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
“I Seek No Time”
I seek no time whose velocity does not rhyme
With direction expressed in effortless comfort sufficient
To the task and a coronet to any living witness—the coefficient
Of the two signals of perspicuous justice—through fruitage and signs
Of God and intercourse with both we are confined
To all corporeal division in the Orient
Of our rising and again at its Occident
As all our suns are brought low, immortals resigned
To mortality in stations and trajectories, gilded symbols and silvered alibis,
Powers of change adrift, erudition in the withered rinds of every nation.
Still we stand and stare for generations sowing auras and auroras in stations’
Bright collectives in the zodiac, litanies of proofs and idols, beacons that testify
To all that is, not to what and where we are but shy to why we all have failed.
Rebels rant and fools respeak change while God and His Creation are motionless
in every age and era save for an occasional Luther and a well-placed nail.
…photographs by above by Seven Willows…
Posted in Aging, All that is, auras, auroras, Change, Imagism, Justice, Lyric Poetry, Poetry, Samsara, Sonnets, Stations, Time, Velocity
Tagged aura, Double Sonnet, End Times, Existence, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Tragic Flaw