Duplicity on a monumental scale alters
Vision in a neo-comatose viewing of the facts.
Phatic passports at the border, coy complications wrack
The memory in the act of glossing a myriad of Psalters
That set the price of cavilling, lead and dissect flocks of those
Who would be here, not there surrounding
Witnesses in the outer court’s estate who seek the muted sound
Of pilgrims to the inner state who know what flat rates in lies disclose.
Always here, everywhere in evidence, we are no better than intentions
Postulate and accident provides. Circumspection conceals
The truth but marks the nuance of the spell of many seals
In words of pulp and marvellous aplomb; condescension
Reigns at last where delusions of reality are drawn. Take note of the exceptions:
Who constructs the fence invites addiction and a profitable deception.
Posted in Duplicity, Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Poem, Poetry, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets
Tagged Deception, Delusion, Duplicity, Economics, Economy, Imagery, Imagism, Lies and deception, Lyric Poetry, News Media, poetry, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets, Strife
…painting by Kyle Ragsdale…
“The Balm of Blame”
The balm of blame relies on shame
While fools amass in cloisters; clowns, their terrors
Grouped in choirs as with fires sired in hell. Errors
Come as natural as breathing, while their eternal flame
Afflicts the every man, and cannot be concealed.
How, then, does the crown not fit
As when in the thick of smoke and mirrors bells peeling
Not from above or from the side but fulgent, sealing
Heaven’s signs in record time, the eyes, the gait, the every gesture
Bold prophetic witness as the Eastern Prophets’ Word is echoed in the West,
Their lights snuffed out in increments that underline the tortured tests
Of wills and structures of the Occident in bulging bank accounts–sequestered,
Belching fallacies–metered by the hour that all but scream for want of closure?
Yet, the line is long and longer for ambient mists of deft exposure.
They will not hear the key left limp at latch–the entrance
Or the exit; they cannot see the rising
Or the setting of the complaisant star, its restive analysing
Of the land and sea at midnight, the telling glance
Of creatures who stalk their prey in the foyer of the edifice;
The temporary seating exceeds the number of the tombs is evidence
Enough that in all creation few defy the mirage; the fence
That must divide the space above a phantom’s presence
Of this planet from the gaping hungry star-filled void
Of all that passes for imagination.
Connoisseurs of matter taste
Nothing but the venom of the fang in hours of self-defeating waste:
That posits purpose in pursuit of the outrageous, they speak of decoys
And photographs in place of simple memory and obsolescent joy.
Weep for they whose righteousness consists of lawlessness and celluloid.
The sardonic moon signs mayhem and havoc to the eyes
At rising, a potent rift between what is and what only seems
To be; and we, its tools allow for fancy as it deems
Fitting to be in the mystical early patterns of the evening skies.
How meet and seemly even for the dedicated mind
To allow such flights of visual savagery to arrest
All logic, moving as it does to attest
What truly isn’t there at all. How like denial, refined
Anticipation in the night of our modernity
To grant such majesty, so great an urgency
As the behemoth moon of our imagination cedes
Nothing to the truth but flaunts its strange lucidity
In increments that must eventually crown itself the liar.
Fully risen, there it is what begun must in turn expire
shedding neither light nor fire.
Posted in Appearances, Bank account, Bells, Blame, Celluloid, Closure, Connoisseur, Decoy, Denial, Double Sonnet, Duplicity, Ediface, Error, Everyman, Fallicies, fancy, Fire, Flame, Havoc, Heaven, Hell, Imagination, Joy, Key, Land, Liar, Logic, Magesty, Materialism, Mayhem, Memory, Mirage, Modernity, Moon, Occident, Poetry, Prophets, Samsara, Sea, Star, Tomb, Waste, West
Tagged Existence, Lyric Poetry, Sonnet, Sonnets
“Evidence Is Impertinent”
Evidence is impertinent; knowledge the more so;
What’s required’s what’s requisite:
It is better to receive than to give, to sit
Than walk, rations and stations notwithstanding–to know
The knave to belief, both but seed–deposits
Less for harvest than to overthrow the field itself that profits
Nothing from the plough and even less remaining fallow.
What does a man whose fame is months
Who reigns by grace from goods of tumbleweed
And driftwood, the work of artisans and tradesmen,
The bane and afterbirth of artists and doctors of acumen
Whose words and produce are the suns
Of circuses and media feed and prostitutes of avarice and greed?
Posted in Arts, Cynicism, Duplicity, Folly, Greed, Hustlers, Materialism, Mediocrity, Muses, Negation, Pantheism, Poetry, Samsara, Seed
Tagged artisans, artists, Lyric Poetry, Sonnet, Sonnets
…dedicated to the many who wonder what’s become of all that is and where the bottom is…
“‘The underside’ … it’s not just in tandem, ‘Once, it’s everywhere! … sigh …’”
And she was right. It seems the predilection toward
The animal appears where there is none; the tsunami’s force is froward
Where there is no place to go but straight to hell for all but those who fly
Or settle for a second-rate mortgage off the high road’s endless traffic.
And we along the shores of what’s become the greater sea who sit
And sign within ourselves no higher there, nor lower here, are aware of it:
There is no real rest from those who foment
Condescension to Creation, laced with lies
To trap the innocent, and revel in the vanishing point
Below the picture, well beneath the edges or between the joints
Of slender bones and tissues in the body politic; cries
Will rise for them and for their victims and their families,
The “taken”, “took” and “broken for which poets scribble homilies.
“The tree outside the window taps very gently on the pane … I want to think quietly, calmly, spaciously, never to be interrupted, never to have to rise from my chair, to slip easily from one thing to another, without any sense of hostility, or obstacle. I want to sink deeper and deeper, away from the surface, with its hard separate facts. To steady myself, let me catch hold of the first idea that passes … Shakespeare … Well, he will do as well as another. A man who sat himself solidly in an arm-chair, and looked into the fire, so a shower of ideas fell perpetually from some very high Heaven down through his mind.”
The Mark on the Wall
“Wife, child, brother, parents, friends…We come only to go apart again. It is one continuous movement. They move away from us, and we move away from them. The law of life can’t be avoided. The law comes into operation the moment we detach ourselves from our mother’s womb. All struggle and misery in life is due to our attempt to arrest this law or get away from it or in allowing ourselves to be hurt by it. The fact must be recognized. A profound unmitigated lonliness is the only truth of life.”
R. K. Narayan
[October 10, 1906 -- May 13, 2001]
(shortened from Rasipuram Krishnaswami Iyer Narayanaswami)
The English Teacher
Posted in Affirmation, Animal, Arts, Change, Chaos, Civilisation, Distraction, Duplicity, End Times, Family, Hubris, Hypocrisy, Isolation, Lonliness, Mankind, Materialism, Mediocrity, Mortality, Negation, Poets, Reunion, Separation, Willaim Shakespeare [1564-1616]
Tagged Immortality, Love, Lyric Poetry, Relationships, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets
“I Don’t Suppose I’ll Ever Know”
I don’t suppose I’ll ever know; she never told me.
I had no calling card; she had no address
Or if I had it with me, it was always less
That what she wrote to him and could never be
Disclosed. Of course, I looked for all the world; I seemed
To be forever browsing bookstores in more or less
Abandon even wonton dedication in the kind of eagerness
That only children presuppose is happiness or glee.
We were never there, you see, and I was ever
At the ready to believe in terms of passages that see her through
A time or two in something close to primacy, proximity
To what it was she never found in me—sublimity
Or something that she’d read in Keats and Shelly severed
In the end from Dover Beach and miles from Xanadu.
† William Butler Yeats [13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939]
‡ Percy Bysshe Shelley [4 August 1792 – 8 July 1822]
Posted in Detachment, Duplicity, Estrangement, Marriage and Divorce, Negation, Poetry, Providence, Relationships, Separation, Stations, Yearning
Tagged Dover Beach, Lyric Poetry, Sonnet, Xanadu
Earthbound minds’ remains
Strike supernals in the memory,
The reputation; a canopy
Of means, a certain gravitas in gains
That whet the appetite to maintain
Forever somewhere in a panoply
Of names. Icons, but samples of history,
Such denizens breed to read as fame,
The goal—lingering doubt in shallows,
Negatives—whether goat or lamb, the standards
desiccated to utter nothingness reward
The ephemeral and untoward,
And no one seems the wiser. Shadows
With the shades seek belief from nihilists and wild cards.
Radiations of the body’s appetites leave little doubt
As to who will win and who, like others in the cast, remain invisible.
Endowments rule, and somewhat less than these, the indivisible
As the people say, my misery loves company and company its clout
And so the chosen court pariahs will attain their stations spiked to flout
A mutual advantage, powers and blessed assurance, the irresistible
Conclusions of equals in collusion, equals in delusion,
but at last sanctified within the ballot, tranquilized as sequels
In costumes of saints and mystics, mahatmas—and the truth is out,
Their stories told, perhaps—but as the sun blots out the stars,
So, too, their majesties are put to flight for want of oxygen. Soon
The latest, faintest, and first recite as advertised, and we delight
In gazing not through distances, but at the destination of the light
With origins counting billions in years while within this single room
We, the sods and consequences, lay inert beneath the silent moon.
“They Spiral Out of Control”
They spiral out of control from coffers spun from circuit spools;
Images of speed spin webs of egregious debt beyond the means
Of organic opulence in public nothings; obscenities gleam,
Gratuities scream for leverage and credit in psalmistries of fools
And idol vendors’ biases. They feed on repetitious runes
And civic machinations, seizures of domain and sovereignty alike, slide
Markets and the rule of law in rubrics rank in rows of 1′s and 0′s. Abide
Beyond the codex then and close the open yaw. Computer litanies in rooms
Are daily sabotaged by Trojans soaked in scripts that rake the silvered sliver
Signals on the mountain noting slightest change to encourage evanescence.
Prolixity is the key to programmes obsolete and in arrears in advance,
Entitlements among the fêted calves and levied bank accounts
and corporations that deliver
All night long at half the cost of virtual holocausts
and ritual endlessness in angst in single souls:
They’ll not abate this side of cancer,
nor speculate beyond what they’ve been sold.
Posted in Cycles, Delusion, Denial, Desire, Duplicity, Greed, Hubris, Negation, Poetry, Pyrrhic Victory, Samsara, Vices, Zeitgeist
Tagged Avarice, Economics, Economy, Greed, Lyric Poetry, Samsara, Sonnets
The cart before the horse; body
Trumps the spirit; means before
The end; awards usurp the door
Of merit; the moon, the copyright of the sun; tawdry
Spectacles before what’s reckoned shoddy
Experience in the consumption of a single afternoon on the floor
Of oceans, Heorot’s secret songs, the sirens to summits in the ancient core
Of Wall Street. Plaintive chants and bawdy
Mantras roaring from the musk-filled halls of hoary Aryan trolls,
“If that then this and proclivities toward the silver screen.
Given choice, then, who will choose
The wizened oak, the gnarled Baobab, the obscure purview
Of shades that people Persephone’s garden, the terpsichorean dream
Before the glory of the road and all parts in between?
Posted in Duplicity, End Times, Gods, Hubris, Materialism, Mediocrity, Poetry, Politics, Questions, Trees, Zeitgeist
Tagged Beobab, Heorot, Lyric Poetry, Oak, Persephone, Samsara, Sonnets, Trolls