“The Weathered Branch”
The weathered branch in winter’s weariness
Knows whereof it yearns, and just so its certitude and hope;
The blossom finds no time to contemplate, its cope
And mitre, all its careless beauty reigns in azure consciousness
That time and the occasion are not long
Its beginning nor end. All its cries are ice
And burdens in the grip of midnight’s once and only vice
And heard no more. What requiem in its song
While strength in twigs and heavy motherlode
Abides in faith despite its wretched state,
A one in many who live when storms abate
Producing yet a greater majesty despite the deadly cold.
Which melody is heard, outrageous anthem moot
Within hours or living centuries made manifest in the root?
Posted in Age, Aging, Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Poem, Poetry, Samsara, Sonnet
Tagged Age, Aging, Certitude, Existence, Illusion, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Wisdom
Beauty’s reticence has no alibi,
No longing year-end wish pursued
Through the New Year, no final cryptic interview;
Absence like the shadow has no definition. The lie
Is gently raked, inclined toward a simple quotient, a goal
Known only to fools or Prophets.
Urges toward the froward ascend for yet an hour’s solstice; epithets,
Then, and envy, raw ingratitude in Cain whose sole
Remorse is that he lacks and displeases God,
That he is no longer chosen and therefore set adrift. Apart
He reveres his own creation high above all others in his heart
And so, too, the truth, the one true God.
Stations, then, are forever sealed, the exile plods
Through warnings from the wind flower, hidden flaws within the seed;
When asked, “What ails thee, pilgrim?” Comes the answer, “Basic need.”
Posted in Imagery, Lyric Poetry, Poem, Poetry, Samsara, Sonnet
Tagged Affirmation, Cain, Certitude, Delusion, End Times, Existence, God, Illusion, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Negation, Relationships, Tragic Flaw
“Held in Audience”
And from the micro to the macro, we come to points of rising suns
That bring catharsis to the eyes, buds burning of pure numinosum
Held in audience, thrall from so much beauty to be gleaned,
Heard among the many who have come
To see the dance, the movement, all that is a simple evensong.
Well, who can hesitate with so little time to breathe? After all,
They are so clandestine and yet so publicly installed
As when in the course of minutes, experience—no mere trophy of the wronged—
Grants extreme unction to what they want because, recalled
To life en masse, their tastes and knowledge equal—the one,
the other—here at once; the celestial rotogravure
Ensures that no soul remains aloof from beauty’s torments’ burned
Doubtless in doubt but that one has the wherewithal to withdraw
From propriety in favour of purpose in such polite society. Yes, well ,
do you really think the Buddha took the night off
From time to time to shake down bread while His saints soared aloft?
Posted in Buddha, Lyric Poetry, Macro, Micro, Poem, Poetry, Sonnet
Tagged Buddha, Delusion, Existence, Illusion, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Nature, poetry, Relationships, Rotogravure, Sonnet, spirituality, Tragic Flaw, Universes
Bahá’ís throughout the world celebrate this day [beginning at sunset] as the Day of the Covenant, the Celebration of the Eternal Covenant between God and Mankind through His Manifestations and Prophets, eternal in the past, eternal in the present, eternal in the future:
“His Holiness Abraham, on Him be peace, made a covenant concerning His Holiness Moses and gave the glad-tidings of His coming. His Holiness Moses made a covenant concerning the Promised One, i.e. His Holiness Christ, and announced the good news of His Manifestation to the world. His Holiness Christ made a covenant concerning the Paraclete and gave the tidings of His coming. His Holiness the Prophet Muhammad made a covenant concerning His Holiness the Báb and the Báb was the One promised by Muhammad, for Muhammad gave the tidings of His coming. The Báb made a Covenant concerning the Blessed Beauty of Bahá’u'lláh and gave the glad-tidings of His coming for the Blessed Beauty was the One promised by His Holiness the Báb. Bahá’u'lláh made a covenant concerning a promised One who will become manifest after one thousand or thousands of years. –`Abdu’l-Bahá, Bahá’í World Faith
“As the Sea”
As the sea swells, so the Covenant remains, promises fulfilled.
Through Abraham the Friend of God, and Moses, Giver
Of The Law; fruited and confirmed in Jesus Son of Mary given
In His Person more–the Love of God–and through His Will,
Submission under God in Hijáz through Muhammad, Seal of Prophets;
From the East, Lord Krishna of The Three, The holiness of Buddha in Purity;
The Fires of Zoroaster from the mountain; security from casuistry
Within the Witness of The Báb, and Justice in Bahá’u'lláh
`gainst the nursery rhymes of sophists
And the worship of Creation over He who did create
The whole with but a single Word, “Be!” Hosts exclaim and expiate
Their cavils at the Word through numbers, and the terror of the tribes.
Their synergies against the tide of history, bow the knee to what they rape,
And call it truth. By God! The earth is weary of their weight.
The Word alone remains; the Covenant alone withstands this dreary freight.
Posted in Bahá’í, Covenant, End Times, Hope, Lyric Poetry, Philosophy, Poem, Poetry, Samsara, Sonnet
Tagged Bahá’í, Covenant, Existence, Imagery, Imagism, Immortality, Infinity, Lyric Poetry, Poem, poetry, Samsara, Sonnet
Happenstance and glory of a measured breath, the sun and moon
And distant scintillating light deranged and rearranged
To suite the insignificance of magnificence of a single scene and page.
Another sentence, a paragraph in which I find myself within a backlit room
To mark the hours the Doppler shadows all misfortune casts.
I have revelled in these signs, these periodic tedious monotonies,
Their very rising at once the thrall before the fall, monopolies
Of time and times again that only now appear to mask
Because when all that is has come to pass I happen to be standing here
A witness to creation’s synergies newly birthed. In the cold stare
Of noonish sunlight I sense with fragile accuracy the beneficial glare
Of all my peculiars, entities and particles that occupy the ear,
Delight the eye, and not so subtly remind me that I am,
And need not doubt the ground on which I stand.
…painting by Catherine Manchester…
Posted in Accident, Affirmation, Age, Aging, All or nothing, All that is, Anagnorisis, Anguish of the night, Anticipation, Lyric Poetry, Mirage, Myth of Sisyphus, Poem, Poetry, Sonnet
Tagged Age, Aging, Delusion, Detachment, End Times, Existence, Illusion, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Sonnet, spirituality, Tragic Flaw
“The Cusp of Things”
The cusp of things, this siren in the night’s
Diversion that scars the vision’s days’ delay in what’s between
A wanderlust of possibilities yet to myself remains unseen;
And who has not discovered the taste of light,
The fragrant smell of vice and convalescent wounds that lead to brief surprise
In lyric melodies of accident, the salacious slap of coincidence or found
All solids turned to rushing streams on no longer stable ground,
The body heat—a brief release of truth—turned suddenly to ice?
Yes! of course I’ll teach my hours to fly, but fact
Is hourly resigned to friction through an opening,
An aperture, a lens through which each scene
Rehearsed becomes a chiselled frieze. Suddenly a match,
Some luminary speaks! his light reveals veneers I’ve built;
A satisfaction turned to grief that grinds these ruby solitudes to simple guilt.
Posted in Imagery, Lyric Poetry, Poem, Poetry, Samsara, Sonnet
Tagged Delusion, Existence, Illusion, Lyric Poetry, poetry, Sonnet, Strife
“Have I Disappeared?”
Have I disappeared, a mere recluse seduced to just
Another child of God? Today the silly infant
On the morrow’s sorrows’ streets, yes! and borrowed from elephants
Who grow but slowly, well aware that musth
Makes all the difference that transcends the size of tusks?
Witness another generation in yet another zeitgeist sway, an element,
Yes! but nothing near the seed of truth at all; a just requirement
No! but surely a warning. The numbers here must rise from trust
That there is a contiguous future, and the simplicity of nature’s bound
By few if potent rules that govern living. The weak fast
Here within pale, a consistory of suspicion in the circuit of birds
Awaiting eternal sleep that comes to all below—to calves a loss in whey,
Perhaps—but even so, there comes the nagging need to last.
No, I know no antidote to what is plainly seen.
The ends in all beginnings set the tone but for a time
And times again, and then again until a single rhyme
Is born within this world and worlds beyond the open sea,
From nothing each of us is carved and each of us will be
Again but nothing whether in the swelling brine
Of all there is to dream or nothing whittled, nothing signed
And no one’s name is mentioned while no thought atrophies.
Well, of course, I’ve disappeared. Before my place
And station were defined, my name not catalogued,
And fortun’d even less, nor mentioned in this bliss
That must have pleased some pernicious heart in close embrace
That raised the very reeds on which to play my song.
Posted in Age, Aging, Lyric Poetry, Poem, Poetry
Tagged Age, Aging, Delusion, End Times, Existence, Illusion, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Strife, Tragic Flaw
“History Has No Taste”
History has no taste
In presents, pasts, and futures
Of this world in times that nurture
Outrageous dissembling; set the style sheets for circumstance
And all exceptions span roughly mere happenstance.
With all in thrall, specious pivots in consensus lures
Powers-that-be to the brink of saturation that ensures
“All for one and one for all” finds closure in the romance
Of anyone who owns a credit card and a simple radio.
They speak quietly for now and flout the banner:
“No matter what you see, remember well,
That future favours the whore from hell
As good intentions are inured to catastrophe in powers,
Stocks and bonds, and gold, and promises grown sour!”
Posted in Imagery, Lyric Poetry, Poem, Poetry, Sonnet
Tagged circumstance, End Times, happenstance, history, Lies, News Media, Sonnet, style sheets
Decades of fondest friends I will not see
Before I go; in their off-appointed times,
Each star appears to lead the way, divine
Appointments in the centrifuge within me
In a given hour’s search for souls
With whom to hear, to share an elemental joy,
Or bear the burdens nailed to every tree—
within a forest of grief—then deployed
Like sagebrush in the undergrowth
that overcomes the vineyard, the goal—
Attained by twos not ones—with steadfast
Form hewn in solid granite, certitude that
in the sharing comes the greater victories.
Yet, each in turn must then chose,
each has gone his way, mysteries
Preserved, masteries reverently set at last
Within an honoured niche, hallowed and adorned,
And duly placed on shelves of sixty years and more.
…painting at top by Louisa M. Pla…
Posted in Age, Aging, Lyric Poetry, Poem, Poetry, Samsara, Sonnet
Tagged Age, Aging, Certitude, Emotion, Existence, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, poetry, Relationships, Separation, Sonnet
Damn the copula indictment! Imprecations in the votive voice
Give an air of desperation, habit, addiction to extraneous
Mass when systems beckon. Harden knowledge and trust
With perjury steels mere faith with the gift of certitude. Thus choice
And immortality, twin crowns are ever known. Hoist
The ensign; then, scan Scrolls of Scripture for evidence thrust
Upon the few and swallowed whole, rejected in disgust
Toward the end before the opening note defines the cycle and foists
Credulity upon what is species captured in the draught by dint of time,
Tradition, and the annual hajj along the Yellow Brick Road to hell.
But know this, friend, the natural grammar of the Newborn Era
Holds sway in all seasons, discovers in ebullience all that’s said in camera:
And what’s done in spite caroms against the palate and staggers rhyme
In tokens of support but at last yields powers to the ears to break the spell.
Posted in Age, Aging, Imagery, Lyric Poetry, Poem, Poetry, Sonnet
Tagged Age, Aging, Certitude, End Times, Existence, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, poetry, Sonnet