Tag Archives: Lyric Poetry

“My, My, So Come Now!”

masques

“My, My, So Come Now!”

My, my, so come now! We’re a busy man today.
Strange to see when, only yesterday I heard you say
You’d turned a leaf or two, induced a change
So greatly you could taste it

You’d packed her bags, and said you’d waste it,
Took a train (perhaps a plane), or took the cure
In no more likely place than tree rings, age,
Withal, sublime, and now the buffet’s on.

. . .You called my name?
You knew your time had come for sure.
You wanted me to take for granted all
Your best intentions, and forestall
. . .some rupture in the waterbed.

Was it something someone said, or were you that disturbed
With smirking, smugness, the perturbed. . . .

(They’d never think of this before
To beat you to the punch to make the score
Themselves before the world, and all that’s holy);

So you were first to burn, the burn so solely
For the good it’d bring in time for auld lang syne,
And all that’s wholly pure and good tonight.

You know, when after all is said and done,

And certain things which must be spun
Restrain the world, there’s yet time to spin
The thing, and youth’s enough to win,
(You must have sown a few yourself and let the rest be damned.)

You do know why you pressed this thing tonight,
This thing you do when fires are boiling light,
. . . come on, you fool!…
Oh come all that’s faithful in the light tonight.

You know you’re on, so leave the wrath
As exposed as stumps and what’s still in the tub, a bath
Or better in the shower. Got a better plan?
Hey mahatma; got a better thing to do than leave?

You really want to lead, and bless the soils with seed.
In an evening not unlike this night there’s yeast this affair.
You want the world to see your hair
And how you move it all and how you salt the soil,

How you shake doxologies, burn incense and holy oils
Replicating earthly cannon till the cows go home,
And once again, of course you’re all alone. . .
. . .did I say that?
. . .did you say that?  Did I say that?

“He Sits Another Monday”

a thought

“He Sits Another Monday”

He sits  another Monday…only smiles tonight. His words are glass,
Illumined, yes,…but no light strikes him and he can no longer see the page.
His hours leased over years yield nothing in eternity but sardonic age,
Invisible, a painted thought distracted by what’s been asked
Of him, years of cold neglect, and all those miles.
Still it’s not enough. If not tonight, then, when?
No doubt in time, but wait! the breezes grow to winds again,
And, where there are currents, other images, other trials.
…the summer’s wounds have found their mark…
Is this the time for words? a second poem? a signatory fire
Lit to get it said, perhaps to induce a faint desire,
Another phrase–there are so many–another cigarette’s arc, a spark
So much to feel, so much to taste when once the sap begins to seep?
Nature’s not so conjured, the outcome’s sealed and in time all thought will cease.

“If Wroth Breathing”

Expression_Of_Anger_by_MyBurningEyes

“If Wroth Breathing”

If wroth breathing, there is a need;
If need, then comes the question never spoke
By either brother, a primal continental rift that broke,
A rupture when in that moment, Adam’s seed
Made more than one, difference cedes
A natural shift from peace to war; the smoke
Alone had been enough, but weighted, a stroke.
And from the rapture’s might no longer leads
The sign of truth. “Ask what may be done,” is Abel’s
Cry; “What may not be undone nor forever won,” from God’s domain
Replies, and neither will survive that summer’s day
Within the Garden where truth no longer reigns and envy blocks the rays
Of sun and moon and stars where once their steeds were stabled—
And what may not be undone in angers deep within the heart of Cain?

“Philosophical Principles”

Aquarium_colorful

“Philosophical Principles”

Philosophical principles daily posted pass
Me by; I can see nothing. I thrill to what I sense
In worlds beyond the simple physical; I have no defense
For case. The economics of the street come hard and fast
As I am walled out or worse, within. Relationships
Quite simply, cast doubt; I am alone. The trick is in the chip;
I am become obsolete. Psychics set my soul on edge, their tips
Much greater than the check; I get no reading. Doctors seal my lips;
Somehow, the Ph balance in the aquarium is wrong; my fish
Have died and husbandry’s beyond me; I tend to use
A bankcard. Thoughts elect to the elusive next to
Tarot cards there upon the shelf, perhaps a shade above a wish
And whisper, far beyond the random tea leaves that interrupt
My golden mile, and so I drain the coffee, and throw away the cup.

“Sans Setting of the Sum”

“Sans Settling of the Sum”


Sans settling of the sum, no silent night;

The cold and darkest midnight, no brightest sun
Regained upon the freshness of a morning run
From first awakenings to the duties of the light.
Sans route and paths to shorelines, fishermen
Cast no net nor fruit upon the table there
Beneath the candle and the moonbeam; no joyful stares
Of wide-eyed eager mouths to take the bread, no beds
For doting families there to cradle and caress the children;
No willing intimacy in loving parents, no hopeful news.
And yet, of course, comes danger from the sea,
The stormy petrol cries in certain seasons that must be
Harbingers of hurricane and trial, what we choose
To call the birth pains in a loving mother: nature in herself brings waste.
Her ends must come before beginnings, her gifts but ballast tossed in haste.

“No Matter”

longevity1

“No Matter”

No matter. What’s done’s what
It is; longevity
Leads itself to levity
And gone in less than seconds. The cut,
The rent, the fragmentation of the whole
Begins where even light will bend, and footsteps,
Shadows of what’s behind Goliath affect
Oblique distractions, revisions, histories that alter goals
Reborn and re-created by default in every jaded heart.
The slightest movement in the arc turns every head
In this terrain and judgements haunt the dead
And dying on the spot. Done! No one’s laughing as the darts
Of every man’s affliction seek the vanishing point from which he’s strayed
To face finality, the great mirror in whose image no one is betrayed.

longevity2

“He Sees the World”

ciklon1

“He Sees the World”

He sees the world before him plump and peopled, stacked,
Ranged, catalogued, rough-strewn about on plates
Afloat on oceans of such magnitude that dates
And proper measurements are daily sacked.
He’s left the bilious tailings of the mind
To complaisant teachers who soon enough are caught
With nothing and even less in the deluge of what is taught
Is given breath for long. Knowledge blinds
When faced with fresh discoveries played
In such a manner that cataloguers pay
Homage to pernicious publishers whose veracity is weighed
In volumes, guarantees and lose disclaimers of the day
That follow close on what were tablets of stone but the night before.
There are no facts but loose allusions, illusions of the heretofore.

“I Knew”

IMG_6942

“I Knew”

I knew you would not be there;
For you there was no ocean side,
No Qibla further than a certain sweet pride in overdrive
where love subsides and tides
Abate. Never had you inhaled the sweetness of judicial margin, exquisite error
In support of some solitaire, the natural aroma of one last evening.
You never rose with me through the blush of blessings, supine against the skies—
If remission comes it comes too late—you ever cared to look beyond my eyes.
You never saw in me the configuration of your leaving
Nor anticipation, no lighter scent of all that pain you left behind.
Had I been honest, I must admit I always knew it would be so. While
Reticent and cautious, you smiled
On all that came to both of us in all we thought we’d find.
I had the feeling that you’d only blocked a single scene,
Some routine rehearsal while I stood reverent in the splay,
transfixed by what I’d dreamed.

“So Simple”

sliver moon

“So Simple”

So simple seen at dawn so long delayed, but a sliver of a moon! Brighter
Than I’ve ever seen it, veiled perhaps to purpose
through the willful blindness of my years,
What was it that I remembered to forget? Either eye—when both were clear
And unobstructed—saw visions in the nightly flight to lighter
Skies, at sunset drawn the more to intimate sensations in the rites or
Worshiping the more immediate, stated immaculately, requiring little fear,
An unobstructed view of objects seen as “closer than they appear
Within the mirror?”…or were they ever there at all? I know no delight now nor
Fascination in the company of others of the present stage―
The Illuminati of so many conversations in the next booth just the other day―
before the show and afterward, hushed and heavy harsh realities
Of lamps without their shades, a universal fade to cold formalities
Of “I don’t know, though!” or “Whatever…” from the blossoms’ buds whose age
belies so much gravitas and care.
And whose will does not beget transaction before they’re paid
and praised. Then again, does this ancient luminary care
so long as they’ve been there?

“Abiding Cycles”

Nobel1

“Abiding Cycles”

Abiding cycles, overriding climes in rhymes of violence and certain gain
With equal expectation of loss the dross of equal certainty in successive reigns
Of terror in the skies just beyond the puny girth of earth’s thin atmosphere;
How much it was the same when Cæsar’s designated revisions of the year
Bore both his names and title in the gilded monthly lists in vain
Presumption that the sun, itself, might be detained or entertained
When will and means conspire to light a fire in cold banality.
Idols worshipped through applause and semi-automatic Coliseum cheers;
Cause wolves to salivate in time. Reflect on just how long these weary fears
Have been the seat and capitol of colossal vain imaginings, the necromancy
Of the rich and bloated tales, tools of millennia of astrologies in the armoury.
How often have bucolic Virgils and Octavians stumbled onto history’s
Urban stage, the first to taste the fruits of history’s tired storylines, effacing
Iconoclasts by default and gluttony of hubris at last embraced
as fresh portfolios forged from fatigue and blatant moral bankruptcy?