“The Peace, That Is”
The peace that is, some sense of fortune, love
Of life, that is, the promises that dwell in hearts
Whose beacon is the present. Darts
And shafts, phantoms’ arrows, doves
Of superstition and the flights of eagles not yet dreamed
Become the weights of weariness, embellished chains of thoughts,
Of past and distant memories; all these are. The nought’s
Outweigh the should’s, the clarion chorus of what seems
Will drown the melody of what is as patently, the past
Is nothing more than magnification of future’s cold deception.
Certainly, who’s to know but that at conception
What was sure to be could never really last
And what endures is petrified in quicksands of false alarms
Because we dwell so near the morning’s light and yet so far.
Posted in Conception, Future, Hope, Immortality, Past, Poetry, Present
Tagged Existence, Lyric Poetry, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets
Transitions, troughs and floodgates
Swell before the crops are in;
Appointments rough-hewn begin
From centuries’ wealth in soils. He hesitates.
Lamentations of the classic farmer’s touch
Bestowed on something that was expected
Neither to outlast the seed nor tip the balance but once elected
Audit landscapes from the past and serve the sudden rush as much
As circumstance permits a well to gush and choose another path.
He was a teacher; was, and no doubt
Will continue to apply the torch to oils of souls
Whose mission is to lance the boils of youthful wrath
And freely prime the wells of mass miscalculation of the myths,
The babbling and cursive powers of hubris and its shibboleths.
Posted in Centuries, Crops, Farmer's touch, Floodgates, Hubris, Lamentations, landscapes, Miscalculation, Myth, Oils, Past, Poetry, Seed, Shibboleths, Soils, Teacher, Terrorism, Transitions, Troughs, Wealth, Well, Wrath
Tagged Lyric Poetry, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets, Strife, Youthful wrath
A splice–a thinnest notion
Separates the light from fire, determination from desire
Without from something swimming deep within. Awesome times admire
Uncertainties of dangers in the undertow, the swelling of the ocean
As it seeks the moon–no hope of union
There, above,of course–a subtle breath of mitigation by disaster, mists
And darkest moulds in what the night sky insists
Is yesterday’s irrelevance, contaminating illusion
Of the present smiling on the past: we must move forward.
Notwithstanding, neither more nor less, in spite
Of evidence to the contrary and well beside the point. Insight
Dictates needs that lean towards or leave behind rewards
Of unknown futures veiled, obscured, preferred at last
Above the sanctions of the status quo and the energies of the mass.
…thanking everyone in advance for sympathies, best wishes and prayers before the storm…
–New York City
Posted in Dangers, Desire, Determination, Energy, Futures, Insight, Mass, Moon, New York City, Notions, Ocean, Past, Present, Residue, Sky, Splice, Status quo, Times, Undertow
Tagged Lyric Poetry, Sonnet, Sonnets