“Be Careful Here”
Be careful here, my friend, truth can burn
But cannot bring you down; a given is a given:
A man is fooled within himself; he will be driven
In and of his own delight impelled at every turn
Toward the Qiblah of his creation as the sun
Will rise from his East, recline and resign
Toward his West. As the rains decline
From highest peaks seduced to run
To oceans, so, too, creation brooks no barrier,
No alteration in its prodigies. Light ordained
Is not the lamp, nor within a wick retained,
But consecrated in the oil; its properties tarry.
Be assured. Energies within the lantern reign;
Where comes the spark, no light can be restrained.
Posted in Lamps, Light, Lyric Poetry, Poetry, Sonnet
Tagged Certitude, Existence, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, poetry, Sonnet, Wisdom
Bahá’ís throughout the world gather this evening after sunset to commemorate the First Day of the Bahá’í Month of Sulṭán [Sovereignty]
“Sonnet in Honour of the Feast of Sulṭán or `Sovereignty’”
The sovereignties of celestial spheres exists to need,
The limitless has its limitations as nothingness withdraws
According to measure, star to planet, king to pawn
And back again; the elements begin eternal needs with seed
In matter or of energy–little difference the subject or predicate–
In clusters round the universal abyss. Heat and weight
Of particles in accident and by law are so great that seismic freight
Of galaxies and galaxies of galaxies, monarchs and their asteroids, late
And early viceroys and their sycophants cannot pause or hesitate.
It goes just so with all that is and is not His every breath within His dreams
As emanations of the seen and unseen posit progression in the cosmic stream;
Still other states of being thrive as condiments used within the universal state,
Signed by given temperatures, degrees of darkest matter unexplored,
In certain trust of sovereignty, tales of energies and matters
that will not long be veiled, belittled nor can they be ignored.
All truth passes through three stages. First, it is ridiculed. Second, it is violently opposed. Third, it is accepted as being self-evident.
—Arthur Schopenhauer [22 February 1788 – 21 September 1860]
Posted in Arthur Schopenhauer [22 February 1788 – 21 September 1860], Dark matter, Elements, Energy, Feast of Sulṭán or `Sovereignty’, Galaxies, Heat, Light, Lyric Poetry, Matter, Nothingness, Particles, Planets, Poetry, Predicate, Sonnet, Sovereignties, Stars, Subject, Sychophants
Tagged Arthur Schopenhauer [22 February 1788 – 21 September 1860], Dreams, Existence, Feast of Sulṭán or `Sovereignty’, Imagery, Imagism, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Poem, poetry, Sonnet, Sonnets, spirituality
Bahá’ís throughout the world gathered yesterday evening after sunset or today before sunset to celebrate the First Day of the Month of Mashíyyat [Will]
“Sonnet in Honour of the Feast of Mashíyyat” or “Will”
We bear witness to it in the station of a still
And changeless vision, cosine as it is to truth.
Volition reigns with all, and rules
To govern its existence will
Continue till the thing no longer bears its seal,
Its sign, its talisman nor sacred stamp
Of manifest yet hidden Lamps
By Whose Light truth’s revealed or is repealed.
There is no greater will than this. We are
Witnesses, the signatories of deeds
Of lingering motives, contracts, seeds
Of instituted factors in the sole
And universal changeless Will and Goal
Whose pages neither bend nor fold.
Posted in Age, Aging, Bahá'í Feasts, Bahá'ís, Changeless vision, Contracts, Cosine, Deeds, Factors, Goal, Imagery, Lamps, Light, Lyric Poetry, Mashíyyat, Motives, Pages, Poetry, Rules, Sacred stamp, Seal, Seeds, Sign, Signatories, Sonnet, Station, Talisman, Volition, Will, Witnesses
Tagged Existence, Lyric Poetry, Sonnet, Sonnets
Bahá’ís throughout the world commemorate tonight after sunset and tomorrow before sunset, the first day of the Month of Núr [Light]. To each and all, a beautiful Feast!
“Sonnet in Honour of the Feast of Núr or `Light’”
He is much more than what He attracts; refraction of it all,
In lucid words these polished mirrors,
This luminosity in splendourous waves
that soothe all blatant latent fears
Within spheres of objectivity;
smartly uniformed, high-buttoned, tall,
Erect and unembellished,
capital of some fine handwriting
Scribbled there along the temple walls.
Script, the random code found
Wanting notwithstanding bolder strokes
of solace and credulity crowned
In serifs; lightest lightning
strikes a newly seated summer’s sighting,
Calligraphy to the eyes, herald of eternity…
…to the beholder; what? there
Upon the Holy Cliff, His brow–
the spring from stiller waters, golden pools;
Yes, clues. Siren and alarm
made moot above the spools
and threads that agitate creation’s needles’ dance
and aggravate of what remains where
Once there was a void. He leaves His mark
and we remain the ghostly detail of the lace;
I need not tell you Whose the eyes,
Whose the illumined brow; I’ve seen His face.
“Light and Shadow”
…Thou art the shadow of divine Light.
We are Thy shadow in this world.
Who has seen a shadow
separated from the Light?
Sometimes the shadow stays next to the Light.
Sometimes it disappears into the Light.
If it is next to the Light,
Light and shadow are equal to each other.
When it disappears,
it merges and unites with the Light…
When it realizes it’s disappearing,
the shadow grabs the Light tightly
with the hand of desire.
In order to have God’s radiance,
this desire takes him to God.
The story of the union and
separation of light and shadow never ends.
Posted in Imagery, Imagism, Light, Light and shadow, Lyric Poetry, Poem, Poetry, Rumi, Sonnet, Sonnets
Tagged Existence, Imagery, Imagism, Immortality, Light, Light and shadow, Lyric Poetry, Nature, Poem, poetry, Rumi, Sonnet, Sonnets
“And In the Timing”
And in the timing looking toward the left or right
I am arrested on a cliff, bereft
Of reckoning what is left
In me beyond the trappings of a simple light
And memories catalogued, together bound
In burgundies and beige, and with the odd in olive green,
The velvets of their spines lean this way, seen
Like houses on a narrow Upstate Albany block; I’ve found
It so, conveniently I guess. There is no slight adherence
Here to regimen, no lesser well-warn track to rhyme
With hours or days as I would have them, nothing timed
In what I spy within the closet or the dreadlocks of my clock, but clearance
And permission to proceed through standing weeds my gentle paces
As if bound by who it is I am, and nothing more than what my bulk displaces.
The cells call out their scholarity,
Mighty spires reach for skies
That live seasons in the earth’s penumbra and expire
Forever, so they say. Turn, then, to odd peculiarity,
Particulars in ornate stone formations possibly deliberate
When once they housed a single evening’s temple
Built by want and ignorance of what is simple,
Worshipped by multitudes within, immediate
To some, an intimacy of bodies petrified
And sprung from some light’s supple
Flight that had a need for nuptials–
She, the goddess; he, the priest. So sanctified,
They possessed a night that launched a myriad cliffs
And in that blackest of shadows, its oceans shifted.
“The poem… is a little myth of man’s capacity to make life meaningful. And in the end, the poem is not a thing we see – it is, rather, a light by which we may see – and what we see is life.”
~Robert Penn Warren
[April 24, 1905—September 15, 1989]
Posted in Affirmation, Cells, Energy, Epiphany, Imagery, Imagism, Light, Matter, Mythology, Night, Numinosum, Poetry, Poets, Providence, Sciences, State of Being, Yearning, Zeitgeist
Tagged Existence, Lyric Poetry, Robert Penn Warren, Sonnet
“It Is a Consolation”
It is a consolation as well as a curse that none
Of us lasts within these bodies past the grave;
While here, we have no choice but to mark the moon’s phases
And it is the sun that tells us that we have passed another day.
Still, insofar as all of us are eternal, once created, what honours could
Exceed this single blessing? It takes a thousand years for a sunbeam
To reach the surface of the sun and eight seconds from that portal to the earth,
So we are told.
What we are not told is that once created, the sunbeam never dies,
Nor does it remain with us for long here
Among the living nor there
Beyond the last hotdog joint on its way out of town,
And we are left to guess whence it came and where it’s going
And what the hell it was doing here.
“Did You Think…?”
Did you think it pays to read between the Holy Lines
That spoke with outward-bound and bonded particulars and austerity
In eloquence to which the gray-scale decibels of earthbound clarity
Speak volumes if only to the ears of dogs or elephants; defined
Somewhere between the womb and coffin, clearly signed
Within the matrix, nothing; to all else
exquisite in the melody of choice, metonymy
In fear, perhaps, but action put to wind chimes, pure and unrefined divinity
To souls of children and the penitent in prayer, yet the object undefined?
Within composts of saints and poets supernal senses are recused, none refused, and far beyond, their Prophets,
Hounded and reviled within their own brief imprisoned span,
The single particle becomes the raging legion
in cycles newly framed in paradigms
So far from what was or seemed to be convenient both to litigants and followers,
All concave mirrors turned to Truth. Their attentions birth
as the premature in understanding puts the match
to kindling fires of corruption in the land.
…Yes; even the word holds sway in beauty just as be and come and go as always in concert with all beauteous words seem to hold some affinity to one another that begs for more; it is the glory of affirmation; negation is its inverse holding fast to less as nothing seducing while it shuns to die as though to love is somehow related to a force of hatred amongst the other sovereignties and prerogatives of antithesis, and, while integral to physical existence, are nevertheless peculiar to this world only and can draw no conclusion beyond the present natural illusions of form. Such fellowship is its own demise as is all that occurs in the material universe.
“The Midnight Hymn”
[ 1844 A.D. - 1910 A.D.]
Oh man! Take heed!
What does the deep midnight say?
I have awakened from a deep dream.
The world is deep.
And deeper than the day remembers.
Deep is its suffering.
Joy is deeper yet than heartache!
Suffering speaks: Begone!
All joys want eternity,
Want deep, deep eternity.
Posted in Action, Affirmation, Antithesis, Denial, Dogs, Elephants, Fear, Fire, Hubris, Light, Matrix, Poetry, Pyrrhic Victory, Thesis
Tagged Lyric Poetry, Sonnets