While experiencing a series of Shamanic Visions in the early 1980’s, John Sacelli met his totem Lynx (links) who introduced him to a series of inter-dimensional, alternative and past life adventures.
John/Juan is the author of The AngeLynx Oracle, The Angelish Dictionary and Lynx in Time – the 1960’s and three books of poetry. He can be reached at salynx@me.com. Websites: www.johnsacelli.org and www.angelynx.com
A MASQUERADE
how is a mask a raid? and what is being raided? or rated?
is there a mass-king, or a mask-king massing?
a king of masks?
and who is asking?
is there an ass-king who wears a mask upon his ass?
the catholic mass and workers massing
both break social distance rules
but is not a masquerade another name
for a parade of fools?
or take mascara – a massive mess upon the face
that even soap will not erase
the spanish name for face is ‘cara’
or more and more, ‘más cara`
‘demasiado caro’, costs too much
to erase a face and place another face
just to mask a raid, or evade what might be true
if you truly just knew you
take off the mask, another mask emerges
the masses massively amassing karma
through the dogma of the dharma
through mystic mists assessing and assisting
when from the massive memories
of histories and mysteries
emerge the angels and the angles of our mastery
unasked, unmasked
the true face of our destiny
the summing up of all the self-effacing, self-erasing faces
facing cries and crises through their sentries and their centuries
emerging fleeing from afar
as the face of who, what, where and why we are
******
FIVE FOOT
when five foot crawled
and put her head upon the sand
they all exclaimed
she is our savior
our new queen
without her
we cannot be
five-foot walks upon the water
like a spider-bird
like a spider-woman
like a fog upon the sea
like a tide upon the land
like a frog upon the lily-pad
like a skitter-bug
she walks upon the back
of carp and catfish swirling in the mud
she walks upon dark waters
she walks on sea-foam, spume
she walks the dusk into the sun
and walks the dawn into the night
sometimes she is still upon the water
like sea-change before choice
when you cannot see her
only feel her
she is mist
and when you cannot feel her
she is missed
she comes to me in dreams
she comes into my body
she floats in through my chest
and spreads into my head and limbs
walks inside among the cells
which are water too
sometimes she is drawing me
into the clouds
sometimes she is pouring me
onto the land
she walks upon, in, through
and under me
she is dreaming me
a pond, a lake, a stream, a river
a swamp, fjord, estuary, ocean
and all the land which lies between
and bounds the seas
five-foot walks upon, into
and is the waters
without which I would not be
******
HE KNOWS WHO YOU ARE
he knows who you are
your fear, your dream
he hides in your heart
he cuts to your shame
he sees through your blame
he knows your past
he is fierce, he is war
he burns in your scar
he knows who you are
he sits in your place
he peers from your face
his face is your own
his fate is your own
he knows who you are
he is who you are
******
PENNY CANDY
when I was very young,
someone stole my penny candy
now it doesn’t taste the same
not in fortune, not in fame
even if I win the game
penny-ante, penny-candy
making millions, making billions
mad because it’s not bezillions
all the people that you screwed
while they all were screwing you
all the ones we didn’t screw
but wanted to
and when this body’s life is through
still something owed, something due
will there be another you?
pursuing what you still pursue
an end to wanting
to do to others what they did to you?
a throbbing heart that falls apart
bones that molder in the dirt
a busy brain that can’t retain
why we think and drink and eat and stink
what are our plans, and our demands
denying that we’re dying
while we’re looking up ahead
to see that we’re already dead
but if it isn’t really me
is there not something it can be?
a pattern, swirl, an eddy
a universe of thin spaghetti?
both miraculous and petty?
while we keep resolving to go on
our bodies keep dissolving what we’ve won
strands of quantum possibility
distending you out into me
ages, eons, eras, epochs
wages, peons, heroes, despots
eternity has time for all
infinity has space and place for everyone
what’s not begun, already done
but the question is, what is the fizz
I call when I say me
the fizz I call the physical
how dismal and how dandy
how impotent, how randy
how useless and how handy
I just want my penny-candy
******
THE ANTS
out of the corner of my eye
almost too small to see
an ant, skittering behind a book
on my desk
I move the book and take a closer look
a line of them,
going somewhere from somewhere
intent in their tiny world
oblivious of mine
should I take pity?
no, they’ll nest, swarm, proliferate
the thumb of doom hovers over them
they scatter, but it’s too late
I get most of them
yesterday there was an ant
black and much, much bigger
that had drowned in the honey
don’t know how it got in
and didn’t see it in my spoon
on the way to my tea
have you heard of chocolate-covered ants?
well, use a lot of chocolate
cause honey-coated ants
are mainly bitter
in a crunchy icky way
and the cutter ants in the garden
fascinating how precisely
they chop up the leaves
of my partners’ plants
then there’s the hormigas
– that’s Mexican for ants –
from the construction zone
across from us
bigger by another order
they take what they can find
bicycles, rakes, a ladder
disappear into the night
our neighbors shrug their shoulders
I understand – hormigas need revenge
now here we are, a gathering of writers
waving our ant-ennas at one another
oblivious to the big thumb
which hovers over all of us
hoping it does not descend today
After he retired and moved to Sedona, Arizona, he taught literature at Yavapai College in Clarkdale, Arizona.
He and professional artist Bev Kephart bought a small motor home in 2003, sold most of their possessions, and traveled the U. S. for seven years. After visiting Mexico several times, they settled in the village of Ajijic, joining the ex-pat artist and writing communities.
Mel’s writing has been published online and in print in The United Kingdom, The United States, Mexico, New Zealand, and Australia. He is the author of three novels, a book of short stories, and several books of poetry. He and his wife now make their home in the village of San Nicholas de Ibarra.
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