jewels were not even of this universe… such magnificence as none of us had ever seen nor would ever see again… a true sweet chariot of the gods propelled by the holy willed power of four & twenty black maned stallions of equal majesty. They pulled the suns & moons from galaxies nearest our own across a royal blue-blooded, yoke-tinged, cobra-laced sky.

Our souls, bedazzled & breathless, reflexively thrust an ovation onto the astrolabe of dawn. Only delicate golden orioles could be heard singing good morning to this beautiful day. Alex preferred it this way. In a favorite past incarnation he was a Roman Augur, therefore his heart was rich with fondness for every winged being he ever knew.

Ruby red diamonds, yellows, blues & Tahitian black pearls from yet another sweet time & place rained upon everyone~ pulsing unified code~surfing crazy shiny-mind waves of Mother Milky Way. Their mirrors reflected wondrous images. Among them were holy men washing the feet of beggar men & the women who keep the fires burning dancing a fantastic dance, millions of them & more but numbers do not go up that high, especially where numbers don’t count at all.

There were many women dancing a fantastic dance. I was reminded of the Black ladies who sing the gospels; from the hips, hands to the sky, left then right; a supplication out to front then down to the ground and over again.. There were smiles everywhere & love, joy & more joy. If you could get close enough to these mahogany ladies you’d find that there is a lot of space & a great freedom around each one, yet from a distance they look packed together moving in unison; perfect choreography like a water dance; up, down, left, right & happy. Did I mention happy?

This must be the part of heaven God has reserved for poets, from the first poet to the last, from infant poets to great ancient oracles. Everything alive & electrical is heading the same way. Everyone loving the same because love moves in the same direction as our galaxy & the cosmos. It must be the joy of the spiral, from helical strands of DNA to the great spiraling universes. It is a perpetual blossoming. It makes a happy sound. Our nature is a happy sound. Laughter. Smiles. It is a great way to live. It would be a wonderful way to die if there was such a thing as death.

Alex smiled his way throughout the universe just as he had done throughout our lives. He never cared for anything in the world but pure love. God loved him for that. We all did. We all do. More than anything else, more than his mind-blowing mastery of numerous forms of art & branches of science, Alex Johns was a great poet. They say the same about saints who come to visit us. The love of great poets defies profound. Such purity of soul makes you want to cry. I don’t know why they bother with us unless it is because they love us so much… as much as we love them.

ALEXANDER M JOHNS

1966-2010

KING OF THE GOLIATHS

In various shades of suede stood Rex, King of the Goliaths. The Great Dane beauty had lived his life according to universal laws. Kilos of muscle, tendons & fierce intelligence griped the cliffs to Heaven’s Gate. Behind him, carrying a pail of lotus leaves, galloped Alex. I loved him for that. 

I witnessed a field of Mandarin Poppies bleed orange into the horizon. I saw both giants lay dying to their earthly vessels on the very cliffs of desire were Alex & I first met the Golden Bear, FREY. 

Where the sky meets the raging sea my desires – our lives  – now dreams wept along the mouth of the mourning coast. Big Sur cried throughout the night. Angels sighed as the ocean (lapping needling pines) did showed such compassion that the rains came.

As evening dipped into pitch-black ink of night, my dear two giants laying there gave witness to eternal splendor. I loved them both for that. Frosted magma breached the shore where I lay crying for what seemed forever.

Morning came. All was calm. I looked to where the giants had laid down their heavy journey. On the very spot they had been supinely entwined near the raging sea with her blue-ocean-eyes wide opened were two splendid giant purple feathered birds of paradise. I love God for that. 

PROUD OF MY PRIDE

 

I am a Lion, a child of the Sun.

I’m proud of my pride and royal blue blood.

I listen to all but answer to none.

I am a Lion with wings on my sides.

I use them to flee but never to hide.

I’ve known sorrow and wonder.

I have laughed and I’ve cried.

I am a Lion on a cobalt blue sky.

I have ruby-red diamonds where others have eyes.

I am a prophet to some because I have died.

I am a Lion with a powerful roar.

When I’m pacing the earth, cowards will run.

There isn’t a battle I haven’t won.

CELESTIAL ORCHESTRATIONS ~ written and performed by SCOTT UTLEY 11.06.2018

I once witnessed

A brilliant galaxy platinum

Abruptly vanish

Into a hovering cloud

Of dense

Black erotic

*

I saw a stunning world

Hanging on a midnight sky

Like a black pearl

A world 

As our very own cobalt orb

Explode

Into self-red flames

Then stop to exist

*

I was once

A butterfly who loves

To dance in circles

To the beat of the sun

*

I’ve been charmed

By the ruby-red eyes

Of dusk ??

Swollen sky

*

Suspended

Mesmerized

I’ve been hypnotized

By defiant stars

Pelting Hercules ??

Over the Aegean Sea

*

A baby

Opens her eyes

For the very first time

And the Universe is born

Once again

 

*

 

Truly

 

Every face

 

Is the face of God

The lovely face of God

 

*

 

But

 

Never

 

Have I ever

 

Laid eyes

 

We are so beautiful

 

As you

BECOMING A MAN ~ SCOTT UTLEY ~ COME FLY WITH ME ~ FRANK SINATRA

I am shocked to learn of the passing of a man who would be the only guy in my life who’d ever come close to being a role model to me. I may have pretended sometimes not to understand or even hear what he had to say, but I never missed his meaning or his message. I grieve his loss, along with my closest family members & so many other great people made greater for having known him. Dear Michael, a wonderful father and brilliant husband to my beautiful sister, Johanna.

Michael Spoljaric … his greatest gift, among many, was his ability to make us laugh. More than that for me. From early on in my life he taught me the most essential qualities of what is required to become a man; walk tall, hold my head up in pride, remember my name is my honor, be true to who I am, never forget where I come from, never forget who I am,  Know that a real man isn’t afraid to cry … and of course, when the going gets tough, protect that face at all costs and run like hell knowing he would always have my back.

I hold these truths to be self-evident to this very day ~ over half a century later. What more could a kid who was going his own way long before that notion became popular among rebellious youth ask for? He certainly didn’t have to, yet he did because he cared.

A rare breed is a man whose powerful inner bravado is made of the courage & faith of a ”man’s man”. He never lost sight of who he was; the real deal-a take no prisoners straight-shooting from the hip no-bull man when it came to telling it the way he saw it. He was a king of tough love. Only a prince with a gentle soul can become such a man. There is no irony here, one is the prerequisite of the other.

He found himself when he found the love of his life, everlasting love in the heart & soul of my remarkable sister, Johanna. With his guidance, we all watched in awe as Johanna stepped into her own power. With his patience and deep love, we also saw her bloom into the woman she is today, a woman who has the strength of character so finely etched unto the history of all our lives, who is loved so much by those who are also blessed to be brushed by her gentle heart.

It is a new world dawning, fast becoming a woman’s world. Thanks to the trailblazers. Such a one is Johanna. I wonder if Johanna knows this is how we feel about her? To marvel at the two of them together is fitting. There is no Michael as we know him without Johanna. The two are forever one fierce force & fiercely loved in the eyes & divine mind of our beloved creator.

Michael was the rock in our family. He held the demons at bay which at one time had tried their best to get the best of us kids and my beloved mother. How does anyone say thank you enough to a towering figure of such a profound impact? I love you? We all did, and not just for the reasons I say above. It bears repeating: Michael was a wonderful father to his children, my niece and nephew, Christina & Michael Jr., and his beautiful grandchildren. He was a brilliant husband to his equally brilliant wife decade after decade, my beautiful and compassionate sister, Johanna.

I am there alongside all of those who loved him for being a true human being. Life is short but terribly eternal. Some of us are mortal, while still others are gifted immortality. We do not choose one or the other.

Dear Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, the ball is in your court. Michael has achieved that which cannot be gained without you (dear loving creator), holding his hands from the moment he was born until now, as Michael is born once again. Some people are just lucky that way.

A MODEST TRIBUTE TO A HUMBLE GIANT OF A  MAN …

MICHAEL SPOLJARIC 

FOREVER YOUNG 

 

MY PROPHET RISING

 

My prophet rises from snow-white sands. He is cut & bruised with bloody hands. His metamorphosis is marked by purple flowering feathered wings immaculately conceived. He reaches into the eye of the sky & fondles memories from before my time, back when this river flowed with twice its heart & the sky more volatile with twice its strike. When this desert land was twice as young, He walked along these very skies now dusked across my mind like a churning holy electrical explosion. 

My prophet rises from the deep blue sea with gaping wounds for all to see. His metamorphosis is marked by the inhalation of deep & conscious breath. His yellow diamonds are draped upon his brawny chest strung side by side with cosmic thread. He is future, present & the past. He’s courage fed by fathers brave & mothers strong. They’ve taught him well, both right & wrong. This world unceasingly expands its view. With opened eyes & a child’s pride, He is my harness. I love this ride.

My Prophet rises. I am He. I’ve wept in pain but now I’m free. Upon this sand, my heart is burned. There is so much I have to learn. My metamorphosis is marked by the song of my soul echoing through the cathedral of my mind. I know I am more than looks perceive. My well is full. I have no greed. Christ is here & surely bleeds. He is my lover. I am He.

 

 

 

 

 

THE CHILDREN OF BLISS STREET

WRITTEN BY SCOTT UTLEY

“STOOPS TO NUTS”

WOODSIDE-QUEENS-NEW YORK CITY

A WARM SPRING DAY IN APRIL,1972.

BLISS STREET IS A VERITABLE BEEHIVE OF ACTIVITY. STICK BALL PLAYERS OUT CUSS EACH OTHER FOR ATTENTION. A FIRE ENGINE IN FULL THROTTLE SCREECHES UP THE STREET WHILE VARIOUS NEIGHBORS CONVERSE FROM ONE APARTMENT WINDOW TO THE OTHER. THERE are SINGING AND LAUGHTER MIXED IN WITH THE VIOLENT RACKET OF ARGUMENTS BETWEEN ALL SORTS OF PEOPLE; OLD, CHILDREN, EVEN ANIMALS CAN BE HEARD IN EACH DIRECTION OF BEAUTIFUL 46 STREET OR ‘BLISS STREET’ AS IT IS DESIGNATED UP AT THE ‘EL’ (ELEVATED) SUBWAY STATION ON QUEENS BOULEVARD.

EDITH PASSES IDA’S GROCERY STORE ON THE CORNER AND MAKES HER WAY UP THE BLOCK TO 48-25-46 STREET; THE THIRD COURT OF THE METROPOLITAN APARTMENT COMPLEX. A GREAT BEAUTY AGING BADLY, EDITH HAS FIERY RED HAIR TEASED UP IN THE FASHION OF THE DAY. HER PIERCING, ROYAL BLUE EYES CONTRAST BOLDLY WITH HER BRIGHT, RUBY RED PAINTED LIPS. SHE IS HUMMING A POPULAR UPBEAT TUNE FROM 1942. (DON’T SIT UNDER THE APPLE TREE) HER SONG IS INFECTIOUS. EVEN THE SPARROWS JOIN IN WITH HARMONY. OUR FOCUS SEAMLESSLY SHIFTS FROM BLISS TO THE PORTAL OF THE THIRD COURT’S GRIT. EDITH SURVEYS HER NEIGHBORHOOD WITH QUICK AND WEARIED GLANCES WHICH SHE ALTERNATELY PUNCTUATES WITH BURDENED SIGHS AND THEN CAREFREE GIGGLES. EDITH IS THE SOUL AND THE DREAMER OF A HOME COURT CONGREGATION OF THREE.

EVELYN AND LORETTA STROLL ONTO THE STOOP FROM INSIDE THE COURTYARD. BOTH WOMEN ARE DRESSED IN TICKY TACKY CAFTANS. EVELYN IS A SHORT ROTUND FIGURE OF A WOMAN. SHE HAS CHILD’S EYES. HER ESSENCE IS THE COMPOSITE OF A NAIVE STURDY FRAGILITY. SHE IS LOADED WITH IDIOSYNCRASIES. SHE SQUINTS HER EYES WHEN SHE TALKS. SHE PONDERS THINGS AS A BEWILDERED CHILD MIGHT. SHE IS A PARADOX. SHE IS THE SALT OF THE EARTH. EVERYTHING IS A MYSTERY TO HER BUT SHE SOMETIMES CUTS TO THE POINT LIKE A KNIFE. SHE IS THE HEART OF THIS TRINITY.

LORETTA POSSESSES THE SAME DEGREE OF KINDNESS AND COMPASSION EDITH AND EVELYN HAVE, BUT HER HEART IS NOT WORN ON HER SLEEVE AS IT IS WITH HER PARTNERS IN CRIME. SHE IS KEENLY PERCEPTIVE. SHE IS THE SENTINEL WHO GUARDS HER FLOCK. SHE POSSESSES A VAST INTELLECT WHICH  SEEMS QUITE OUT OF PLACE IN THE THIRD COURT. SHE IS A RATHER TALL WOMAN WITH TRUE RED HAIR AND THE FRECKLES AND OCEAN BLUE EYES OF AN IRISH LASS. SHE SEES THE FUTURE WITHOUT EFFORT BUT SHE STRUGGLES TO UNLEASH THE GHOSTS OF HER PAST. SHE IS THE PHILOSOPHER QUEEN OF THIS CABAL.

EDITH

Hi, Evelyn. Hi, Loretta. Hot today, huh?

EVELYN

86 degrees. Unusual for April. Why don’t you take your coat off?

EDITH

I’m an idiot, that’s why. Why do you think why?

EVELYN

Why? I don’t know why. It’s hot. I don’t know why it’s so hot.

EDITH

Oh, shut up, will you? (Edith indicates to the women she is concealing something under her coat. They both nod in understanding.) Have you seen Scott?

LORETTA

A couple of hours ago. He and Patty were heading up to the cemetery.

EDITH

Oh, for Christ’s sake. I told him to stay away from her. She’s trouble. (Edith arranges items in her girdle).

EVELYN

But Edie, Scott is a good looking boy. He should be on TV. Why don’t you get him on TV, huh?

EDITH

What the hell has that got to do with Patty Ann?

LORETTA

She’s just saying, Edie.

EVELYN

I’m just saying.

EDITH

That and five cents will get you a cup a coffee. Where’s other one, whatshername, numb-nuts?

EVELYN

You mean April? Why don’t you say April? Why are you so strict with her? She’s very nice. She has a beautiful figure. She’s very popular with the boys on the corner.

EDITH

What do you mean, she’s popular on the corner? Get out of here. Have you seen her?

EVELYN

She’s cute. Don’t you think so, Loretta?

LORETTA

Very cute.

EVELYN

Nice figure. Especially for her age.

EDITH

I mean, have you seen her? What the hell are you on?

EVELYN

Say what you mean.

LORETTA

She was up on the corner with one of the Kelly boys about ten minutes ago. Another bad day, huh?

EDITH

So where is she now?

EVELYN

She’s around someplace. Jeeze. Definitely a bad day.

EDITH

Ass kicker. Foreman’s a friend of mine. Black fellow, real nice. Pulls me aside this morning tells me the gig is up. Someone’s blown the whistle. So I hide my stash in the men’s toilet bowl. Five minutes later security comes in and frisks the whole assembly line. Everyone was fired except me. I feel sorry for them. What are they going to do now?

LORETTA

What a damn shame. Those poor girls. What the hell they suppose to do for a living now?

EDITH

That’s what I ask?

LORETTA

What about all the orders I got? I have them up the yin yang.

EDITH

Yeah? (Hopefully.) There’s plenty. I can’t barely breathe with all the crap I swiped today. I took extra just in case. One never knows, do one? God Bless Elizabeth Arden.

EVELYN

God bless her.

[Edith retrieves her grocery bags and climbs the stoop.]

EVELYN

What should we tell April and Scott if we see them?

EDITH

Tell em to kiss my ass! (Edie laughs.)

EVELYN

Edie!

LORETTA

Edie, you should watch your mouth around here.

EDITH

Fuck you. (All three laugh.)

EDITH

You’re both Bozos. Bye-bye. If you see Scott and Johanna, April, Jo, April if you see them tell them to get upstairs if they want to eat. I’m tired. I’ll see you all later. Hell’s bells, I’m tired.

[Edith disappears into the dilapidated courtyard leading to her fifth-floor walk-up apartment.]

EVELYN

Have a nice day.

EDITH (O.S.)

Yeah, sure, you too.

EVELYN

What do you think, Loretta? Edie hasn’t mentioned Craig in what, how many? Three weeks? It’s not natural for him to get up and disappear. Not like him.

LORETTA

Can you blame him? He was holed up over in Manhattan at the VA. Six months? They drug everyone up there until they’re zombies doing the Thorazine shuffle. That alone would drive someone nuts. I don’t blame him walking off the ward. Still, where the hell is he? You’re right. Something isn’t right.

EVELYN

I thought he was over at Creedmoor?

LORETTA

That was Mickey.

EVELYN

Oh yeah, of course, Creedmoor. I had a cousin there. I was there. I had real problems then.

LORETTA

There wasn’t nothing the matter with Craig until he joined the Army. Nothing. I read those letters he sent back from boot camp. Paris Island? Paris my ass. Make it sound like a frigging resort. They beat the shit out of him down there. Those people are assholes. They send him to Viet Nam. Only seventeen.

EVELYN

It’s a shame.

LORETTA

It’s a damn shame.

EVELYN

Sure is.

[In the distance we hear the unmistakable chimes of an ice cream truck.]

EVELYN

Mister Softy, thank god. So late today, huh? Want something?

LORETTA

No, thanks. I’m on a diet…maybe a small vanilla…with chocolate sprinkles… (Loretta gives Evelyn change from her purse.)…and some nuts if he’s got any.

END OF SCENE ONE

DISSOLVE TO: INT. HALLWAY-GREEN FRONT DOOR-APARTMENT 5B

Edith fumbles with keys. Door swings open revealing interior. There is a small built-in nook to the right with a domed adjustable lamp hanging over a white-washed built-in table. An iron gate spans the inside of a window leaving little visibility. There are several Snake plants scattered about vying for air with several formally stray cats. The fire escape beyond the window doubles as a convenient way for some of the occupants of 5B to access the roof as well as escape natural disasters. Overlooking this touching pastoral hangs a cheap Woolworth’s faux gold-framed replica of Da Vinci’s ‘The Last Supper’. Edith steps into a puddle as she enters the apartment.

EDITH

Ah shit. Ginger! Did you pee on the floor again? Come out of that bathroom, you little… ah hell, it ain’t your fault, poor thing. It’s that bum’s fault, Scott.

[Edith sits down on the bench in the nook. She begins removing Elizabeth Arden cosmetics from under her brazier and girdle. This task seems to go on forever.]

EDITH (CON’T)

What’s this? (She holds up an eyebrow pencil for inspection.) Oh good, I forgot about that.

[Having finished with her inventory, shes sighs, removes her dentures, and then begins to sob for no apparent reason. From the direction of the street we hear the sound of April’s voice.]

APRIL (O.S.)

Teresa, you should talk, you’re the whore… (sounds of tin garbage cans crashing about).

[Edith races to the kitchen window next to the stove overlooking the alleyway below and shouts:]

EDITH

April, is that you? April? Answer me. April? Now! I’m going to come down there and knock the … April?

APRIL (O.S.)

Ow, that hurts!

EDITH

Hey Teresa, leave her alone, you hear me, Teresa?

TERESA (O.S.)

Yes, Mrs. Utley. I hear you, Mrs. Utley.

EDITH

Teresa, stop picking on her.

TERESA

Yes, Mrs. Utley.

EDITH

You little snot nose, how would you like it if I told your mother?

TERESA

I wouldn’t, Mrs. Utley.

EDITH

Get lost, Teresa.

TERESA

I will, Mrs. Utley. Have a nice night, Mrs. Utley.

EDITH

April, do you hear me?

APRIL (O.S.)

What?

EDITH

Get your ass up here. Right now!

APRIL

I’m coming, I’m coming.

[Edith moves away from the window and grabs a few paper towels which she then uses to wipe up the puddle she had stepped into at the beginning of this scene. While stooping down to manage that task, April bursts through the front knocking Edith onto her butt.]

EDITH

Watch it, will you?

APRIL

Sorry.

EDITH

How you like me to throw you out the window?

APRIL

I said I‘m sorry. What’s that on the floor?

EDITH

Ginger peed again.

APRIL

Great, I guess I have to go walk her now?

EDITH

Why? She already peed.

[Edith gets up off the floor and forgets to finish the cleanup.]

EDITH

And you’re not going anywhere. Where were you just now?

APRIL

I went to Ida’s to get a Yoo-Hoo.

EDITH

Evelyn said you were on the corner with the Kelly boys.

APRIL

She’s full of shit. She’s a liar.

EDITH

Why would she lie? And watch your dirty mouth, twinkle toes.

APRIL

She’s jealous.

EDITH

I’ll tell you one thing, if I catch you with that Marty Kelly one more time I’m going to send your ass back down to Mississippi.

APRIL

Why, you plan on having shingles again?

EDITH

You’re a pain in the ass. Where’s your dopey brother?

APRIL

How should I know? I haven’t seen him in weeks.

EDITH

Not that one, the other one.

APRIL

He’s having a nervous breakdown over at Bellevue.

EDITH

The other one.

APRIL

He’s down south someplace.

EDITH

You know damn well who I’m talking about, Mickey, Craig, Richard, whatever the hell his name is. Scott, where’s Scott?

APRIL

He went up to the Calvary to pick flowers with Patty Ann.

EDITH

He promised me he wasn’t going to do that anymore. Who in the hell would go pick flowers in the cemetery? What is he, a nut or something?

APRIL

Don’t ask me. You’re the one who had him.

EDITH

Smartass. One of these days someone’s going to knock you on the head. I wish he wouldn’t go there. It’s so dangerous.

APRIL

Not any more dangerous than hanging out in the Village every weekend. You don’t say anything about that, do you? But me? Oh no, I can’t even go to the frigging corner store without that stupid mutt.

EDITH

He’s older than you.

APRIL

The dog?

EDITH

Your brother.

APRIL

Which one?

EDITH

Scott.

APRIL

He’s only 14.

EDITH

So what? You’re only 11. Now get out of here before I smack you.

APRIL

My pleasure.

[We hear the clamor of footsteps and inaudible voices coming from the direction of the stairwell. April races to the door and cracks it open.]

APRIL

Scott?

JOHANNA

It’s me. I got Mike with me.

APRIL

What?

JOHANNA

It’s me. Johanna. Come get these bags.

APRIL

I can’t. Ma won’t let me go out into the hallway after dark.

MIKE

Put a light bulb on, that will help the situation.

APRIL

What’s a light bulb?

JOHANNA

You think you’re funny?

APRIL

Ma thinks so.

MIKE

What’s that smell, Jo?

JOHANNA

You promised me, Michael.

MIKE

It’s killing me. I’m dying out here. Smells like something crawled up someone’s butt and died.

JOHANNA

Shush. (Johanna giggles.)

MIKE

Well, it does.

JOHANNA

You can go to hell for saying stuff like that.

MIKE

It’s got to smell better than this.

[Just before Johanna and Mike reach the landing April heads for the bathroom unbuttoning her pink blouse as she goes. Edith pulls out a compact from her brazier and deftly applies another layer of cake onto her face. Mike walks into 5B first. He is hauling several bags of groceries which he drops to the floor. He turns to Johanna and whispers:]

MIKE

Smell that?

EDITH

Hey Michael, what’s your problem?

JOHANNA

Here are some groceries for you and the kids. We left the car running. No place to park and Mike’s got bowling tonight so we have to go anyway.

EDITH

Hey Mike, what’s your problem?

JOHANNA

Nothing.

MIKE

How you doing, Mrs. Utley?

EDITH

Fine, Mike.

JOHANNA

Here, Ma.

EDITH

Jo, we don’t need your money. Keep it.

MIKE

Buy some disinfectant.

EDITH

What did you say?

MIKE

Something that smells nice.

JOHANNA

He didn’t say anything.

EDITH

What are you saying?

JOHANNA

He didn’t mean anything.

EDITH

You think this place stinks?

JOHANNA

Ma, take this twenty dollars, you can use it.

EDITH

I said I don’t want it.

JOHANNA

Have you seen that blouse of mine?

EDITH

No.

JOHANNA

The pink one.

EDITH

No, I told you.

JOHANNA

April?

APRIL

No.

JOHANNA

I love it. I want it.

EDITH

What’s it worth to you.

JOHANNA

Ma, don’t play with me. I’ll start crying.

EDITH

You’re a big baby. April, get that damn blouse, will you?

APRIL

Where?

EDITH

Right where you left it.

APRIL

I never even ever seen it.

Edith

You did.

APRIL

I did not.

EDITH

You did too

APRIL

Didn’t.

EDITH

Get it, please?

[April caves in and heads for the bathroom.]

MIKE

Let’s go, Jo, this place is making me sick.

EDITH

What did you just say?

JOHANNA

Nothing Ma, we’re going.

MIKE

This place is a dump.

JOHANNA

Michael!

EDITH

You have some nerve. You try raising six kids, you goombah!

JOHANNA

Ma, he didn’t mean anything.

MIKE

I didn’t mean anything.

EDITH

Who the hell do you think you are?

JOHANNA

Ma, please.

EDITH

Get the hell out of here, you rotten guinea.

[Edith begins throwing anything she can find at Michael.]

JOHANNA

Ma! Ma! Ma, stop!

EDITH

Get out! You hear me? Your nothing but a lousy wop!

[April comes running out from the bathroom with a balled-up piece of cloth. She throws it at Johanna. Johanna catches the blouse and forgets for a moment her husband is about to be neutered. Johanna sniffs the blouse and screams out in horror.]

JOHANNA

What the hell did you do to it? You ruined it!

EDITH

(To Michael) Out! Get out! Get out of my house!

[Edith picks up a massive rococo style lamp from a table. April starts screaming. Michael heads for the door.]

JOHANNA

Ma, you’re going to hurt somebody.

APRIL

That’s the idea.

JOHANNA

April, why don’t you go cover yourself?

EDITH

Out of here. You hear me? You dumb dago!

APRIL

Yeah, you heard her, out.

JOHANNA

April, I’m going to smack your ass.

MIKE

Jo, I think Edie broke my arm.

EDITH

Good, you deserve it.

JOHANNA

This is a damn shame.

[The lamp Edith has been threatening Mike with, goes shooting through the air. It hits Michael in the back. All hell breaks loose. Johanna manages to help Michael to the door. There are words exchanged. Finally, Johanna and Mike are out the door and down the steps in a flash. Edith runs to the door. April follows after her. Edith shouts out into the void of the stairwell:]

EDITH

And don’t come back.

APRIL

You hear?

EDITH

You hear me?

APRIL

You hear her?

EDITH

Shush. Listen. Let me hear them.

[Total silence. You can hear a pin drop. After a few beats, Edith and April turn to face one another, and then they both break out in laughter.]

APRIL

What an idiot he is.

EDITH

I keep telling you.

APRIL

He’s a jerk.

EDITH

He’s stupid.

APRIL

He’s a danger to him and everything else.

EDITH

Look what he did to my lamp.

APRIL

He didn’t leave that twenty bucks either.

EDITH

He’s a cheap fuck.

APRIL

Tight ass.

EDITH

What do you want from a wop?

APRIL

Lower your voice, you don’t want Loretta to hear you say that.

EDITH

Say what? Dago? Guinea?

APRIL

No, wop.

EDITH

Wop, wop, wop, wop.

APRIL

Ma, stop it.

EDITH

I’m singing. You don’t like my voice? Guinea, guinea, guinea, wop, wop, wop.

APRIL

Ma, stop with the wop, just stop. Loretta will hear.

EDITH

What are you talking about? She’s not Italian.

APRIL

Her son is.

EDITH

Who, PJ? He don’t know nothing.

APRIL

Any soda in the kitchen?

EDITH

Cool Aid.

[Scott comes running into the apartment carrying a few dozen gladiolas.]

APRIL

About time.

SCOTT

Look what I got you, Ma?

EDITH

So pretty.

APRIL

You stole them from dead people.

SCOTT

I don’t steal. They gave them to me.

[Scott goes into the kitchen to find a vase.]

APRIL

Dead people gave you flowers?

SCOTT

The guards gave them to me.

APRIL

The guards are on strike.

SCOTT

So is your face.

EDITH

Don’t be funny, Scott.

APRIL

Banana face.

SCOTT

Bubblehead.

EDITH

Be nice, you two.

APRIL

I know you are but what am I?

EDITH

You two aren’t funny.

SCOTT

Ma, you want to know what I heard about April today?

APRIL

Hey you.

EDITH

Hay is for horses.

[There is a hard curt knock at the front door.]

EDITH

Who is it?

VOICE

Mrs. Utley?

EDITH

Yes? Who is it?

POLICE OFFICER ONE

Police.

EDITH

Who?

POLICE OFFICER TWO

Police.

EDITH

Police?

POLICE OFFICER TWO

Police officers. We’re with the Long Island City station. Is this Mrs. Utley?

EDITH

This is she. How can I help you?

POLICE OFFICER ONE

Mrs. Utley, we need to speak with you. It’s about your son. Open the door.

EDITH

Wait, hold on.

[Edith crosses to the chair next to the couch. April and Scott sit motionless as they witness the rest of this scene unfold. Edith grabs an overcoat and fusses with her hair. She crosses back to the door. She unlocks it as she speaks.]

EDITH

Did Mrs. Writz call you about the yelling? It’s not my fault.

POLICE OFFICER ONE

No, Mrs. Utley, Mrs. Wirtz didn’t call us.

EDITH

It’s that bum’s fault, my son in law, Michael. He’s nuts.

POLICE OFFICER ONE

No, Mrs. Utley, this is about your son.

EDITH

My son? You mean Scott? What the hell has he got into now? I told him stay away from the cemetery.

[Scott moves closer to April. The two of them stare in dread as they watch their mother‘s countenance change from one degree of concern to the other.]

POLICE OFFICER ONE

No, Mrs. Utley, it’s about Craig Utley. Do you have a son named Craig?

EDITH

Yes, I do, officer. He’s been missing. Is he alright? What happened to him? Did something happen to Craig?

POLICE OFFICER TWO

Yes, Mrs. Utley, something terrible has happened to your son.

EDITH

Oh no, what? Is he dead?

POLICE OFFICER TWO

There is no easy way to tell you this. We found his body in the East River this morning. It looks as though he had been in the water for a few weeks. If the weather hadn’t warmed up, we probably wouldn’t have found him. We’re sorry, Mrs. Utley.

EDITH

No, you’re mistaken.

POLICE OFFICER ONE

I’m afraid not, Mrs. Utley.

EDITH

You are. You are mistaken. He was fine a minute ago, just fine. He’s doing well. Ask his doctor, you’ll see. This must be some kind of a joke. It’s not funny.

POLICE OFFICER ONE

No, Mrs. Utley, this is not funny at all.

EDITH

My son is fine, I know he is. He’s going to call here any minute, you’ll see.

POLICE OFFICER ONE

I’m afraid that’s not going to happen. I wish it would, I really do.

EDITH

He is. He will. You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.

[Edith runs to the phone on the wall in the kitchen and picks up the receiver.]

EDITH (CON’T)

Call damn it, call. Johanna, tell him to call.

APRIL

Johanna’s not here.

[Edith slams the receiver several times into the phone’s cradle. She finally sits on the bench in the kitchen nook and begins to sob. Scott and April rush over to her and cradle her in their arms.]

APRIL

The phone was disconnected, remember, Ma?

POLICE OFFICER TWO

April, do you have the telephone number to a relative, an adult who may be able to identify Craig’s body?

APRIL

My sister’s husband, Mike, he can do it. He is the best one to call. You want his number?

POLICE OFFICER TWO

That would be wonderful, thank you, April.

POLICE OFFICER ONE

Mrs. Utley, we’re sorry. We are very sorry. This is the saddest thing we ever have to do. God bless you and your family.

END OF SCENE TWO

MOON BEING

Part of my face is an immense crater. It is here I spend all my free time,

sitting beside myself sipping tea on the lips of my cheek bones. 

We talk endlessly about your perfection; what a profound  defect of character that is. 

We then respond ad infinitum. We compare notes. We laugh, cry, and wistfully whine, 

sitting beside myself, sipping tea, watching you.

A FINE, FINE DAY

Let lovers be born upon holy ground on this fine, fine, day. May they grow happy, healthy and free. Let there be peacemakers born onto this earth on this grand, grand, day. May they follow the footsteps of Jesus, Gandhi, and King. Let there be shamans born into this world on this most spectacular of days. May every voice be a clarion call to lovers to love. On just such a day as this, may God open our hearts to a brand new way. Let there be laughter heard all over this world on this miraculous day. Let there be comfort in every heart everywhere on this love-laden day of days. Let there be peace all over this planet on this perfect day. Let there be joy. Let there be joy. Let there be joy everlasting on this fine, fine day.

EDGE OF THE WORLD ~ WRITTEN BY SCOTT UTLEY ~ BEAUTIFUL MORNING PERFORMED BY SENSATION

I followed the song of the nightingale through the forest to the edge of my mind. I remembered to cut lilacs from the bank of the creek as I raced to the place we first met.

The Muses found me naked singing lullabies to shooting stars over a blue harvest moon. Fearful for my sanity, they summoned the Elder Blue Sprytes  & Green Wood Elves; all very odd creatures revered for their great healing powers. Do you remember the cliffs of desire where we first met at the edge of the world near the temple of the heart where a forgiving ocean meets the grateful sky? Do you remember Frey, the golden bear who wished us well?  

The Elder Blue Sprytes were certain I must be either crazy or insane from hunger so they fed me cherry blossoms. They were trying to distract me with fantasies from the other side of time. 

The Green-Wood Elves insisted I was a sign from the great source of our belonging. They proudly displayed their magic to me. They showed me how they had learned to make stars sing. I had never heard a true symphony until that day.

They taught me how to expand my heart beyond what I had believed was its ultimate frontier. They showed me how they weave their magic spells with the hope I might finally free myself from the ghosts of my past & the image of you when we first met. I could never let that happen. Sometimes Green-Wood Elves can be so naive. 

I love this cliff near the den of the bear where the sky drinks the sea & mountains stand tall at the edge of my mind where we bathed in an ocean of forgiveness. That was 10,000 years ago but here I still stand. The Western Wind says you will be home soon. I knew you would return. Hurry. My whole world is waiting. I’m still holding lilacs too.

   

      

TAMING THE BEAST

Pour your soul into my heart. My body is your sacred chalice. Swim in the warm waters of my mind. Wash your wounds in the sea of me. Nourish the belly of your beast with succulents from the bounty of my harvest.

 

PRAYING MANTIS WIDOWED BLACK

A diva doused in deep scarlet diamonds, black sable, and hair electric blue, held her place before me as our elevator fell free from the top of the World Trade Tower. Between heaven and hell, I fell in love. This much I could feel, this much I was sure of. I felt shame at being nothing and nobody she could love. I flashed back to the ghetto I was branded by. Blank-eyed, my head tilted forward, out and down. My perspective was a hawk’s eye view of Hades. Fifty-third and third … mine, mine, mine … use to be mine … my corner … when I was fourteen. Upon the littered streets of Chelsea, Sheridan Square, Christopher Street, the pier, the trucks, and my old neighborhood over off Bank street by HB Studios, lay debris, detriment, and minced miniature genitalia of yesterday’s used-up action figures greeting good morning through hazed, petrol-glassed, excremental eyes. That was yesterday. Today? Well, today … I felt her. She felt it! Damn it! Oh, oh … truth hurts. I hurt. It hurt. Immediately. Yet, my fantasies still flew wild! Just as the hawks on Fifth Avenue do when the pigeons fly their loops. As her black satin heels hit the curb I found the courage to raise my head. She had glee’d me into submission with her eyes and then she ate my heart to shreds. A praying Mantis widowed black is unbearably attractive. A trickster out-tricked by a trickster! That’s a switch! I was sure she was the one. I felt it. She made me feel that way. This must be what it feels like to be an old whore after Mardi Gras. In the first moment, being mortal, I suffered profoundly. In the next, my blank stare turned starry as I gazed in wonder. Her eyes darting to and fro. Her gold-leafed head-turning circles, I wondered, “How did she do that?” And then those eyes, those eyes, those oscillating glitter-opticals illuminating my barren heart … I simply turned to dust and blew away as she shimmered towards the fading light. ART: Praying Mantis by Scott Utley

PERFECT FROM THE START

I was born a prodigal son with tattoos plastered across my face. In a mysterious & enchanting old-world script they said, “Dear Mother, I will recklessly forget your glory. I will scatter the riches you give me upon a sweet, naive & unsuspecting full moon. I will choose to suffer before healing. I will rip my soul to shreds. I will shine as bright as any star you have ever created. I will be folly before I flourish. I am your son. I am my mother’s son.

Love me. Laugh with me. Smile with me. I will fulfill your plans for me because underneath a veil of chaos, my heart will never forget that whatever your will creates is divine & cannot be separated from its source. Whether I remember it or not, my soul knows everything. My soul is the beating of your heart at midday. You rejoice in my healed and fractured mind because you know I know you never make mistakes.

And so it was. And so it is. So you see? I said, “Come and see’, and She saw. She did come & the entire cosmos did see that I was never unworthy of her love because she desires that all life should flower eternally with joy regardless of the path her beloved children choose to take. Is it any wonder why I cry so hard? Is it any wonder why I laugh so loud? I am the wind that churns. I am a young bird weeping. I am the center of the hawk’s red-eye and … it is hard to believe it’s been perfect from the start … yes … perfect from the start.

Growing up in the cracks of skyscrapers. I learned to run before I could walk. I’ve seen the world in flames. I’ve heard my Mother’s sobbing. I know your pain because I am an old man dying. I am the newborn’s breath. I am a tree standing tall and proud and … I am here to say it is more than fun or games or unbearable pain. It is joy and laughter. It’s the look of love and …

I am a young bird singing. I am its Mother weeping. I am the sun & I’m laughing all the way each & every perfect day. It is hard to believe but it’s been perfect from the start … every day in every way, yes, perfect from the start.

ROGER, COPY THAT

I watch his hands move with loving precision over the Cessna’s instrument panel. It is hard to trust someone even when you have no choice. I know that an eight-inch piece of aluminum and a diesel engine are all that keeps my brother and I suspended over the magnificent Golden Gate Bridge. It is a flawless summer day. We are thousands of feet above the static of life, nevertheless, I know he’s nuts. I know I will never truly know him or trust him, but I love this moment.

Richard Dee was born in NYC in the middle of a frigid winter evening directly in the center of a traumatized, brilliant, baffling, boisterous, manic and maniacal century, poised as it was, so it believed, at the mouth of apocalypse now. Every generation’s self-absorption is densely ego-centric, which makes it easy for every generation to be sincerely convinced they are the ultimate fruit of humanity’s labor.

Winter has a deeper heart than summer. Winter loves with a passion beyond measure, but winter also envies and detests the newborn, especially the firstborn. So, with an oblique malaise, an undefined sense of melancholy, Richard grew into a man, but he never thawed. He never knew spring. He was too busy careening through his days, blinding strangers with his mind; a  20th-century poster child for prosperity who spent more time exhaling than inhaling so the poor guy never had enough oxygen in his system. My own brother, stranger more to me now than he ever was has only his fears and my hand left to him in this life, and we are both scared to death. I tremble at the finality of transformation, but I remember the joy of rebirth.

Today is not a good day for me, God or Richard. For Richard, it is worse than ever. All the omens portend doom. When the Raven remains sheltered from the storm against her will, the wind will bite with a more brutal cunning. Today is not friendly to life living on earth’s flesh. Today doesn’t have enough ozone in its skin to shield my brother from the pain of being nailed. Chill is dressed up like a penguin at an execution. The med-van pulls up to Richard’s house. The wheelchair hoist delivers his body, blotched by melanomas and microscopic RNA jack-hammers. He is chiseled down to just a shell of his former self, and I am his lifeline. My heart cannot break any more than it has. It is already dark matter, but Richard’s heart is frenetic with music and voices that only the dying are privy to when they are as close as they are to the pulse of holy. His hair is thinning badly. He looks like what he is, a man dying of AIDS. It’s so hard on him. It’s hard.

I am reminded of my grandmother who died at 95 but insisted she was only 94. Vanity is death’s worst bedfellow. Richard would have laughed at this comment. But he’s not here, he’s flying his bird on skies that only immortals have the privilege to fly.

Mitchell Ray Walden by Scott Utley

Mitchell Ray Walden

 

October Sixteenth, 1965

October Eleventh, 1995

 

Here Lies Interred the body of

Mitchell Ray Walden

Who Suddenly Departed This World

On The Eleventh Day of October

Anno Domini Nineteen Hundred And Ninety Five

In The Twenty-Ninth Year of His Age

Just a boy

He’s just a kid

The most bedazzling spirit

I have ever known

Riding the wave of a new generation

 

Says 

He says

He says to no one in particular

Make me famous if you can

 

So naive and vulnerable

Revealing doubts courageously

Touching my heart with his wounded palm

The one that scarred from a rusty nail

 

Make me famous if you can

I need to know my life has meaning

I need to know my love is real

 

I pressed my lips upon his brow

He smiled that smile we all adore

… I wished him a safe passing

 

Said

I said

I said to Mitch

I said to him I promise

 

Wait

Just wait

Just wait I said

Just wait and see what I will do

To make your memory lasting

HAWK & THE RAVEN

I recall full moon silver upon frosted eves & glassine dew upon sycamore sleeves. Sagacious spiders, masters of weave, slept snug & warm beneath an eave. The creek roared fierce with a late spring rain. All things full must surely wane. Perpetual blossoms should not be sad, yet I cannot sing when I am mad. Atom beats drove me insane. The sight I saw played upon my brain. I wondered if the sky felt pain. A raven did approach the nest which sits above the very best. The hawk’s quick eye did catch the beast, but not before the raven’s feast. The hawk chick fell from the sycamore to the rocky banks of the canyon floor. The rest, of course, is etched in lore.

An angel garbed in feathered dress descended from her perch of rest. The battered babe, his blood now cold, rose from the dead on wings of gold. Miraculous in the Phoenix mold; fell from the sky then resurrected. A god-shot is quite unexpected. For when the reaper comes it’s time to go. Since before first dawn this has been so. But then again, how would I know?

Heart returned to our beloved’s sky, then the piercing glint in our dear chick’s eye. The babe ascended his lofty nest to the greatest comfort, a mother’s breast. Successful in her angel quest, our heroine in feathered dress returned to where all angels rest. And to this day this lore I’ve told delights all children, both young and old.

UNTIL THE RAIN CAME

The raven caws five times, then the rain falls. Heaven’s sky tears down with a beautiful viciousness. Above my head, I study the layers of silt & dust on the avocado leaves. I think, “This is the accumulated detritus of this past summer’s Icelandic volcanic eruptions.” It was a summer deadened by the horror of war scattered without rhyme or reason upon this pristine cobalt orb we call home. It was a summer of threats against one nation or another by one nation or another… a summer of soccer Moms down on hope but high on Crank, cruising Meth Street USA. It was a summer with Blacks living more & more in their world, while Whites are living more & more in theirs & they never kiss anymore! It was a summer of Polar Bears without homes, Coyotes lying motionless on the side of the road & giant Blue Whales washing up lifeless upon California’s shores. I confess, I confess, I confess, my spine had almost fused with futility … until the rain came.

RING OF FIRE

I walk briskly at first. Shuffling sacred boulders between each foot. I teeter on the edge of humanity. I skirt the jagged precipice of earth’s flaming lips. I am stunned by this fragile porcelain cup brimming over with exquisite insanity; a wondrous mathematical equation. All of earth’s treasures are scattered before me. I jump high. I rise. I sail, I soar up and over the south, into the west, over & over & over again. I jump a high dive. I skydive into the heart of our miraculous, luminous mothership. I am a skimming stone on a great pond we call the ring of fire . 

 

BEAUTIFUL THING

I am a solitary figure muted silence of cosmic thunder on a luminescent perch of a lost star’s most vibrant ray. I am of one mind with a lost star, lost but never to disappear. I never sleep. I lay awake thrashing through every galaxy we share. I am hyper-sonic consciousness flying high on the coattails of a hyper-sonic shooting star. I keep my eyes wide open looking for… for someone like you. But there is no one like you. I know this is so but it’s a brutal thought. I’m afraid I’m not good enough. Self-doubt is a phycological terrorist. I have never given up though. I do not know what giving up means. When I fail, I fail big. There is no shame in this. When I fall, I rise again. There’s no shame in that. There’s no shame in being who I (or anyone else) was born to be. Thank our creator for small favors and great miracles because there you are. I see you. I can see clearly now. You know me. I know you. We simply know each other’s soul’s desires. No words are necessary. It’s easy to recognize a beautiful thing. You’re a beautiful thiing. You make me feel I’m a beautiful thing. You make me feel. I fear nothing. Together we’re a beautiful thing

TOPEKA ‘PREACHA

He says he loves Jesus and Jesus loves him. He’s a modern-day prophet forgiving your sins. He’s a radio pirate with a cable show too, A mistress in Paris, an eye out for you.

His brand of religion breeds heartbreak and pain. He’s a born again Christian with something to gain. Deceitfully convincing his flock of salvation, so in return he receives a standing ovation.

His glorious sermons preach schemes of division, Exquisitely crafted to prevent any schism. Triumphantly pitting his will against right, He lusts after money & covets your wife.

An unnatural affection for boys under ten, He’s drugged quite a few on his couch in the den. He’s suspicious of women and fearful of men. There’s a gun by his bed marked ‘specially’ for them.

He’s a beast. He’s a monster. It’s sad but it’s true. His secret agenda keeps Jesus from you. He’s afraid you’ll rise up if you find out the truth. Afraid you’ll tip off your wife & your youth.

He’s a huckster, a shyster; the devil disguised. He’s a freak who insists only his god is wise. He’s a prince of invective consumed with desire. While preaching forgiveness he’s stoking his fire.

 

BURN ~ SCOTT UTLEY

INCINERATE MY SAVAGE SOUL I AM PAPER BURNING AT ALL MY EDGES YOU ARE THE SMOKE I BECOME

SHE’S MERCY – HE’S KIND

You’re my lady in waiting. I’m your man on the moon. I’m Magda. You’re Anjum. We’ve Indigo eyes. I’m Mosena. You’re Sallie. We’re two of a kind. You’re Marty. I’m Moses; We never chose love, it is love that chose us. We’re sisters & brothers, spiritual lovers … 

… I was an ‘innocent’ in the time of the great plague. I survived while giants raptured around me. I believe I was meant to live before and after the great deluge. I believe we were all meant to live before and after the rapture. The most merciful and kind were the first to go. Only the good die young. We’re still alive. If only the strong survive, how is it only the meek shall inherit the earth? 

Life is short but terribly eternal. Regardless of the seconds or decades, we are gifted with, the remaining moments of our journey shall be mercy and kindness incarnate. We’re sisters and brothers. We’re opened windows without any walls. If one of us trips, all of us fall.

[https://youtube.com/watch?v=bfF0x8e38Kg&feature=share]

ALL THE YOUNG DUDES ~ DAVID BOWIE CRAZY HEART ~ WRITTEN BY SCOTT UTLEY

I love the laughter within my barbecued mind; faint echoes of Cherry Sprytes playing tag pierce a fragile silence. They skip down the pathway to my paper-mâché heart. We are a solace to one another. 

Hear the music? Hear it? I can pick up radio stations just by opening up my inner ears. Listen … “Well, he talked all night about his suicide and how it kicked him in the head when he reached twenty-five …”

Do you think I’m sexy? Do you respect me? Will you ever? I’m not a convict or a felon. You look at me as if I am. You think I’m crazy, don’t you? I may be crazy but that doesn’t mean I’m insane. Understand me? I do community service because I truly want to help others any way I can. I’m not forced by any court to do this. I love wearing orange jumpers picking up trash along the Hollywood freeway. It’s my way of giving something back to all the little people who have helped to make me who I am today; a star, baby … a huge fucking star! S’right, and don’t you forget it.  Cat got your tongue? Meow.

Oh my. Here already. Too fast. Always too soon or too late. This is my exit; Hollywood and Vine. You may come up to my place for a while … if you like. Sip some wine. I don’t bite. Not true. I do but I won’t. If you’re really good, treat me right, I might even let you spend the night. Listen. Hear that? Listen. Hear it? Do you want to dance? Real slow? Easy does it. 

 

 

FREE FALLING

 

In this dream, I am falling free without fear. Suddenly, my descent is intercepted by swift-moving clouds. Each one has a distinct face yet they all share the same radiant smile. They carry me along for thousands of miles, pointing out strange and wonderful lands. The spectacular sight below of fantastic creatures roaming free upon a paradise found makes my heart tremble like fine rice paper. In this super world unfolding, predators are never triumphant because predators are never born. Without warning, the cloud faces are gone. I continue gliding along the path of the rising sun in the company of a thousand golden eagles. I soar around our mother earth sailing effortlessly on a grand solar wind in the company of a thousand beautifully plumed golden eagles, and the sky goes on forever.

PERFECT HARMONY featuring DON & THE TRUMPETEERS

Good morning, beautiful people. I received another 21 day meditation challenge from Deepak Chopra and Oprah Winfrey. I looked at it as I always do, and I thought to myself, “Dear god, aren’t these people rich enough? Don’t they have any shame?” If they want the world to sing in perfect harmony then why the XXXX don’t they just give that XXXX away for free; those ubiquitous gems of bliss they so boldly steal from our collective consciousness?”

I’m sorry, but this cannot be expressed any other way. This is why I have always felt Chopra was a fraud and Oprah? No, I don’t want to judge. If you agree, buy the world a Coke.

Of course, you may not want to buy the world a Coke. Who can blame you? This planet is all cranked up on Coca Cola. Our mind is squashed,  Our pipes are ruined, and all of our hair has fallen out. Perhaps you may wish to treat the world to a Dr Pepper? Because, after all, I’m a Pepper, she’s a Pepper, he’s a Pepper, they’re a Pepper, wouldn’t you like to be a Pepper too? Drink Dr Pepper. Be a Dr Pepper. Drink Dr Pepper. Be a Dr Pepper.

.

WWW DOT GOD HATES YOU DOT COM

Good morning ladies and gentlemen,

this is your flight attendant speaking.

Please fasten your seat belts.

The captain has asked me to remind you,

there is no smoking permitted in the lavatories,

and to tell you we are going down!

Down!

Down!

Our fiery crash landing into the ice-capped mountaintop

should be relatively painless but one never knows.

The temperature at the site is a brisk zero Celsius.

Should you require assistance upon our arrival,

do not hesitate to call upon your flight attendant.

Beverages with continental breakfast shall be served at Heaven’s Gate,

located in the main concourse compliments of our Lord, Jesus Christ.

Everyone is welcome except reverend Frederick Phelps of the Hillsboro Baptist

Hillsboro Baptist Community Church, Topeka, Kansas, sitting in aisle 4 seat 2

You are going to hell.

Hell!

Hell!

Because ‘Freddy’,  www dot god hates you dot com.

Thank you for flying our friendly skies.

And have a nice day.

BORN TO SHINE ~ DAY LABORER

 

Our queen is a day laborer. We are the lords of her kingdom. Blessed be our lovely queen, forever and ever. Amen. Our queen is between our eyes. She never calls herself a guiding light. We do. Her wisdom is priceless.  She gives it away for free. Not because she has to, because she wants to. Why do we call her holy when she passes us by? Why do we burst out joy wherever the sun touches her face? Our lover, the sun,  also touches her face, her grace. The sun, our lover, is reason we bloom. She is our perpetual blossom. She shares the same face, same heart, the same earth. We spin; we are double helix strands spiraling souls into one perfect utter bliss. Her Grace reminds us we were born to shine and light the sky. Her face? Shimmering jewels of wisdom gifted unto us by the lonely vagabonds of her heart & the holy swine who rule this place. You may if you wish. Go ahead and touch the sun. Don’t get burned. It is a diamond face with spinning nuclei. Buddha is in the middle … another face. That one is not human. Our Queen is a lonely piper of tones in shades of love. She is a continent on a lonely planet singing joyously with the universe, and the universe next door.

PARDON ME

Eighty-three minutes left. One hour twenty-three minutes thirty two seconds left. Thirty-one. Thirty. Twenty-nine. Twenty-eight. Twenty-seven. I got to stop here a bit Think this out. What can I say that might make some kinda difference? I feel maybe I can shed some light on how y’all look at things. Some light in your world. I won’t be hangin around to see the final curtain but that’s OK by me. The world I’m headin to be some fiery place down south somewhere. That’s what that fella on the news said this mornin. Can’t blame him I guess. Jesus H. Christ. Texas is cold. Colder’n a witch’s tit. Even the java is cold.   

I did it. I ain’t sayin I didn’t. Musta been that damn speed. Tina they call it. Crystal Methamphetamine. Real vicious bitch. Devil’s drug. All over this place too. Everywhere. Y’all don’t even know yet. The shit’s gonna hit the fan. Yep. Musta been the speed. In real life, I’d never hurt a fly. I deserve what I gettin. No real punishment a’tall if you ask me. One hour twenty-one minutes from now the show will be over for me but you…you’ll still be here sufferin. You got the short end of the stick if you ask me. I know y’all ain’t askin bout what I’m thinkin but that’s what I’m figurin. You were stiffed. Fifty-six. Fifty-five. Fifty-four. Seconds. Feeling kinda weak. Life force gettin mighty low. Almost gone. Near time to go.

Hypocrisy? Yeah, that’s the word? Think so. How does a solid, good old Judo-Christian society like we’s got can condone the death penalty? Don’t make no sense if you think about it. Look at Betty Lou Beets. That old lady they did in the other day. She suffered. Always cryin and teary eyed. I don’t pay much mind to other’s hurtin so I don’t know what she did. Done kilt some husbands or something. Is that right? You don’t need to think too hard to ‘cifer out some truths. The law and my Lords a tellin me I gotta pay for takin a life. Maybe society has to pay too if it takes a life. You look at these kids round this great country of ours. Columbine, that six year old the other day, the list is endless. You can tell them anythin you want to but they see y’all put to death a person and that is what ya teach them. It’s ok to kill. Don’t matter what you tell them, it’s your actions and what ya’ll do that is instructin em. I ain’t preachin but I don’t know how y’all figure.

Then I hear on the radio evangelists talkin bout the difference between murder and killin. Don’t make no sense what they’re sayin. Think maybe it’s more to do with them feelin good bout themselves. Rationalizin all the blood on their hands. Living is sacred is what I say. I’m sorry to that fella’s family. So sorry. Thirty-three. Thirty-two. Thirty-one. Gotta go now. Think bout it, won’t ya? If y’all run into the devil, tell him Emmett’s got a bone to pick.

ONLY YOU ~ YAZOO

I once slew a beautiful beast. I brought you meat and a silver sable fur to keep you warm through the coldest winter we’d ever known. I was once a saint who loved throwing miracles at your feet. I was a devil who incinerated your generous spirit with my savage desires; I ate your heart while it still beat within your magnificent breast. I once was an angel who held you tight throughout a dreary, catastrophic night. I was once your lover who gave you the world in the shimmer of a solitary black pearl. I later lost it for you in a gorgeous canyon at the mouth of the southern sea. Once I was a man who cared a lot. I grew a gorgeous crop for you … just for you.

BORN TO SHINE

Our queen is a day laborer. We are lords in her kingdom. She says, “We were born to shine.” We think she was born to shine. Blessed be our lovely queen who dwells between our eyes. She’s nobody’s prophet, she says. She never calls herself our guiding light. We do, but never in her presence. We know better. When she blushes, the sun becomes a scarlet moon. Her wisdom is priceless. She gives it away for free. Not because she has to, but because she wants to. It is her destiny calling. She is the lady with the holy in her face. She’s a humble force of a beautiful mercy. We burst out joy whenever the sun touches our face. We are reminded we were born to shine. Her face is shimmering jewels of wisdom gifted unto us by kings in vagabond garb. Swine who help her rule this place are angels with purple flowering feathered wings immaculately conceived. We are reminded we are more than looks perceive. Go ahead and touch. You want to, so go ahead. She will not mind a gentle touch. Hers is a diamond face; spinning prisms of nuclei with Buddha in the middle. There is another face, but that one is not human. Our queen is an elegant piper of tones in shades of love. She is a continent on a lonely planet singing along with the universe, and the universe next door.

 

RAISE THE RED LANTERN – WITH GONG LI -FULL MOVIE

SOUL HAS YOUR EYES

I’m standing at my kitchen window. The dusk is passing into early eve. There is a wind storm going on. I’m concerned about a hummingbird nest that is in a young ficus tree raised from the dead itself; a stick two years ago in the backyard of my neighbor who had neglected it. I thought I’d just water it and see what happens. It grew. Now I am worried the wind will blow the nest away. I just saw some photos of baby hummingbirds in a similar tree across the street. They are so beautiful. That was earlier today. I won’t venture close enough to these here in my yard… just in case. But I think …

If all animals feel, and they do… how often have we seen the pitiful agony of struggle in their eyes against that which they know intend harm? If they fear they must know joy, they must love life. Instinct just doesn’t cut it. In fact, dismissing such behavior as reflexology is near-devious. It is verging … no, it is ignorant … it must be another form of crime against life.You see fear in all god’s creatures.

If all creatures feel fear, love life, know pain and sorrow then they have soul – if you consume soul – you must be an animal without one – or perhaps an animal who has yet to open their eyes wide enough to see – so – I ask, think upon this. I could be wrong – I know I’m not. 

DAY LABORER by SCOTT UTLEY

Our queen is a day laborer. We are the lords of her kingdom. Blessed be our lovely queen forever & ever, amen.

Our Queen is between our eyes. She calls herself a drifting vagabond whose wisdom is priceless. This is why she gives it away for free. Not because she has to but because she wants to.

They call her Holy (in whispers) when she passes by . We shout out joy whenever her sun touches our face, which is a shimmering jewel of wisdom gifted unto us.

Go ahead and touch her if you wish. Hers is a red diamond face with spinning nuclei and Buddha in her eyes, as well as another face but that one is not human. Who wouldn’t want to touch such a beautiful face?

Our queen is a lonely piper of tones in shades of love. She is a continent on a cobalt blue planet singing with the universe and with the universe next door.

TOPEKA PREACHA ~ SCOTT UTLEY

He says he loves Jesus and Jesus loves him.
He’s a modern day prophet forgiving your sins.
He’s a radio pirate with a cable show too,
A mistress in Paris, an eye out for you.

His brand of religion breeds heartbreak and pain.
He’s a born again Christian with something to gain.
Deceitfully convincing his flock of salvation,
In return he receives a standing ovation.

His glorious sermons preach schemes of division,
Exquisitely crafted to prevent any schism.
Triumphantly pitting his will against right,
He lusts after money & covets your wife.

An unnatural affection for boys under ten,
He’s drugged quite a few on his couch in the den.
He’s suspicious of women and fearful of men.
There’s a gun by his bed marked ‘specially’ for them.

He’s a beast. He’s a monster. It’s sad but it’s true.
His secret agenda keeps Jesus from you.
He’s afraid you’ll rise up if you find out the truth,
Afraid you’ll tip off your wife & your youth.

He’s a huckster, a shyster, and the devil disguised.
He’s a freak who insists only his god is wise.
This prince of invective is consumed by desire.
While preaching forgiveness he’s stoking his fire.

 

 

BE A PEPPER ~ Performed by THE COCA COLA CHOIR

Good morning, beautiful people. I received another 21 day meditation challenge from Deepak Chopra and Oprah Winfrey. I looked at it as I always do, and I thought to myself, “Dear god, aren’t these people rich enough? Don’t they have any shame?” If they want the world to sing in perfect harmony, then why in the hell don’t they just give that stuff away, those ubiquitous gems of bliss they boldly steal from our collective consciousness? I’m sorry, but this cannot be expressed any other way. This is why I have always felt Chopra is a fraud and Oprah? She doesn’t know what she is doing half the time. She is as high as a kite all the time, according to my sources at National Inquirer. I don’t want to judge. I must judge. If you agree, buy the world a Coke. Namaste.

Of course, you may not want to buy the world a Coke. Who can blame you? This planet is all cranked up on Coca Cola. Her mind is squash, her pipes are ruined, and all of her hair has fallen out. Perhaps you may wish to treat the world to a Dr. Pepper? Because, after all, I’m a Pepper, she’s a Pepper, he’s a Pepper, they’re a Pepper, wouldn’t you like to be a Pepper too? Drink Dr. Pepper. Be a Dr. Pepper. Drink Dr. Pepper. Be a Dr. Pepper.

UNTIL THE RAIN CAME performed by SCOTT UTLEY

The raven caws three times and then the rain falls. Heaven’s sky tears down with a beautiful viciousness. Above my head, I study the layers of silt and dust on the avocado leaves. I think this is the accumulated detritus of this past summer’s volcanic eruption. 

It was a summer deadened by the horror of wars scattered without rhyme or reason upon this pristine cobalt orb we call home, a summer of threats against one nation or another by one nation or another, a summer of soccer moms down on hope but high on crank cruising Meth Street USA, a summer where blacks are living more and more in their own world, while whites are living more and more in theirs, and they never kiss anymore.

It was a summer of polar bears without homes, coyotes lying motionless on the side of the road, and giant blue whales washing up lifeless upon California’s shores. I confess, my spine had almost fused with futility, until the rain came.

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JUST LIKE HEAVEN ~ THE CURE

Have you ever met a Kit Fox? The last time I was there, I arrived an hour or so past midnight. There was an ethereal full moon drifting from side to side. The roaring clatter of emptiness … all alone … no one anywhere in sight. Appearing as if from a glassine desert sky below my feet, a Kit Fox-trots a few meters ahead of my car’s headlights. Mysteriously mystic, she stops to check me with a naive lascivious smile. She is Alice and this is her wonderland. What a night. It was a night. She beckoned me mischievously. Her smile said, “Come this way,”  Enchantment is the best high around. I was high as a kite.  Trippin-out …

[You have wings that never stop flapping. You are a great wandering Albatross. Just as you, I need to feel free. That’s one reason why I am so much in … one reason … I am so fond of you. I see me in you. I love what I see. You do too, I can tell. Throw caution to the wind. She knows what to do with it. Follow me. We’ll have fun beneath the desert sun. Just you and I.]

…. on shooting stars from deep within an inner-space. Each figures eights before taking a dive to bless heaven on the other side. Holy coyotes yelping shouts throwing cactus darts at cunning hares. Messenger crows sleep tight that night. 

Say yes. You’ll not be nearly afraid as I am now. Your heart’s desire is alsohttps://youtube.com/watch?v=1ASpBpT8bRQ&feature=share

away with me.  If I could promise you tomorrow I would in a heartbeat. The best I can offe you is forever .

https://youtube.com/watch?v=1ASpBpT8bRQ&feature=share

MEMORY OF YOUR FACE

Burnt onto the pages of my ancient history, is the story of our love; a spiritual decree. Penned onto the memory of my simple, fleeting life, is the epic of our union, quite beautifully described. I am stunned by the depth of your soul. Shall I be forever mystified?

This evening, brazenly confetti’’d on a Hollywood freeway overpass, I saw your initials set upon a fractured heart. While my soul bleeds adoration in silence, I wonder if this is love’s crucifixion? Is this how Mary felt in the garden? No answer is of consequence, for what I shall remember long after I have died, is the memory of your face, indelibly inscribed.

DISCOURSE AT OJAI

HE SAID: I am only human. My voice is powerful so I never shout. We share many of the same thoughts. We come from the same womb. The source of all our inspiration never cries but laughs a lot.”

HE SAID: Do not take it upon yourself to sit in judgment of your fellow man. A man takes the life of one man & then you punish him by taking his life. Who will punish you for that very same offense? Compassion makes me happy. Forgiveness gets me high.

HE SAID: Be happy. It is your birthright to know joy forever. When pain comes & come it shall, embrace it rather than run away. You will never be able to hide. So sharpen your courage. Kiss the ground you walk on. Take the path your heart desires. Be kind & love life. This is my devout wish & hope & plan for you. He smiled a smile of ecstasy as he turned towards the rose dusked sky & slowly walked away.

 

DISCOURSE AT OJAI WRITTEN by SCOTT UTLEY at OJAI, SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA