“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 imagine. Show all posts
Showing posts with label imagine. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 7, 2016
(wee wonder)
What can we say
in One True Sentence,
said so-the Hemingway?
What can be
eternally true-
except, accept,
What is thought
by the poet...
What can the poet
paraphrase and contain
in one line taut
itty-bitty with immensity...
What can we imagine
and utter as real
What can we feel
and express as solidified
What can we read
that has not been said
What can be True
when nothing is eternal
except, accept,
what cannot be named
love.
Image of painting by Alexander Mann (oil on canvas) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Friday, April 22, 2016
Imagine in Nation
What doesn't ask
doesn't care.
There it
has been said,
did you know
I care?
We are in War and Love
above all else
I dwell in neither possibility
but probability
namely the art of science
or the scientific artist
these are the best of We
wherein domain and abstain
are eminently plausible
coextensively
if it has feathers and quarks
respective of space
and time to think of asking
who cares?
Image of painting By Ernst Karl Georg Zimmermann (1852-1901) (Dorotheum) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Thursday, May 14, 2015
A crappy map is a happy map
A map is handy
for some...
Still-just rendering space
this here: that there
(imagining is not knowing beyond
what is not seen).
This world is flat,
trapped in a map,
cornered in labels and confined in lines,
open to borders-crossing...
Still-it plans
for speculation.
I drew a map,
of no place I know-
but discovered it anyway,
and I know
my way around this place
of space, like the back of my red hand
measured by my means, not in factors of feet
walking the picket. I had to draw it before I saw
it, a map of me in this place, no free-handed trace
left to write what else
could not fit-
why did I quit?
I'm at the edge of the world.
Peering over, dripping down,
chilling off, the trail simply stopped
mid-sentence, where the directions
should have shown, I should have known
without trespassing past the limits of Doubt.
Image By http://www.geographicus.com/mm5/cartographers/schoolgirl.txt [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, c. 1810 described as schoolgirl whimsical Hartshorn map of Newfoundland.
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