“Gold Bars Soar”
Gold bars soar that may or may not be there as dollars rise and fall
While doves and hawks lose feathers and the bourgeois stain
Their corporate tablecloths; numbers genuflect as mortgage rates
And candidates trade places in the spin. Who sleeps in the caterwaul;
Who stampedes for attention in the networks’ nightly call
To arms not heard since Boston; whose cotillions root for the notorious? Bait
And bombast never fails; the remedy is ever there and altogether late,
Meticulously timed by someone out to fill the stadia and malls
With never ending seasons’ greetings and wherewithal
To keep the vital signs of spinning polls and sardines at the gates,
Martin’s dream is deemed appropriate for the calendar and numbers integrate
The use of steroids and youthful thrall so no one drops the ball.
Who needs another change for heaven’s sake as one size fits all:
…And who really gives a damn with elections in the fall?“
Posted in Change, Dollar, Dross, Duplicity, Fear, Gold, Hubris, Idolatry, Image, Imagery, Imagism, Inflation, Lust, Lyric Poetry, Materialism, Media, Morality, Obama, Poem, Poetry, Pyrrhic Victory, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets
Tagged Business, Dollar, Gold, Imagism, Immortality, Inflation, Lyric Poetry, News Media, Poem, poetry, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets
“I’ll Not Wait”
I’ll not wait till dawn to praise the sun;
Shadows follow closely where I sleep; this night must end:
I’m guaranteed as much. What, then? Tomorrow? What? Again
A word’s delay a world away is all, so, patience me. The midnight trains still run
Their course–stampeding to the east to crawl back westward–and catch
The rising or the setting cosmos all along the local milk run. Coaches
Matter not, jettisoned or newly recreated in the Milky Way, we approach
Our destinations, dusks or dawns in proper times; passengers dispatched,
Who only seem to arrive at destinations previously booked
And so we do not blithely cease to live because we wait
Upon a final station or dream of tracks not even built. Medusa guards the gate
That turns all nightly plans to stone, and we her momentary shades that looked
To make the journey know the Night Train only claims a means to ends
Through mirrors while season tickets mark what joys the daybreak sends.
Posted in Age, Aging, Astronomy, Destiny, Ends, Existence, Experience, Fate, Helios, Image, Imagery, Imagism, Infinitity, Lyric Poetry, Means, Midnight, Nightrain, Poem, Poetry, Providence, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets, Sun, Trains
Tagged Age, Aging, Change, Destiny, Double Sonnet, Existence, Fate, Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Night Train, Poem, poetry, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets, Sun, Trains
“So Easy to Feel”
So easy to feel, to seem to be, to know at last propinquity
As if the light declares the coming glory of the sun at daybreak
Redundant. But as that disk cannot be seen for more than seconds, I take
That certainty of coming morning within me,
Knowing that midnight’s richest prize in ivory
Is forever fixed as is the station of the sun; the moon an intimate
In someone’s flight, perhaps, but even so, as she reveals herself in states
And phases never hers, agitation gains nothing in the motion save in memory
And affectations of the sea within me–force upon another force,
Measured consequence of a functionary that renders boundaries
Of continental pride and the ocean’s doors
Cast aside in the riot of the tides, a natural stampede, no more
Than thresholds of natural accident, the stream and river’s course
Now rising, now again a swelling to apostrophes, eternal inertia born of gravity.
Posted in Change, Destiny, Existence, Experience, Fate, Image, Imagery, Imagism, Immortality, Isolation, Lyric Poetry, Midnight, Moon, Night, Ocean, Poem, Poetry, Samsara, Sea, Sonnet, Sonnets, Sun, Tides, Universe, Walls, Wisdom
Tagged Age, Double Sonnet, Existence, Imagism, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Poem, Relationships, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets, Tides
“I Can Suggest”
“I can suggest that no one adopts
My line of reasoning or the solitary action
Of my life,” he whispers, “I’ve a fraction
Left to me, and while I opt
To survive, still, I mean to live a life
That bleeds straight out of this
Episode arrained by more than just a kiss
Or promissory note, or some cosmic strife
With fists raised high against the moon.
And just as wolves are wont to howl
Because Diana’s there, or possibly because an owl
Asks just who she is, soon
Enough the night’s owl is fed and wolves go into heat,
And no one sheds a tear for all those rabbits in retreat.”
Posted in Age, Aging, Lyric Poetry, Poetry, Samsara, Sonnet
Tagged Age, Aging, Certitude, Existence, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Nature, Samsara, Sonnet, spirituality, Strife, Tragic Flaw
“If Not Here and Now”
If not here and now, then when and where?
The elephant’s tusk and dust, their meaning clear,
Declare themselves in certain urgencies that do not register as fear,
But majesty and certitude. Principals are everywhere
And conscious. If the elixir is time, the air,
And place are so much the lessers to delicate atmospheres
And periodic lethal effigies of spirit. Ears
Dine on sentiments, rust in spare
Moments scattered through the memory just as in a sonnet
Recapitulations of majesties and wondrous wonder rhyme with ramifications
Primed, these! the badge and banner of everlasting transformations
Of fire and ice, evolutions common to a passing comet,
Gaia knows whereof I speak in abstracts that we both know;
The gods had turn to stone e’en before their suns had yearned to glow.
“Their Shadows’ Length in Sum”
And when the sun, this fire, this light is come,
These candles do not weep, nor do they bow,
Nor are they reckoned yet, nor are they now
The greater than their shadows’ length in sum.
These illumine but are surely measured lengths
In spectres cast than what is truly there;
Their worth cannot be noted in the glare
Of votive luminaries, weaknesses and strengths
Of all that is and all that seems to be; the candle simply is
And nothing more than this within the awe
And wonder of a finite image, vision twice enthralled
Within the view and viewer, nothing lost or missed
That in the night writes not riot in the heart drawn
From a paltry spark in the draining of a wick-bound dawn.
Stealing glances, yes! and desire overcomes
All common sense that says, “You cannot stare!”
Sensations pleased, and sure as hell with greatest care,
The opening and final shot above the knees, a loaded gun
Forevermore. It can blind you and you know it. Jealous suns
Make loans that can never be repaid. Still we yearn for nightmares,
Never-ending glories in eclipse that skip the stairs,
Traverse justice in arrears, forfeit choice and stun
The heart with lasting images of naked blasphemy no fig leaf ever covers.
Ponder this, that with that next eternal kiss, no holy lovers
Through lean and inner miles, no continent can bear the weight
Nor estimate the station of any other soul in any other rôle. We navigate
By day, apprise ourselves of little in the gloom
while nocturnal rainbows bleeding colours
In the blinding hours remind us that we need
no more than candles in the darkest room.
Posted in "Mene, Age, Aging, Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Meme, Poem, Poetry, Samsara, Sonnet
Tagged Age, Aging, Delusion, Emotion, End Times, Existence, Illusion, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, poetry, Samsara, Sonnet, spirituality, Tragic Flaw, Wisdom
Humility–unwieldy companion to arrogance–speaks;
In time, longevity in the Philistine at last
Ignites a divine belated blessèd anger, a righteous task
Of inevitable cosmic correction, a conscious meeting
Of place, heart, and justice inward while but a fleeting
Moment entangles exponents with reality; the hour has passed;
Its purpose, certitude. Illumination in the glass
Reveals the cosign of beauty; a faith, sans gleaming
Spark leavens all and leaves no doubt wasting nothing in its evening
—A meagre point of knowledge as with a single atom addressed at last
Avoiding capture in the very act of viewing.
No substitute for misconstruing
Immortality for license, this thing must grasp
A certain concrete action plausible in similitude and innuendo
As all natural pains reverse themselves in their own crescendo.
“The Midnight Hymn”
by Friedrich Nietzsche
[ 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 Age, Aging, All or nothing, Anger, Arrogance, Atom, Balance, Certitude, Cosmic paths, Humility, Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Poem, Poetry, Relationships, Samsara, Sonnet
Tagged Age, Aging, End Times, Existence, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Relationships, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets, Tragic Flaw
“Oh Yes, of Course!”
Oh yes, of course, I hear the cymbals echoed in my ear;
The thunder’s never altogether gone.
Lyrics never cease, sets give rise to reprise and just another song.
The stride is altered, yes! but never far from fear.
And always from the invisible “A” to the ubiquitous “B,” the line
Is straight. It flows, it does not fade and as constancy is there
I am bound to find the wicket, purchase another ticket there
To picture in my mind the Gate that lies beyond the mines
And traps I’ve burried, extensions of the elemental singular.
Ignorance drawn, pleasure in life egregiously proffers
Its own demise where duplicity wreathes herself in the divine collective. Coffers,
Dogma for all occasion profits veiled within the insular.
The rock, itself, sees through all the aye’s
And knows its nay’s must always seek a public gaze, disguised.
Posted in Lyric Poetry, Poetry, Singularity, Sonnet
Tagged Age, Aging, Certitude, Existence, Imagery, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, poetry, Samsara, Singularity, spirituality, Strife, Tragic Flaw
“There’s Nothing in Neruda”
There’s nothing in Neruda* that’s not been said,
No subtle hint, no helpful word, no turn
Of phrase, no bold assertion that to earn
A place beneath the skin one must be bled,
Detained, flattered in the stacks of libraries, betrayed,
A Caulfield** in search of what Bukowski***never found
in hopes of finding hidden pearls among
Unnatural grains of sand before the oyster’s song was ever sung,
And all before his cock crew thrice—You know he never paid
Beyond the going price. Are we not forgetting something here?
The witnesses? Another round of hemlock, please! and as the academics cheer
the proceeds of yet another idle idyll, a second glass of wine, perhaps a clear
And unequivocable glance at the mirror sitting there to interpolate
the riddle loaves and fishes of enigma or the positive benefits of fear.
Ah, yes! Neruda may have told the tale, but who was he to give us hope,
And from what box he now quotes himself and never
gives a river’s damn about what it was he wrote?
Of course, I can’t be sure of it, but from here it looks
For all the world that in truth I am you
And you are me and there’s the misery, the mystery, the view
That’s missing in the metaphors and similes, the clue refined from brooks
And seas, the bakers’ scales and finely tuned anomalies,
the national sport of news and fresh cacophanies, hooks
By which we are urgently define and hone the truth askew
From certitude, and based in faith that separates all from each, proved
Or unapproved in swarms of groups and nations, the accidental nooks
And crannies of every greatness, every generation, seminar, religion,
Clan and sanctified plan proposed, to accent ancient schools and families.
All experience expresses the inverse from Hammurabi to our beloved Ramses,
Seen as freaks and distant relatives and relegated to exceptions
With a shot of charisma or some other social clot, profusion
In the masses of exclusion throughout of all the spies of life that seek.
So much to say with so little time to speak,
Whether for the self or for the same in orderly confusion.
Still larger loans from banks of life’re sired from brothers,
Even greater obligations and demands from mountain peaks,
And beyond the heights, the snowy summons of the higher roads and streets.
The recreating lights that cut the edge of fear of sacrifice in grieving mothers
Leads the restive albatross to discover, possibly to smother
In the blasphemy of his own need and greener pastures elsewhere―
a weak and weaker Icarus―in search of tests that cannot keep
His lightnings’ glories save in darker South Georgian seas, blunders
To suspect within his breast and nothing when at last he sleeps:
He discovers little more than what the drop within the puddle seeks.
*Chilean poet and diplomat, Pablo Naruda [12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973]
**Character from the novel The Catcher in the Rye, a 1951 novel by J. D. Salinger
***German born American poet Charles Bukovski [August 16, 1920 – March 9, 1994]
…Art at the top of this post, Liu Bolin 刘勃麟 – Photography of China
Posted in a 1951 novel by J. D. Salinger, Age, Aging, Albatross, Charisma, Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Material connection, Oneness of mankind, Pablo Naruda [12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973], Poem, Poetry, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets, Spiritual connection
Tagged 1920 – March 9, 1994], Age, Aging, Charles Bukovski [August 16, Delusion, Double Sonnet, Existence, Illusion, Imagery, Imagism, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Pablo Naruda [12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973], Relationships, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets, Tragic Flaw, Wisdom