booksartyoume

'purgatorial divine comedia,' so the unrequited affection of Dante' weeps seeking the prayed for, preyed by purgatorial, purging of the Beatrice's love. Alas, let the religionists that make this song of love's passion into their diadactic missive go their way of worthlessness, and all that know Dante's passionate resolve for his Beatrice to win out. Yes!

touch or not to touch' (or, 'New Year Resolution' 2007) timothy r gates, 12/31/2006

to touch or not to touch,
that is never the question.
how often to touch,
or when to touch,
or how to touch,
these are some reasonable questions?
a resolution to be more deliberate,
timely,
perhaps a tad pensive
(mainly because I love this word),
but not
hell, that would stupid,
and it would be hell.
have I written on this before?
hell yes,
otherwise I wouldn't pose the query
(another word that I like).
Whitman's words,
'from pent up aching rivers,
remain pent up,
save for those willing to let them flow.

'chocolate in the morning' timothy r g, 06/26/07

ten minutes ago,
did the morning thing,
then brushed my teeth, rinsed
time for some real hot chocolate,
milk boiled, making sure not too hot,
still hot enough,
make sure there's no scum forming;
a chill runs up my pajama legs,
sit down with my steaming chocolate,
sip, yes - slowly,
outside I can hear grandpa humming
-he never let anyone hear him sing
-never let anyone hear him pray
-all saw him love
went to take another sip,
though it became cool,
lost in the fantasy of the moment;
fantasy more true than fiction
(grandma brought me a plate of buttered toast);
a chill reminds me that it's time,
nearer than today,
move into the fiction of the day;
hot chocolate and a breeze,
something that makes sense,
yes.

thought that i'd post this after sending it to a friend(hadn't looked at it for a bit), & more below this one if you want:
'Meditation on Pianos and Guitars'(trg, 6/09/03)

Along the banister sits the Piano waiting to be played. -- Note: I will be referring to these 'things' in the proper noun sense, being that they are most often extension of a person. Even those who play poorly or those who merely apply the mechanics of instrumentation, even these people extend themselves through their instruments. True, they are either inept or asses, but nonetheless their instruments are extensions of their person. Enough said. Over in the corner sits a lone guitar, snug in her case where no one can see her, out of the way so no indiscriminate hands might perchance pick her up and pluck her strings. A priceless piece of wood and strings must needs be protected.
Piano by now is quite perturbed, thinking that all attention should be shown towards her direction. 'By the way,' she would say, 'I am not out here for all to see for nothing.' Piano has never decided where on the gender scale he or she is to be found. I don't thing that he or she truly gives a damn. I know that I don't. --For the sake of less confusion I will trade of gender references here to either gender, so please don't be put off. If you're unable to deal with such liberal understanding of personhood being express just choose the one that you think best fits Piano and read on. Piano loves his keys tapped ever so lightly, save for the appropriate crescendos. Her timber in the upper range is unparalleled and his lower range's resonance will shake you insides, not so much with his volume but with his vibration, even when the notes are barely heard. Piano says, 'Please sit down before me and let me razzle dazzle you.' And this he will if you will but spend a little time with him. Key pressed rise up to be pressed down again. If you have the knowledge and finesse it won't take much more than twenty minutes for you to become one with her. Here you are transformed into another world, a world where angels fly, a world where angels wished they could buy, a world where people are full of instrumental proficiency. This world is where both genius' and simple music lovers meet.
'Please,' he says, 'tough my black keys too, you'll not be sorry.' It's not like the racist phrase, 'Back, try it and you'll never go back.' Here if you allow yourself to experiment with the ebony key it won't be long until you'll be back on the ivory wider ones. Here both the white and the black form a part of a mutual necessity for melody. Without the entwined love affair there is no harmony, no blues, no Mozart, no Mahler or Brahms, no Fats Domino or Oscar Peterson, nothing. She says, 'Come play with me and I'll guarantee you that you'll never be unsatisfied. Yes, this seems true, but for me it still doesn't fill my soul with all that I need.
In the corner safely behind the furniture sits my lover, my Guitar. --Guitar is most positively of the female gender. Her shape gives her away. I have never known a man, even the most luscious of a drag queen to have Guitar's shapely figure. Over in the corner I hear faintly her call, 'Please open my case and reacquaint yourself.' I open the case and there she was in all her glory. I don't know what it is with people and their guitars but it seems like when we open up the case that we must take a minute to look at her. I placed my hand on her to lift her out and I plucked the five strings. Magic. My heart is captured. Before I play her I will wipe her off, prepare her for our union. Now placed in my arms, hands both pressing her strings and ready to pluck, her curved body both around and between my legs -- I proceeded to play.
Guitar prefers that you take your time, usually at least an hour of playing before you get serious. No strumming or pouncing your picks and fingers up her strings, at least not until there's a proper re-acquaintance of you fingers up, down, over and around her neck. She has to know that you mean business. Otherwise you should get on your merry way. After about an hour and a half of playing my love we began to lose in the muse. We no longer knew where one of us started and the other ended. True love. We found ourselves in Guitar world, one that I am not quick to want to leave. After about three hours of playing we needed to take a rest from it for the day. Both my fingers had become quite tender and her body was full of my perspiration from her head over her neck and all over the front of her shapely body. I am love with Guitar. I love Piano with her pale ivory keys and his ebony sharps and flats, but Piano for me doesn't resonate with my heart, soul or body. Guitar commands my attention.
Close Piano's lid. Place my lover, Guitar, gently into her bed, after wiping her dry. One last time say goodnight and pluck her strings, then lock her case and place in the corner behind the furniture out of the way of those who might find her inviting. She is mine and I am hers. I love my Guitar.

'My Guitar' (trg, 6/19/03)

Should I fall asleep in the night?
Will my shapely one be sad?
We have been together longer than any other.
We've played.
Learned.
Laughed.
Wept gently.
Slept side by side.
Had a mutual understanding about patriarchy.
Was more frightened by matriarchy.
We pulled and pushed each other
till we were stretched.
The tension is near breaking.
On certain playful days we break,
yet we are back together quickly.
When you sit over in the corner
ignoring my pleas
I know that I must pick and pull you up,
hold you close and let you enliven me.
Many have held my attention temporarily,
But you have always had my heart and soul.
We met at the crossroads
and told the Devil to go back to his hell,
ever since we have shared destiny.
Do I fear the night?
Will I linger with my shapely one?
We have been together more than all others.

This one NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART:
'note the guitar' timothy r gates, 07/13/2006

fits into your middle
or, between your legs
if played patiently,
persistently,
aggressively, but intuitively
curves like a girl,
unless you want her to be a boy,
she'll comply
or, you'll comply
if you suck at playing, you better learn
it'll show you for what you are
or, if you don't know who you are
you'll be fucked
but not in a good way,
the way that makes the word make sense
note the guitar
and the guitar will note you
ignore the guitar
and the guitar will not respond
you will suck
again, not in a good way
you'll most likely blame the guitar
but you'll be the ass
hold the curves into your frame tight,
play with maturation's knowing,
let someone who thinks they know how to play
play power chords,
my guitar 'gently weeps', at times
she also makes me cum
my guitar is never the blame
for what I'm too damn lazy to know
I note my guitar
Damn, I love her frets


'If there is to be any peace it will come through being not having.' + Henry Miller 'Wars are poor chisels for carving out peaceful tomorrows.' + Martin Luther King Jr. 'The search for Truth is the search for God.' + Gandhi

FIVE NEW PIECES FOR EVE timothy r gates 2006



EVE, NOT VS LYITH timothy r gates, 10/27/2006


LOOKED INTO THE MOON
SHE LOOKED BACK
IT'S NOT THE MAN IN THE MOON,
ONLY MEN WHO COULDN'T DEAL WITH SHE BEING TRUE,
REFLECTING LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS
EVE'S THE LIFE SPRING OF ALL BEING,
LYLITH SET ASIDE, TOO HEADSTRONG WE'RE TOLD
ONLY EVE'S TWIN
SHIT IS SHIT;
BEAUTY IS BEAUTY;
ALL ELSE LET OTHERS BEHOLD



JESUS, ANOTHER NAME timothy r gates, 10/27/2006

JESUS, LATINO'S LOVE THE NAME
JOSHUA, THE SAME NAME, A HEBREW ORIGINAL
STILL COMMON FOR THOSE FOLKS
MOHAMMED, A BELOVED NAME FOR MOSLEM BOYS
GIRLS HAVE NO EQUIVALENTS IN THAT RELIGION
MARY, POPULAR STILL
TODAY LIARS LIKE TO DECONSTRUCT A NON-HERSTORY
MAKE MARY MAGDALENE A WHORE, ONCE REMOVED
WHY?
BLAME LYLITH
BLAME EVE
BLAME MARY, ENDEARMENT, THEOTOKOS
ENTRENCHMENT, BLOODY MARY
AGAIN, LET HER BLEED
JESUS DID
HIS MOTHER'S HEART DID
JESUS NEVER KISSED ASS
JESUS NEVER KICKED ASS
JESUS DID RUN THEIR ASSES OUT OF THE TEMPLE,
DAMNABLE SELLERS OF GOD
PAGANS DAMN THE CHRISTIANS FOR SELLING THEIR WARES;
DO THE SAME, PROFITEERING FROM IGNORANCE VIA CAPITALISM
BUDDHA, EVERYONE'S A BUDDHA
NAME YOUR KID THAT IF YOU WANT CONFUSION
LIKE CASH, PISSED OFF A FEW WITH HIS SONG,




NOW HE'S A SAINT TO THOSE WHO THOUGHT HIM A REBEL
CALL ANOTHER BY THEIR NAME
THEIR TRUE NAME, THE ZEN MASTER SAYS
MY NAME IS YOUR NAME
DOES IT PISS YOU OFF THAT YOURS IS MINE?
I LOVE IT
HA
WHY DO PEOPLE SAY, 'JESUS CHRIST, GOD DAMN,'
BUT DON'T SAY, 'MOHAMMED, OR BUDDHA DAMN YOU?'
SOME IDIOT NEO-PAGANS LOVE TO THROW THEIR CURSES AROUND
WHAT YOU PUT OUT WILL GET YOU
AM I PISSING YOU OFF?
JESUS IS A THE SAME AS HOSEA TOO, JOSHUA
YA-WEH OR JE-HOV-VAH OR G-D
WHY NOT D-O-G?
NAME YOUR KID JESUS,
NOT THE LATINO PRONUNCIATION
HE'LL LOVE YOU
BETTER, NAME YOUR OTHER KID JESUS,
THE DAUGHTER
NAME YOUR SON MARY
LOVE THEM, LOVE THEIR NAMES
TELL EVERYONE TO FUCK OFF
AM I RAMBLING?
TOO FUCKING BAD.



LOVE, PEACE AND TOGETHERNESS timothy r gates, 10/27/2006

love is noun to those who don't know it
peace is verbiage's curse to those who profiteer by having other 's kids war
togetherness is what we know if we let the warriors pat their own backs

The pic is that of 'Jane' Siberry, now also 'Issa,' an Artist from Canada, http://www.myspace.com/issalight
http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=82494745&MyToken=b3db4696-a85f-4cbd-bb43-60c70567f2e6

'Passion cuts through' (trg, 2/11/04)

Passion cuts through the poorly written stories,
love known and shown,
never tiresome,
knows the pleasure of silence and conversation,
together.
A gift of being human,
divinity wed with humanity,
yin yang, balance of female-male,
entwined union sets us free to be who we are.
Passion allows me to see through a prism,
foregoing the single-vision of failing eyes,
the beauty of colour gives insight into the hues of your eyes.
Am I able to see?
Do I desire to see?
Will I look so that I will see?
Passion cuts through desire solely to be pleased,
-- pleasure, a gift of perception,
we do behold the beauty of the person before us,
eliminating all supposed competition.
Close your eyes:
now imagine my hands, mimicking Reiki, following the path of your body,
not touching, barely touching at times, traveling over your curved frame,
not interfering with the presence of your being,
opening up your presence of mind,
you hearing my words, 'I love you,'
me not saying one word in this direction out loud.
I give myself to the unsaid words,
louder than any spoken,
these enliven me too
and I say, 'Thank you,' for the gift of passion.
I do see.

'out of darkness' trg, 07/30/06

out of darkness light shown
their is no black ugliness,
blackness is light's inversion,
still to be seen one must open their eyes;
kiss the sun,
the moon does,
yin yang's gnosis,
the logos' speaking, without a need to be heard;
neither are good or evil,
both are beauty's mirror,
the male and the fe-male,
not a negation of the other,
synergy,
more than one i can be
i behold her darkness,
i realize that i see what can be seen
only if one chooses to open their eyes;
from her womb,
without form and darkness in the deep,
i hear the word,
'let there be light;'
out of, from within, alongside
black's light is known