Monday, January 8, 2018


Minerva a Poem by Craniff Ambolia Sirleaf Boyd Dedicated to the
cherished Memory of Dore Ashton.
To dream of sleep while awake, and to live as if in a dream, and in
waking life to live as a dreamer, filled with desire and imagination
pure immutable, immaterial generous love. To be enchanted to enchant
to be transfixed enchanted chanting as if everything that ever was
alive was alive everyday all the time forever. To be infinate as the
heavans are infinate and to loop back forth to and fro secure safe in
alabaster chambers, to be dead cold thought loving cool eternal. To be
stone hard sturdy steadfast bedrock of Jerusalem the kingdom. The
kingdom within you your hart, my hart her beating harts now. To be
heat slow steady heat that wells up at the base of the spine like a
geysir that flows forth from the mouth of your love to be her the
sliver eyes of Minerva her helm set aside for the night in surrender,
weapons shield sandals all placed by her bower in repose for her eyes
to rest to sleep perchance to dream of a lover who loves her back
unyieldingly without fervor haste or ardour. To be her aluminum eyes
bright polished sliver penetrating the darkness across the heavens
through out time with out time together, to be her eyes seeing with
out understanding loving without hearing, to be her eyes the poetry
they sing to her lover as they chase across the field of his life,
lived lost broken restored corrupted resolved destroyed enhanced
altered corrected preserved errected. To be her eyes forever today now
at once with her of her in her as her heart. She as dreams vanish with
the light of day which casts the Fabels of Plutos dominion back into
the shadows of reality, is gone lost forever extinguished.
Extinguished and alit anew in the longing of my heart saddend crippled
depressed corroded bronze breastplate and grieves helmet sword javelin
arrowpoint all dulled oxidized breathed out and in again with the
gasps and shudders of every soul you I we she her it have ever known
will ever know and with every soul we can never know will never know
eternally. She is gone with the winds and sands of time that grind all
of vainglorious mans vigorous plans for his future self right back
down to the ashes powder and gritty dust from which he came. She is
with that wind violent and stormy unending, she is of that wind brief
cautious and calm. She is to me, was to me as I am to her enchanted,
magic magical dead destroyed and gone. She is over, a moon of mamy
water, cool cold coldest shade of the night who wispers sweet nothings
to every stevadore so that he may slide into the abyss of her love
once again and forget his own oblivion. To be her grey eyes, to be her
grey bird eyes flinting and quikening rotating with every axis in the
sky alighting to abound and accord every wish every desire every
command to her unfaithful and faithful alike. To be her grey eyes
regardless, forever today now. To be twin as her hurt is twinned in me
and you. To be reflected back and transfixt to gorgon stone furious
frozen rage howling. To howl and scream in anger and frustration so as
to crack the glass of every mirror in the world and scrape the
quicksilver murcury. To scrape the silver so as to hope for sight of
her again, again to hear her voice and become enchanted, to chant her
name out to hear her voice and sink into the depths of loving sorrow.
To live for her as her and with her, her cold light of the mind
planetary and stellar. To be supreme as the dream which led her
creator to create her was supreme, sublime and magnificent. To be
mega, great and greatness combined as the great streaghts of all the
strong men who adore her are great. To be ominous, omincient as the
dreams of every true dreamer are, power eternal free from freedoom
itself freed unbounded by Eagle, the Örn whos cry is sharp and savory
as the spirits from the drinking horn. To sound out like the broken
oliphant creaking and gnashing like the ganish god great giver. To
love her to remember her and to dream of forgetting and remembering
and holding and hearing and sensing. To read every word ever written
and hear her read it to you, forever. So that as her grey eyes glance
the page and her voice cracks the shadow world of waking life recedes
back into dark corner that is reality giving place to the child empire
of imagination. To imagine her as she sleeps beside the materiél the
Xango Zeus helm of every Anima every overbearing overprotecting
warrior father who protects her is set aside to let the sweet wishes
of her wispering dream emperor convey his love by coded messege
blinking stuttering hesitating transfering waiting loving living. To
be the air of her thougths the sleep of her dreams and every breath
the bleating hoard evertook in the times it takes to build the
universe destroy it and rebuild it again. To be her imagination,
flowing as her imaginary time, the imaginary years of her imaginary
life are images, pictures in the storybooks of our language. To be her
great gallery of communication, the museum of word. To exist as her
words of love. To continue on as the love she bestowed and the lives
she brought forth loved. To love her, tall standing awake woken. To
waken to the sighs uttered in the dreams of her sleep of her imaginary
lover. To be her cosmic moan, the gasp of loving life itself forever
eternal at once always. To be over her Gaia, green grieving the grey
loss. To be the breath of life her living lover must blow to clear the
dust of her pristine while funeral shroud. To be that dust inhaled by
the men who lower her into the earth, down to that great below where
we all must one day attend, regardless as her grey eyes. Her grey eyes
forever above clear as the sky is great of the zulus. To be her
praises chanted out year after year minerva. A rite. To be her right
eye her left eye and her inner eye, the inner eye that removes the
children from the digits of her lovers hand and selects them assembles
them the the mighty dream of instruction that once gave the command to
assemble her us all our ancestress. To be her, erect tall aware awake.
Wakened to that shadow dream that reality was as she saw it in her
grey eyes regardless. And to live in the dream as men do captive
beholden and enthralled to her eternal beauty forever.