“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label bliss. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bliss. Show all posts
Saturday, June 24, 2017
Muse-ack
The music spoke its secret ways
that day
the note
in the glass bottle was found
and magnified you-
Up high,
a troupe of black birds stream
through the pink zephyr in blushes
-it becomes clear
they know the song by
wingbeat
the chorus
in choreography-
Silvers of this
lay strewn
all about you-
once seen, became
blinded faith
setting eyes
on bald faces
the cloud mist-
Soul survival,
the score was more
than we can consume
in a low life
mock swallows
in moments made
intoned by bliss.
Painting by Pedro Américo (1884) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Sunday, April 9, 2017
this bliss
Take in the view,
as it were,
but it is best to leave it out.
In cases when told
This is the way it is done,
one need not rush toward the end.
And if casually asked to share your secrets
be willing to concede
the bigger half will be theirs.
Often they say They have been there
and done just that, you know
not that same annual vacation-exactly.
Repeatedly
They always say-They hear you,
They always say-They hear you,
it would have happened
either way-as if unaffected by choices
made either way.
made either way.
Finally,
They have never seen you look this way-
Has something changed?
This acceptance,
This silence,
This resolution,
This endurance,
You have never seen this
on me, is it new?
I guess,
I call it Bliss.
Painting by John Melhuish Strudwick (1888) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Painting by John Melhuish Strudwick (1888) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Friday, February 3, 2017
Is this bliss?
Fleeting moment to
day to pass by happenstance
and happen to say
Painting By Daderot (Own work) [Public domain or CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.
Friday, December 11, 2015
A lone danger
The more I am
alone
the more time
I am alone,
alone, a-lone
a lone
one
I am
late, so late, elated, and finally full,
joyful, full of over-brimming bliss
an energy to explore, a desire to dive down
deeper and intimately drown in my senses,
swallowing all self whole.
I smile at leaving a gaping hole
where the eye
is spotted, leaving it beheaded and indebted
for the fruitful loss of self, rare in its abundance
we never say we like me this way today...
We re-cognitize, recognize our righteousness
doesn't come without cue
We have been wrong
pre-occupied
so long, a good bye, even now
I tremble,
still
a lone
euphoric
one,
only, once-ly
lately
lonely
wanting more
of less.
Image of painting by Paolo Veronese, Muse with a Lyre (c.1561), [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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