“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Wednesday, October 10, 2018
Latently
Just yesterday I noticed
somewhere else
the present moment, and all the past
for that matter,
always held the future
simultaneously
rolling it in palm
and under tongue.
These multiverses,
Baoding balls,
hum like crystal lips
and harmony comes out
making the individual notes
indivisible.
Presently,
today, Wednesday,
all rolls along in a blur,
small talk keeps time
separated from the thing itself
and it can only be tasted or felt
one side at a time
just like listening.
Today,
I read a little poem
about transformation
or metamorphosis,
it seems we have always known
these things take time.
Then again, I half expected it
to move too fast.
Sometimes shapeshifts
were mere projections
of light.
Painting by Nelson A. Primus (1842-1916) 'The Fortune Teller' c. 1898 SCAD Museum of Art [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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.
Tuesday, October 2, 2018
Paleolithics
The professor professes all he knows
The light in the room stretches its narrow rays
between the pews and up the tiered aisles.
His word, Pedagogy,
saunters through the active scene
where footfalls succumb to silence,
the thought sits
Outside of the time
it takes to experience
a revelation, commonly mis-
pronounced as Revolution.
The mind drifts while his voice
rests its laden brow
on grainy monotony and concrete definitions.
Meanwhile,
the insatiable self-seeking creature recites
all he has seen
and heard about phenomena like
boiling water and stunted grass
thereby giving his dark pupils
all the more reason to run
back into the cave.
There can be found familiar
mountainous men, rigid in their routine
for survival, passing time by
holding their profile up against the heavens
in order
to demonstrate the concept of
contrasting outlines
and where they meet
without becoming the other.
Painting by Thomas Eakins, c. 1844 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Saturday, September 22, 2018
Obscurities
Dense fog rolls across the chiseled terrace
steps from West to East.
Downtrodden and quite oblivious
of Man's conventions, this mocking
mist, as in a gathering of ground clouds,
shrouds the serial sequence of events,
entrances and exits undefined and occupy
our focus, hazily
we get stuck
when we cannot see
ahead.
Shadowless spaces between,
scoff at the series we expected,
anticipated
of Inventions and Evolutions
and Apocalypse.
We've tried to rise and plunge
gradually
to adapt
in this solid state.
We seem to seek the End as if it were
the top.
Admiring an ascent out of view
despite our narrow window
to appear or seek
escape and opportunity
everywhere but specifically
over there.
Such low lying obscurities like
grey matter gathered in this way
concealed the landing
so we may walk across the clouds
making us feel mist
the most, despite always Being
invisible at certain angles.
Artwork by F. Childe Hassam, 'The Spanish Stairs' c. 1897 in Los Angeles County Museum of Art [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Green copper pot
When a woman has
One child and makes
Zero investment makes no
sacrifice(s), contributes
None,
the yield on this bond
does not depreciate
into negatives-no
this product multiplied
Itself,
condensed and compensated itself
entirely with exposure to the elementary,
the obvious and raw goods,
thereby taking its own shape
by directed collisions
with steel objects,
only adding
character and patina
values molded with age.
Painting by Martin Dichtl, 'Still Life with copper pots' circa 1639 (Public domain), via Wikimedia Commons.
Saturday, September 15, 2018
kindling
Maybe the best way
to keep love alive
between two
is to
always start
but never end
with a Maybe.
Artwork credited by Charles Jacque, c. 19th century in the Metropolitan Museum of Art [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.
Friday, September 14, 2018
Blind i
Losing one's eyesight is the prelude to
insanity,
indirectly.
The words lie there, lined and
blocked,
and the Brain knows what to do,
but can no longer sharpen
the peripheral
imagery with ease.
Poor lighting perhaps
not more than denial
that it was all a blur.
My grandfather had Alzheimer's,
I used to think it was called 'Old Timers'.
My grandmother got glaucoma,
we don't know when it started,
nevertheless
we never saw each other's point of view.
Makes me wonder which is worse...
I think up and makeup
for fading memories, visions,
and finally, recall, I remember
what I came here to say-I now see
Time erases All
Image credit By Internet Archive Book Images [No restrictions], via Wikimedia Commons.
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