Bahá’ís throughout the world gather this evening and tomorrow within the First Day of the Month of Sharaf [Honour]
“Sonnet in Honour of the Feast of Sharaf or `Honour’”
Not that what is in my soul is pure, nor are my eyes
In proper shielded nor buttressed against what I shouldn’t see.
No, my thoughts are not secluded from my dreams;
Nor are these ears immune from feeble babblings of the sly;
My hands are not placed firmly where they must be;
Nor to my taste my food what it should be. All
That modesty and honour require are no more; nor is the call
Of truth without duplicity the centre of my heart’s sincerity.
These perfected imperfections commonplace before my face
Torment each hour with yet another hour and jaundiced joys in their way
Share glory with a plethora of follies strewn
throughout my hours’ remaining rainy days.
I am never far from falling short of all my own metaphor, the similes and grace
Of He who created me and the cynosure of they who didn’t…yet I continue on
That He remains the Melody of Virtue and I am become the lyric of Its song.
Posted in Age, Aging, Bahá’í, Bahá’í Faith, Detachment, Dross, Hope, Imagery, Imagism, Imperfection, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Poem, Poetry, Religion, Samsara, Selflessness, Sonnet, Sonnets, Spirituality, Tragic Flaw
Tagged Age, Aging, Bahá’í, Existence, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Poem, poetry, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets, Tragic Flaw
“I Am Nothing If Not Noted”
I am nothing if not noted in a book
Of reckoning, a record of me, here and there
Upraised, even loved by souls whose care
And wizened regard I long ago forsook
To seek my own blank pages, to underwrite
A leaf or two, distributing the diamonds in my hand
To places I had never been to seed lands,
Harvest images, draw the scented waters of praise sealed tight
In time within a vial or a mere container of light
Enough to carry in a pouch on nightly walks
Through streets which run through my history, chalk
Lines on sidewalks and in the sands drawn, vague rites
In hegira with fellow travellers through dim-lit dusks,
My own Hejaz of endless dawns to come, a bull in ever-present musth.
Posted in Age, Aging, Change, Creativity, Elephants, Hegira, Hijaz, Imagery, Imagination, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Poem, Poetry, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets
Tagged Double Sonnet, Existence, Hegira, Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Poem, poetry, Samsara, Sonnets
Somewhere deep within memory before my superstitions
I knew the sovereignty of my person, the inmates of my mind,
And in thisan anointing from every other emanation, earthly and divine.
In the beginning and ever as the boy came to his fruition,
This he knew as he had stood there,
cupping draughts of light within his own hands.
The star appeared first within him, then the eye, and then at Bethlehem–a sign,
The promised Great Announcement–to some few shepherds and divines,
Truths that only they perceived, as did I. Written in the sand,
The boy so soon to be a man, so early recreated there to read his wondrous page
Illumined, how, then, could it be that no witnessed sighed,
No movement otherwise seen in others since that first midnight’s spawning sky?
I owned within me every star and blessings of the moon possessed,
in purest adoration, heard
Both questions and their answers without the slightest effort.
How, then, do I remain here but that I’ve seen
No greater glories, heard no finer melodies and yet never once thought to flee?
The choice is open; luminaries of the inclusive
Written, manifest, none disguised; exclusive regard the depths
Of great depravity–the oceans, barriers, borders, walls, and concepts,
Constricted constructs of the man in fragile tissue–both intrusive,
Neither denied since childhood. The oneness of the whole of mankind
Comes now to claim its last hour; its past derision, races,
Nations, disputations, patrons, hatred’s children, cavils in his spaces
Have consumed the radiance of his days and failed. Polar signs
Make perspicuous claim to every rendered tenderness on earth:
Where doubt is, there must come a curious death;
Where ambiguity, conspicuous madness robed in wealth
Never previously known. Such subtle twins assert
Their proxies; nothing is quartered, no line drawn between:
The choice is open to the heights whichever way one leans.
Posted in Age, Aging, Bethlehem, Certitude, Christmas, Christmas Season, Detachment, Double Sonnet, Imagery, Imagism, Isolation, Lyric Poetry, Mankind, Numinosum, Poem, Poetry, Questions, Samsara, Selflessness, Separation, Shepherd, Sonnet, Sonnets, Spirituality
Tagged Age, Aging, Christmas, Christmas Season, Double Sonnet, Existence, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Numinosum, Poem, poetry, Relationships, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets
“Bethlehem’s Hours’ Mourn”
Bethlehem’s hour’s mourned, furtive glances northward toward Nazareth;
Veiled her expectations as soon enough her promised Son survives.
She knows that somewhere in between this king contrives
Within himself to build a wall. He practices precision; he does not guess.
He knows exactly what he wants, and from the East come
Three who only recently made queries round the campfires
‘Neath the skies beyond the Jordan. Casually they’ve inquired,
“What are these walls, and what the genesis of guns
And orchards plaited all along the shepherds’ run? Whose images are these,
And what is it they disguise, the vulgate for the people?”
Yes, they come, these three, adrift once again stalled between the steeples,
Barred, forbidden. Then again, their passage isn’t what it used to be.
They ask in vain and find the answers come as no surprise.
The king’s awake tonight; he’ll not fool the wise this time.
Posted in Bethlehem, Caesar, Christmas, Christmas Season, Civilisation, Double Sonnet, End Times, Herod, Holy Land, Hubris, Imagery, Imagination, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Magi, Materialism, Nazareth, Night, Poem, Poetry, Ptolemy, Pyrrhic Victory, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets, Walls, Wise men
Tagged Bethlehem, Christmas, Christmas Season, Double Sonnet, End Times, Herod, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Nazareth, Pain, Poem, poetry, Ptolemy, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets, Wise men
“The Moon Last Night”
The moon last night was less
A pence and winter’s rare
But definite solstice
Fixed but twice, the era
Common to the matrix
Since the Christ’s eclipse
Began in blood-red darkness fixed
With vinegar to those parched lips
And rent the Temple’s veil
From top to bottom, shifts
Three hundred years to no avail
Until both church and state
Were were made to celebrate;
Twice, then, since Christ, the last in 1638.
Posted in Caesar, Civilisation, Eclipse, Lyric Poetry, Moon, Poem, Poetry, Sonnet, Sonnets, Universe
Tagged Caesar, Double Sonnet, Eclipse, Imagism, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Moon, Sonnet, Sonnets
“It Won’t Take Long”
It won’t take long,
But even so
Don’t rush me.
I do not know
What you won’t see
Nor do you care
Where I will be;
What step, what stair-
Case up or down,
What burden’s there
What sight, what sound,
What hour brings
The tedious first to tenuous last,
Closure to the present, ransom for the past.
Posted in Age, Aging, Closure, Detachment, Imagery, Imagination, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Poem, Poetry, Pyrrhic Victory, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets
Tagged Age, Aging, Closure, Existence, Imagery, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Poem, poetry, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets
“Oh, I know”
Oh, I know it”s been said before but bears repeating:
Unless a man embrace estates, his sense
Of eternity, his gifts of endless strife and goals of regret intense
Enough to merit periodic casual to shameless open weeping
In the corridors; unless the deadly abyss of every night’s sleeping’s
Prone to breach and rupture within his dreams or by the clock;
unless ‘neath the lens,
His page is thus combustible by the light focused upon a spot,
his joy depends
On something well beyond his own heart’s contumely,
his gates–his paradise, his weeping–
Fall well beyond the storehouse of his eyes and its catalogue of fears,
His light is changed to fire in tragedy and myths of talismans that guide his way.
Again, unless all this is welcomed well before the final hour, his pride will swell,
His vanity implode, and circumstance becomes
a euphemism for all he sees as hell.
Remember please that breath and breathing signify that death is ever near
And in these final years, satisfaction’s just another word for nothing left to pay.
Posted in Age, Aging, Certitude, Death, Fear, Hope, Hubris, Imagery, Imagination, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Materialism, Mortality, Philosophy, Poem, Poetry, Pride, Pyrrhic Victory, Samsara, Sleep, Sonnet, Sonnets, Spirituality, Stations, Strife, Tragedy
Tagged Age, Death, Existence, Imagism, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Poem, poetry, Pride, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets, Strife, Tragic Flaw
“As Stations Mingle”
As stations mingle, friction’s knife
Hotwires new doxologies, raw mean scores
Of tomorrow’s fossils in the race to conquer more,
To insinuate, to probe further into space and time with strife,
The irritant, in collusion with raw invention; but not to worry.
Though scars and bruises in the centrifuge cannot be
Denied, there is a price, a cost, a casualty of penalties
That plays this hand. Pulchritude and its natural fury
Produce progress in the blessed, propinquity in the course of time.
Prognosis, here, is no rocket science, but seekers redefine
The rhyme and logic, the fresher prepositions of the condign
Evolution of those who strive within a conscious interaction, sublime
To him who is content with what it is he is and what he does
As both destiny and fate confirm what he is and what he was.
Posted in Age, Aging, Certitude, Change, Contention, Destiny, Evolution, Fate, Hope, Imagery, Imagination, Imagism, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Poem, Poetry, Providence, Samsara, Selflessness, Sonnet, Sonnets, Stations
Tagged Age, Aging, Double Sonnet, Evoution, Existence, Imagism, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Poem, poetry, Samsara, Selflessness, Sonnet, Sonnets, Stations, Strife
“Oh, Yes, We Knew”
Oh, yes, we knew. We might have risked the whole
On one more question, noised, composed, and right
Out loud for what and whom we are; a greater insight,
A finer vision bathed in brilliance to decorate the tree with cosmic gold,
A smoother season’s landing, home and homeless at last, within
Delusion’s bubble. Perhaps the Christmas lights are messages
Of hope, more probably self congratulations, potent presages
Of the New Year’s grave new reason’s coming apathy. Begin
Again, but, no. We know where this is going and where it’s been; now
There are no mysteries left, nothing to hide, nothing to deny. We knew
Before the First Noel what it was we could but wouldn’t do.
You knew it, so did I, and yet certain again the dream that somehow
We’d escape the shafts and stony paths, overlooked
and judiciously freed
From gravity, free to gaze a while on tinsel, tiny coloured lights,
and unmitigated slavery.
Posted in Christmas, Christmas Season, Delusion, Idolatry, Illusion, Imagery, Imagination, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Materialism, New Year, Poem, Poetry, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets
Tagged Christmas, Christmas Season, Delusion, Illusion, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, New Year, Poem, poetry
Bahá’í’s throughout the world gather this evening after sundown and tomorrow to commemorate the First Day of the Month of Masá’il [Questions]
“Sonnet in Honour of the Feast of Masá’il or `Questions’”
Of sons, divinity required sacrifice;
Both obliged presented gifts, yet one
Found pleasure in the Judgment, son
And God were pleased; but, that the sacred rite
Eluded what was offered by the second
Brought an anger and a fire in Cain,
The fruit of envy, rancour, and desultory disdain
To both the elder brother and the God reckoned
Greater of the two. Asked the Light,
“What hath made thee wroth?” silence is the answer.
The question posed, there rose no reply but cancer
Deep within the marrow of he who in his flight
Seduced the primal human action of the will:
Unbridled passion and the naked urge to kill.
Posted in Abel, Bahá’í, Bahá’í Faith, Cain, Contention, Covenant, End Times, Hubris, Illusion, Imagery, Imagination, Imagism, Lust, Lyric Poetry, Materialism, Poem, Poetry, Religion, Sacrifice, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets, Strife, Tragedy
Tagged Abel, Bahá’í, Cain, End Times, Fidelity, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Poem, poetry, Samsara, Selflessness, Sonnet, Sonnets