The Poet's Dream-by P.B. Shelley

The Poet's Dream 

by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)

On a poet's lips I slept

Dreaming like a love adept

In the sound his breathing kept;

Nor seeks nor finds he mortal blisses,

But feeds on the aerial kisses,

Of shapes that haunt thoughts wildernesses. 

He will watch from dawn to gloom

The lake reflected sun illume

The yellow bees in the ivy-bloom

Nor heed nor see, what things they be;

But from these create he can

Forms more real than living man,

Nurslings of immortality!

One of these awakened me,

And I sped to succour thee.

Image of painting by Jozef Israëls [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

The missing lyrics

When I do not say
                           it is not that-
I made this mask
                          this way.
You can see its guts
                         through the eyes...
The cogs and fogs.

When I listen
                         I welcome news
from outside.
To share a smile
                         is a welcome view,
a radiant defiance of conservation.
When I hear
                         music in the mundane,
I take it out
                        of context
and am moved by its song.

When spoken
                        I regret empty words,
that fulfill
                        nothing perfectly.
All the non-existent ways-
                        I said nothing
In so many days-
                        it has all been said.
I am done telling
                         All,
when I do not say.



Image of painting by Vittorio Matteo Corcos (1892), [Public domain] via Wikimedia Commons.

Prescription: Just two a day

Ever since doctor
Williams stole a cold plum- (yum!)
I take more than one.













Image By Nishimura Goun (1877 - 1938) (Japanese) (Painter, Details of artist on Google Art Project) [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

You again

Why would you be
looking here
when you should be
looking
somewhere else

There you go again
anywhere
but furthermore
and curiosity does not
have nine chances
to land on a point
where you find
yourself
here
again

Still
stop wasting another line
It will always be here
nevermore
than at its worst
a waste of-
a treasure of-
private epiphany
helium to some.

Anyway, today is the day
you stop.
And now
it is an insult
to see you watching these words
fly away-
don't check-
yet-
they lie
unrecognizable by eyes
other than yours

How you can see
not all the words are empty-
but half full-
of themselves,
it is beyond further explanation.
You know what I would say.




Image By Internet Archive Book Images, described as Life of James McNeill [No restrictions], via Wikimedia Commons.

A chain linked fence

Galvanized tendons twist
to form diamonds uncut
steel.
Roughly transparent in
semipermeable static lines,
electrified when more than it
is.
Keep in the bad,
holy cells skewed of
graphed locking turns,
sideways squares that we see
thru.
Holding red cup circles,
as a symbol that means
heart pushing thru
with
crimson aura.
A link between sides
that were never a
part.
Kept inside shapes,
diamonds tilted sideways squares
holding red circle cups there
to share a cold heart, locked,
barbed bivalve and by block-
nearly far enough to-
gather.



Image By Evan-Amos (Own work) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.

Lunar Landing

Thē clouds cleared
a hole to see
a place behind beckoning thee

She stares up there
at thē crescent moon
hung on beams
like a porch swing
an empty place
to sit and reflect

on thē
storms that pass over
We see
anew
day
a new way

Thē night will not last
forever
it is already a part of the past

thē lunar light illuminates
All of her shrouded secrets
never
before it dawns
on us
all the while
we slept
we wept
the moon was reflecting

over thee.

Image By NASA of Crescent Earth from our moon in the foreground (http://spaceflight.nasa.gov/gallery/) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Only a child

An Only Child
sounds like
the First Lady
or entitled like
the Prodigal Son.
These are American
moniker things-
names with rings.

Siblings
sounds so simpatico
but No-
As you know,
they do not fit
in one
two syllable word
like peas in a pod
and odd numbers.

Two many people
Tango too close
to call it
Immaculate-yet
they still dance away,
as though they were center stage
and a child is
their understudy.

The Only Child
has a stunt doubles chance
in hell,
They are the fall guy,
which is why
sisters are nuns with a habit and
brothers are bros with a swagger.

Individually sold,
they are marked down
and mislabeled
which happens
to
only 

children.




Image of painting called Siblings2 (1930) by Paul Klee [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.