“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 lost. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lost. Show all posts
Saturday, December 1, 2018
The hardest directions are the ones we follow
Take a left, or a right?
Go West-toward the ocean.
So, left or right?
Where are you now?
I'm in your neck of the woods.
I think you have gone too far.
Left or right?
Straight-toward the ocean.
I've come around the bend.
Drive-thru to the dead end.
Are there any land marks? I am lost...
If you keep going, you will find it.
Painting by Michael Zeno Diemer (1867-1939), Pera Museum [Public domain].
Saturday, October 6, 2018
They carry no identification
The lost souls could not
have been
-strayed-
unwillingly taken
from their way,
meaning-intention.
Did I mention
they found Us
in sad shapes too,
(round bodies in square
boxes),
what to do
about maps that don't make a clear path through
tough terrain
& letters that refuse to column, justify, paragraph
or add up to cents?
I swear atop the nameless grave,
I saw the spirits, the others
looking away, must have been
confused by their own disparate
directions toward the destination
all call
'Home'.
There was always more than one way
there and back,
although there never stayed the same.
The tree markers,
bleed and breathe,
resembling each other,
unlike the stone
every body was required
to find
a building for the soul.
Painting by George Elgar Hicks, 'Gypsy girl' c. 1899 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Friday, February 26, 2016
Perso in la biblioteca Umbertos
Leave a light on
so the bugs don't eat the books.
The grandfather clock
must be wound
so our heart keeps ticking.
Stock up on the stories
so you have many maps
and mythos to go.
The journey keeps us young,
but the last leg catches up...
You've lost me-
many times
in the labyrinth of
your enigmatic fantastic
winding fallacious folios
that make ones head spin-
Are they books or bottles
with memories as mixed
messages?
Translation tends to
misinterpret and blurs,
slurs, like tears on ink
there's a leak, (I think)
Ahh-look up-
always-the sky
knows how to read infinity
as long as your words remain
contained and
eternally with me,
I'll be happily lost in the library.
Image of painting By Unknown Dutch Master (c.1628) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Wednesday, February 24, 2016
The Theory of Speculative Direction
If you were lost in the woods,
a compass would work
better than a philosopher
even if you didn't know
how it all worked
At least you would get
Somewhere.
If you wanted to map
the Universe one
should listen to a shaman's mantra
not plot it out with an astrophysicist
it would be easier to project
realms by means of real numbers
shooting from the lip, a departure from
the same astral plane
bound by reasonable gravity
Altering the scenery doesn't change the view
from the eye of the bespoken
Plato's cave was not a practice of spelunking
to new depths
or sending our souls soaring to the stars
upon plummeting death and worms.
If I remember correctly
the act of recalling can feel like falling, sleeping or slipping
into the abyss of mind matter
a memory palace, a sin chateau,
a cabana for one's mana
and other obtrusive structures
machinations are machines
Like the disgruntled grandson
who built a Reverse Infinity Instrument
(a.k.a. a Time Machine)
whose Free Will Manual Transmission led him to kill
the wise man he so despised
an obviously inane and obtuse conundrum
based on probablies and anti-definitives
that work every
ninety-nine percent of the Time
but that too was just speculative theory
Composed 6/18/15.
Image By A. Ernyes at en.wikipedia (Own work Transferred from en.wikipedia) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons of Kootenay Lake BC.
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