Category Archives: glyphs

“She Knows She Knows So Little”

elia-vzquez-daz-belloso-created-this-portrait-of-elia-his-maternal-grandmother

“She Knows She Knows So Little”

She knows she knows so little and even fewer see,
Or should the inverse be to serve the world; magnified,
Then, be the sight, and keener still, the diligence and pursuit, the urge to fly,
To float intentions and the mere suggestion of abstracts launched in fleets
As questions never fail to rise; but of course, in this world there is no rest;
There’s always more. Questions spawning questions will
Suffice in futures’ nests and past residuals the contexts for still
Small voices just as bells from Hell will drown a lion’s roaring texts.
There are, of course, as always ready answers, waxed and chloroformed,
For sale in the offing here; she merely asks, her interrogatives seine
For truths that skim the natural foam of oceans or  knead the stains
Of cold cognition as yeasts will burn in turn
to breads of thought more easily absorbed.
Within a single glyph, a cliff from which her past visions shrink and scorn;
If not from this ship, then yet another barque of endless thought is born.

Steve-Mills13

…drawing at top by Elia Vzquez-daz-Belloso;

painting at bottom by Steve Mills…

“With This Pen”

“With This Pen”

With this pen, the gliding of the tattoo’s nib,
Bestow but golden glyphs in beatitudes upon my flesh―
Remembrances of diagrams of holiness
Upon upon a stage of natural parchment aching for calligraphy
Applied to treated surfaces of the vellum―you see
Where seriphs of the lip
Or brow should be, the wounding chips
On treated space; upon the marble, pure geography
Of all that I may be, hung high above the altar
Of my temple; these where only God should be.
I cannot guide the stylus, nor should the page be pierced
Nor the open door disfigured with the signs and images of fierce
Unruly passions that waste themselves in bold and brutal scars
Where no man’s rhymes define where eternity and creation intervene.