Poetry Niche – May 2023

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


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



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

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



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



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

Mel Goldberg
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