Limbs, appendages, extensions, sinew stretched
Across the chasms, voids, and axles
Of Creation, forms to occupy the mind; cosmic jackals,
Vain imaginings sprung from fractals, etched
In plaited mesh and skeletal remains combine
To people thought and populate scenarios.
Nothing ever quiets the machine, the interim’s need will borrow
Legitimacy and gravitas from life’s single habit, refine
Its use for lifetimes, the penultimate line in verses
Penned to presage the tentative, the simple strokes of time.
Transition’s in the air, my friends, and next in line
For what’s about to come to pass might well be curses
For the speed with which the world embraces in exchange for its mistakes.
Only the Creator weds the art of accident to apposition for its own sake.
Posted in Astronomy, Change, Existence, Experience, God, Image, Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Poem, Poetry, Providence, Relativity, Religion, Sacrifice, Samsara, Selflessness, Sonnet, Sonnets, Spirituality, Stations, Universe
Tagged Change, Evolution, Existence, Imagism, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Poem, poetry, Samsara, Selflessness, 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
…just a note to say that about a year ago, I posted the following sonnet induced by having seen the Moon and Jupiter in their full glory together; they’re both back, and contrary to public opinion, so am I; for the mind, “the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to:; for the heart, time is conquered, thank God… —Once, 23 July 2011
“Solace in the Courtesies”
Solace in the courtesies of the constellations, Jupiter
Surely there at sunrise, the brightest star,
Visible while the jealous moon, scarred,
The closest audience; apt, significant. The irony. Her
Dwarf, yet here in circumstance; the bond a quiet perpetuity.
The mighty planet rests for moments in the night,
And we regard the larger aegis the greater light
And think so little of her smaller celebrant; so great an inequity
In vision we’re wont to dote upon from such a station as this.
It is just so with all luminaries of perspicuous wisdom and guidance in the night
That they are worshipped in coal black skies, but preludes to the dawning light
Because it pleases the eye see none but them and rest awhile in ignorant bliss.
Yet with the rising of the sun, all former brilliance must surely fade,
Withdrawn by force to honour greater virtues than the night has made.
I wonder why it is that knowing consciously the identity of what that star is that shone this morning just before the sunrise and has been shining every morning so significantly in the southeastern skies makes so much difference. Tonight it was joined beautifully by proximity to the moon.
A few weeks ago, I learned from a friend that that bright, unusually vivid star was in fact the planet Jupiter. Not that the news was astounding, but in some quiet way it was comforting because as I looked out from my balcony in the early morning hours always just before sunrise, when the skies were clear I had seen that star and wondered just what it was. Somehow I wanted some confirmation as to just what that thing was. I wrote to my friend who was kind enough to confirm its identity for me that it is true that it’s Jupiter and it is very visible in the skies during the whole of June into July. Now, then, this silent delight in knowing consciously that I have seen with my own eyes this “other world” that shares our solar system in some subtle way pleases my soul. These are the signsof God, my friend, as if the moon and sun, the inevitable revival of the earth at spring, and countless spectacles of greater and lesser significance were not. Did I need another confirmation of the majesty of this Creation? These days, for me at least, even breathing is a sign of God and becomes more obviously so with every passing day at my age. —Once, July 2010
Posted in Affirmation, Appearances, Astronomy, Dawn, Illusion, Imagery, Jupiter, Luminary, Moon, Nature, Night, Planets, Poetry, Sun, Virtues
“It Is a Consolation”
It is a consolation as well as a curse that none
Of us lasts within these bodies past the grave;
While here, we have no choice but to mark the moon’s phases
And it is the sun that tells us that we have passed another day.
Still, insofar as all of us are eternal, once created, what honours could
Exceed this single blessing? It takes a thousand years for a sunbeam
To reach the surface of the sun and eight seconds from that portal to the earth,
So we are told.
What we are not told is that once created, the sunbeam never dies,
Nor does it remain with us for long here
Among the living nor there
Beyond the last hotdog joint on its way out of town,
And we are left to guess whence it came and where it’s going
And what the hell it was doing here.
“Where the Sun Has Risen”
Where the sun has risen marks the edge
Of all that’s been but, offering no offense
To what is evident in the primal disk, an evidence
Of what has been and not what is, a hedge
Against rebellion in the ranks; a wedge
Deliberate, a proof, divine, that in the imminence
Of being and in having been, an eminence,
Is occluded like the stars at noon, replacing every absolute with the pledge
Of probabilities within a sacred zone of time. Masked against the periphery,
The matter, more the consequence of having largely come
From nothing and ascended to even less, dissent expressed in helplessness
Addresses issues of existence as if they were a wilderness
Of weeds for the sake of worlds below and well beyond all mystery
Of galaxies, a Lilliputian sovereignty beyond the banality of the sun.
“Did Ever Peace in Motion”
Did ever peace in motion come to mind while living still,
Or what’s an ego for? We do not cease; we know we die
But, what hopes are hung there in the clocks, the early cries
Of “Quickly!”or “Grant me time that I may kill,”
And whether there is joy in sunrise just beyond that hill
Or just beyond the present place within the wall we occupy,
The only guarantee we have that testifies
To purpose is that we have lived to see that what fulfils
A destiny is not mere approbation, positive as this may be,
But willing prophesy and added acquiescence to the turning
Of the page, the further reading, the greater goal
To ascertain than to achieve, then on beyond the poles
Whither to the north or south, to encompass greater than the seas,
Further than consumption; such limitless forests as are beyond all learning.
Posted in Age, Aging, Astronomy, Certitude, Civilisation, Creativity, Detachment, Dreams, Existence, Hope, Imagery, Imagination, Imagism, Immortality, Infinitity, Lyric Poetry, Nature, Patience, Philosophy, Poem, Poetry, Providence, Reality, Relativity, Samsara, Sea, Sonnet, Sonnets, Spirituality
Tagged Age, Aging, Emotion, Existence, Imagery, Imagism, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Patience, Poem, poetry, Samsara, Selflessness, Sonnet, Sonnets
So simple seen at dawn so long delayed, Venus and the moon! Brighter
Than I’ve ever seen them, 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 he 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 age,
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, the universal fade to cold formalities
Of “I don’t know, though!” or “Whatever…” from the blossom’s buds whose age
Belies their gravitas and whose will
does not beget transaction before they’re paid
And praised. Then again, does either ancient luminary care
so long as they’ve been there
Abiding cycles, overriding climes in rhymes of violence and certain gain
With equal expectation of loss as dross in equal certainty within successive reigns
Of terror in the skies just beyond the puny girth of earth’s thin atmosphere?
How much it was the same when Caesar’s designated revisions of the year
Bore both his names and title in the gilded monthly lists in vain
Presumption that the sun, itself, may be detained or entertained
When will and means conspire to light their fires in cold banality,
idols worshipped through applause and semi-automatic Coliseum cheers;
Both wolves salivate in time. Reflect on just how long this weary place
Has been the seat and capitol of colossal vain imaginings, the necromancy
Of the rich, the bloated tales and tools of millennia of astrology 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, gluttony of hubris at last embraced in fresh portfolios
forged from fatigue and blatant moral bankruptcy.
Posted in Age, Aging, Astronomy, Civilisation, Delusion, Detachment, Double Sonnet, Economics, End Times, Fame, Idolatry, Illusion, Imagery, Imagination, Imagism, Intellect, Lyric Poetry, Media, Morality, Philosophy, Poem, Poetry, Reality, Relativity, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets, Zeitgeist
Tagged Age, Art, Astoronomy, Delusion, Double Sonnet, End Times, Existence, Fame, Illusion, Imagery, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Poem, poetry, Sonnet, Sonnets