“We’ve Been to the Mountain”
We’ve been to the mountain; we’ve seen the other side.
Elephants, no matter how little time apart,
Greet loudly one another, trumpeters in the lordly arts
Of proper nouns, like Persians in their Naw-Rúz pride
And passion in the ancient annual Spring-tide’s
Boasts amongst the pronouns, the years’ arrests in arrears,
With all the false and withered premises, weird
And natural bond together, yes! The ides of zodiacs abide
With such amazing grace, their verbs will override
The wholes of months that each, their seasons call
To order, seize opportunities where none exist at all.
Who is’t gazes into mirrors on these walls? “’Tis I”
Say all! Who then answers whom as they leave these rooms
And who beys at whom as they stand before their moons?
Posted in Abyss, All or nothing, Childhood, Chimæra, Circumlocution, Circuses, CNN, Consolation prize, Crito, Crucible, Denial, Denizen of Hell, Earthbound joys, Education, Election 2016, Elephants, End Times, Ephemeral pursuits, Lyric Poetry, Mammoth in the room, Maudlin sentiment, Mayhem, Negation, Poetry
Tagged Lyric Poetry
With abruptness comes the uplifted fist, a draught of curt cessation
Of hostilities. Enter parados, the tenuous hymn, a nervous truce enforced
By dreams that hearts cannot discern nor in the discourse
Is it possible for speech to register a plea. Listing on a sea of abnegation—
Content, superfluous ballast—the stuff of odes leach sadness
In the breach for fear that smothers
Second thoughts, shuns advice and admonition and all evidence on the floor
withdrawn from all others.
Comes a welling of selflessness for simple gladness
Sealed in radiant acquiescence, futures steeped in martyrs’ crimson inks
at first stirrings of anagnorisis. Here dwells dull
But conscious resignation to what appears to be defeat of all mottoes
Writ in luminous capitals: “The Thing’s Not Working!” And in the grotto,
Then, the chorus spells the penultimate invocation; the last bull;
The space between the lines, in turn the very eye of so vainglorious a day:
“This cannot come to good! Fools react where wisdom merely prays.
Posted in Anagnorisis, Ballast, Donald Trump, Election 2016, Hymn, Lyric Poetry, Martyrs, Parados, Poetry, Second thoughts, Selflessness, Sonnet
Tagged Donald Trump, Election 2016, End Times, Existence, Lyric Poetry, poetry, Sonnet