“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 depth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label depth. Show all posts
Monday, March 23, 2020
Reflection
A daughter is a distorted mirror
Image
of her mother
in a different light-
She reflects tiny scratches
caused by sharp objects
hurled at the surface
not hard enough
to break this concentration
of silhouette
and deformity of depth.
Only an Impression
too light
to stay in one body
fills the frame
out toward its beveled edges.
And all that cannot be contained
by Image is Imagination.
The daughter does not recognize
Herself
as better than
as more than
a mother could bear.
A swift movement of time blurs
the point
when the daughter draws her sword,
and the mother caps her pen.
Image credit: By Marcantonio Raidmondi (1480-1534), 'Justice personified' Engraving circa 1515-1525 in Public Domain.
Monday, October 30, 2017
Nonsensical
As we explore the depths of the oceans,
seeking the ends of eternity as
conceived by space,
mapping the matrix of the mind,
We hope
we are making sense.
Some more sense of what may be
behind the Divine and beyond evil.
Veiled by our vanity,
we can only hope to master
some special skills.
We are instructed,
we are given-with grace,
five senses to use, freely.
We all know better.
Untapped potential,
the vein, the mother lode,
these things that we seek
are lying here
not waiting
for us to see,
not weighting
to matter.
Now, tell me about touch…
Can you feel me looking at you from
where I stand?
Can I make you cry with words,
or laugh with only
black and white?
How do you know something has been moved?
Do not step there! Slow Down! Watch out!
Has this voice
ever saved you before?
And pray, tell me, mind over matters
like these explosions of energies that spin wildly,
may we tame bursts by will, tempt with them with time,
temper these with new neurons
and cast off-the surplus?
Is it all too much?
A little release travels faster than light
yet always
dissipates all ways
with so much space and water
between bodies
empyrean expanses, abysmal astrodynamics and such.
It was current
thought,
that the thought wave and the wave of gravity,
ate projected invisibly, the unseen senselessly
Ignored-
As if maybe,
it didn't make sense, as if
'may be' meant there were more ways to feel
than five, or how do we know anything is alive?
None believed in what they could not see.
With no matter to feel, to put a name on,
with nothing to touch us with shape or edge,
with so much space, with all the emptiness
making up all the meaning
It is all the more touching
that we find our way by feel,
getting somewhere,
After All.
“Hast thou entered into the springs of the sea?
Or hast thou walked in the search of the depths?
Have the gates of death ben open unto thee?
Or hast thou seen the doors of
the shadow of death?
Hast thou perceived the breadth of the earth?
Declare if thou knowest it all.
Where is the way light dwelleth?”
(38:16-19, The book of Job via Primo Levi)
Painting by Martin Johnson Heade [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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