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Oct 31st
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The Poems of Dane Cervine

ae DaneEditor’s note:  Dane Cervine’s poems have won, or been finalists for, awards from Adrienne Rich, Tony Hoagland, The Atlanta Review and Caesura. His work has appeared in a diverse range of publications, including The SUN Magazine, The Hudson Review, anthologies, short films, animation, newspapers and online. Cervine serves as Chief of Children’s Mental Health for Santa Cruz County, and has a small private practice as a therapist. Visit danecervine.typepad.com.

How Therapists Dance

Washington DC after a conference,

we head into the urban night

led by the jive-talking white ghetto boy

raised in black foster homes

bent on showing us the town. We

wander from night club to bar,

a mix of Black, Asian, Latino, White

earnest saviors eager to party, to strip

the mind of diagnostic prognostication,

to revel. Eventually, one by one, our group

slips back to the hotel till I am alone

with a young black woman who says

I want to show you one more place.

Down an alley, she leads me to a club

where I am the only white face in the joint,

and while she is gone to the bathroom,

the owner saunters over, asks how I’m doing,

says if you have any trouble here, come find me.

And I am suddenly more alone

than ever, till my young friend returns,

looks at my anxious face, smiles, says

this is what I wanted to show you.


Enlightenment Is a Bitch

At first it isn’t so bad—a taste of ecstasy,

the world covered in honey. Even snails

scrawl the names of Buddhas with their silvery trails.

But then, too much. Pears become unbearable,

wet white flesh so tender one could perish

contemplating the first taste.

Meditation becomes oddly redundant,

attention now like water, absorbed in tree-root,

plumbing; even fire hydrants with their red

stubby arms become mandalas, and worse,

the police siren revving its wail behind

my slow-moving car sounds like a mantra.

Even my wife’s complaints about me finally

sound true. I just bow. Kiss her slender hands.

Carry the garbage outside, but damn! The moon!

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Altars of Remembrance, Forgiveness & Rapprochement

We’re in Scorpio now—things mysterious, ageless, hidden, sometimes scary. Friday is Halloween; Saturday, All Saints Day; Sunday, All Soul’s Day. Sunday morning at 2 a.m. (after midnight), Daylight Savings Time ends. Clocks are turned back. Tuesday is the General Election. Our vote is our voice. Each vote matters. Applying freedom of choice—Libra’s teachings. It’s time to build Halloween, All Saints and All Souls altars—with marigolds, pumpkins, sugar skeletons, copal (incense), pomegranates, persimmons, candy corn and cookies, orange and black. It’s so Saturn (now in Scorpio). Saturn is the dweller on the threshold (like St. Peter at the gates of heaven). Saturn can look like a Halloween creature—a gargoyle—a fantastic dragon-like creature protecting sacred sites. The dweller (Saturn) stands at the door or threshold of sacred mysteries, wisdom temples, inner sanctums of churches, offering protection, scaring evil away. The last day of October and first two days of November, when veils between worlds thin and spirits roam about, are times of remembrance, forgiveness, reconciliation and rapprochement. These actions liberate us. At death, when reviewing our lives and the consequences of our actions if we have forgiven, then we are free, less encumbered with grief and sadness. We place forgiveness on our altars. Happy Halloween, everyone! It’s good to dress up as what we’re afraid of. Or whom we would mentor. Then we become one with them. Note to readers: by Thanksgiving I will need a place to live (with purpose). Please contact me if you know of a place where I can rest for awhile. Teach and build community. [email protected] I will be leaving my mother’s home for the last time.

 

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