HomePoetryPoint Ponde

Point Ponde

We set out to prove the bank boys wrong,
to prove the nihilists wrong,
to prove the preachers wrong,
to prove our mothers wrong,
to prove our brain gremlins wrong.
We took with us only our saturated dreamcatchers
and the slugs from our gardens
and a sack full of clanging sounds
and the smell of wet, rusted metal.

I could sing of our adventures until my throat turns to dust
and my eyes are but mythstones on the mantlepiece of my lover.
But here I will tell you of the night we followed the fruit bats
on a clitoral gust up to Point Ponde
and met the angels.

They hid but we knew they were there
because the babies in our wombs became restless,
and our pendants began levitating away from our chests,
and the barking dogs in our minds
went silent.

The blue ones came out first.
They kissed our foreheads
and filled the father-shaped holes in our hearts
and rocked us to sleep cradled in whale hide wings.

The brown ones had patchwork burlap wings
and left shimmering snail trails behind them.
They taught us how to speak with the soil gods
through a half-buried conch shell
to make things grow.

The green ones were shy til we brought them mollusks from the sea
which they added to their living costumes.
They gave us tree tea which cracked open our heads
and showed us we don’t need a man to be happy.
Their wings were translucent like dragonflies.

Gold angels are inscrutable old rascals
with long white mustaches and wings of runed parchment.
They induced us to labor with intimate touching
and we gave birth not with pain
but with ecstacy.

The children were raised in napeling cribs
and rocked to sleep by the songwinds of the angels.
We told each other our deepest secrets,
and it turned out we all had the same ones.

We set out to prove the bank boys wrong,
to prove the nihilists wrong,
to prove the preachers wrong,
to prove our mothers wrong,
to prove our brain gremlins wrong.
We descended from Pointe Ponde
with glowing hearts and strong children,
and bowie blossoms in our hair,
and an unbreakable, eternal sisterhood,
and our heads held high.

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Latest comments

  • I was there and it felt… innocently untouched.

    Thankyou Caitlin

  • We set out to prove the bank boys wrong,
    as we watched them clutching their bags
    stuffed with our money as they dragged them
    along into their descent into the big fire pit below.

    We set out to prove the nihilists wrong,
    as we watched them profess their faith in Nothing
    while they laughed at our belief in Spirit
    as they faded slowly into their chosen Oblivion.

    We set out to prove the preachers wrong,
    as we watched them disgrace themselves
    with sordid behaviors and allegiance to Dogmas
    they held tightly as they missed the exit ramp to Heaven.

    We set out to prove our mothers wrong,
    but we learned that mostly they were right.
    Not about everything, but about most of the
    things that mattered in life. And we were ashamed.

    We had descended from Heaven
    with open hearts and eager minds
    And wondered with all that to work with
    How could we have created such hell on Earth.

    Each of us set out to prove
    That we can be whatever we choose to be
    And what we found was that
    We could, and we did.

  • Wow; the beauty of this poem captured me in the snap of a finger.
    A keeper for sure!

  • new blood

    HEY YOU!
    Wake up! that man from sleepin’ on da floor
    the one over by the door.
    This day he could become something more!
    Hey! YOU!
    Gently shake that man with his head down on the bar.
    Say, Listen UP! That ain’t goin’ very far!
    You never know who will be a star.
    So tell ’em they can listen up.
    All we want to know is…,
    one simple question for all mankind:
    What color is da condition
    Of what’s goin’ on inside your mind? So?
    Is the color green your existential scene?
    Allegiance to the planet just enough for you?
    Or do you still play the fool
    for the good ol’ red, white, and blue?
    Well, if Red is for the duped dead,
    who bled all over the burning sand,
    And White is for the voracious over-fed
    Members of the ruling clan,
    Blue is for the strange fruit that ripens
    Through the deep dark night,
    And falls as endless fire and fright
    Upon the Children of the Universal Light.
    So are you loyal to our Leader
    Who blows up all your dreams?
    Who answers every question
    with nothing like it seems?
    While half the world (he’s after)
    wakes up screamin’ from their dreams?
    If so…
    What the world needs now is some NEW BLOOD!
    Because :
    This is the age of tainted information and
    this is the age of the unfinished public tale.
    This is the age of incomplete characterizations
    of dogs and gods and men all lost on the trail
    to misbegotten Meccas at the end of erroneous quests
    raising funds via ideological promises given in various jests. ‘Cause :
    This is the age of incompetent confirmation
    Of events that never were meant
    To be brought to public attention
    (and certainly weren’t heaven sent.)
    This is the age of Spinning Doctors
    telling us all it’s OK to get bent
    By characters even they lament
    the Board of directors
    mistakenly caused to be sent.
    (Causing the fabric of tension
    ‘tween strife and romance
    to be surrealistically rent.)
    So this is the time for new blood.
    This is the call for the next Generation.
    This is the pulse that pulls man
    Woman and child
    To the new age.
    This is the day for the new resolution.
    This is the hour of the promise fulfilled.
    This is the moment of Gaia stepping up,
    Finally speaking so even the elders will know.

    This is the time laughter escapes
    From the darkened soul.
    (And the moment of recognition
    that we are all parts of a whole.)
    This is the time for the honest leader.
    This is the time for the quality fight.
    This is the time for a forceful meter.
    This is the time for remedial light.
    This is the time for greater exposure.
    This is the time for full disclosure
    …and this is the time…
    Time is on the side of Life.
    This is the time life is freedom:
    This is the time for expression, choice.
    So this is the time force is superfluous
    –and will not work–
    Because:
    This is the time that what’s right is might.

    (Remember, there will be casualties, strewn upon the fields of fire. So cry for their departed souls. But do not be sad. Pay them homage, for they were chosen to serve the Evolution of Mankind…in their sad role as destroyers of ignorance. Nor be angry, for they died for all of us who still carry the evil seed. The flames that burst from their Departed Souls light the paths we must follow to arrive at future Innocence. The job of we who survive is to keep this flame alive as a reminder of a Road we travel in common.)

    For this is the pulse of the universe speaking
    and calling and pulling us up to take a stand.
    This is the end of love’s disappearance.
    This is the mind of life itself unfolding,
    Like a flower growing out of a hand.
    This is the wave Humanity must catch.
    This is the color of Truth that we see.
    This is the power of Hope’s sweet fruition:
    The realization,
    In the light of the Sun and the Moon and the Stars
    And the shade of the Trees,
    –oh! our disappearing trees!–
    that you, me, us, them,
    All are nothing
    But
    We.
    –-o-–

    …om tat sat…

    this is that
    all is one
    all for one
    one for all
    united we stand
    divided we fall
    liberte
    fraternite
    egalite
    sororite
    et ceteral

  • Nice. One of your better ones.

  • Nice Caitlin
    Have you heard of Hera Lindsay Bird?
    Warning!
    This poem is a tad crude:
    https://thespinoff.co.nz/books/11-07-2016/the-monday-extract-keats-is-dead-so-fuck-me-from-behind-by-hera-lindsay-bird/

  • Beautiful word pictures ~~ I love the mythstones on the mantelpiece & the angels ~~

  • Poetry is mysterious, and never needs explanations. It simply laughs at our foolish need to pack everything into our little prefab warehouse.

  • There are at least two kinds of games. One could be called finite, the other infinite.
    A finite game is played for the purpose of winning, an infinite game for the purpose of continuing the play.
    Finite players play within boundaries; infinite players play with boundaries.
    Surprise causes finite play to end; it is the reason for infinite play to continue.
    To be prepared against surprise is to be trained. To be prepared for surprise is to be educated.
    The finite play for life is serious; the infinite play of life is joyous.
    The joyfulness of infinite play, its laughter, lies in learning to start something we cannot finish.
    No one can play a game alone. One cannot be human by oneself.
    Our social existence has. . .an inescapably fluid character.
    …we are not the stones over which the stream of the world flows; we are the stream itself.
    Change itself is the very basis of our continuity as persons.
    Only that which can change can continue: this is the principle by which infinite players live.
    James P. Carse Finite and Infinite Games

    so,
    Play on!

    • yes! and that is why we got to get the kids back to their schools–they are NOT our schools. we give them to the children. they learn more by play and any other way. just what yo said. they play to play more. winning is one way. not the only way and they know they need cohorts.
      is this simply right brain talking? growing us up to become monsters? i don’t think so. hope not. we need each other for our natural born sanity.
      i love my city of varied horizons and diverse birth places. the more variety the better for my own love of it all. i never got a bad meal in a Vietnamese restaurant and i almost cry when leaving when i consider what we did to them for no good reason and their is no good reason for war especially the kind whee you drop bombs on people yo cannot see from 30,000 feet r on a TV in a parking lot south of Vegas.
      i feel sick wheni think about Iraq and the merciless needless slaughter we imposed for no reason but to remove a guy wer put in charge….the CIA is so fine. i wonder if they ever ever cried once except for more food attention money stuff. and power. sociopaths. i just read that it was Ike who killed Arbenz who only wanted to give every peasant about 40 ccres and a mule of the land criollos had stolen.
      It was the Cia who re-install the hated Shah whose Savak secret police force forced the rise of Khomeini….so we could line them up for uor next slaughter place….
      did anyone ever notice we never defeat any nation that does not have an air force? check it out.
      total air power only results in total unification of their hate for us.

  • Your poem reminds me of this also, and always relevant song, Before The Deluge
    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7SX-HFcSIoU
    The water is now sucking-out before that tsunami.

    • Beautiful song John. Thanks for sharing it. Almost brings tears to an old hippie’s eyes.

  • Well Done.

  • Very pretty, very beautiful, almost makes me forget that in a few months almost every single one of us will be dead.

  • Thank you for this beautiful and evocative piece. I felt like I was there, hanging back a bit, just watching.

  • Such vivid imagery, I could perfectly smell, touch and feel it with my mind. Your writing is full service — it furnishes the mind, heart and soul. A blend of new and old mysticism with bright burning commentary that strikes through the dense armour of the elites. When some of your detractors try to put you down by telling you to go back to astrology writing, I’d argue that in many ways, you never left. And that’s the point.

  • Incredible Caitlin! Such vivid imagery, I could perfectly smell, touch and feel it with my mind. Your writing is full service — it furnishes the mind, heart and soul. A blend of new and old mysticism with bright burning commentary that strikes through the dense armour of the elites. When some of your detractors try to put you down by telling you to go back to astrology writing, I’d argue that in many ways, you never left. And that’s the point.

  • Wow, that is a wonderful poem!

  • Love it!

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