Category Archives: Fear

“Gold Bars Soar”

gold1

“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?

“Feel the Fear”

“Feel the Fear”

Feel the fear in all things blithe; death,
To see what only mystic pages sign and still it’s too damn cold;
Nothing’s moving. Reckon talismans, medallions sold
For incense and bouquet; breathe once and then the second breath,
Friend. Taste reticence itself and all things flee; barter sovereignty
And youth and place the sandals at the door. Terse and curt,
They will renege, prevaricate, and standing still
their high fives fly. They flirt
With no one but themselves, their flesh disports with rude obscenity;
Daggers, canines, grey-lined barbs of cultured mumbled sympathy
For mothers long in heat, hesitant but nonetheless disposed to saying
Judas had his reasons.
Politely cut the losses, righteous piracy embroidered on the sleeve–
The tattoo leaves no space for pores–pluck the fruit,
reschedule colonoscopies.
They’ll make you know they love you;
scratch the surface, pick the scab.
And why not? If things go wrong, all is veiled,
steeled in memory, forgotten on the slab.

“Sonnet in Honour of the Feast of Kalimát or “Words”

diamondBahá’ís throughout the world gather today within the First Day of the Month of Kalimát [Words] before sunset to celebrate the first day of the Bahá’í Month of Kalimàt.

“Sonnet in Honour of the Feast of Kalimát or “Words”

The Word illumines surfaces in the soul;
Not so the mortal eye, my friend–they who dilate
Earthly limitations know the truth–they violate
The the borders of the pupil to include the accents of the dream. The flow
Of images beneath the lids so often bound, so ever-weathered
Couples with the muse, crowns cosmic winds of aromatic lustre in the ether,
Clouds–the afterthought of action forged in fires of hubris–either
Lust or fear, the pilots in the paths of all dust: and both are witnesses. Tethered
Wonders, perceptions of the lens, veined, suited in appearance; perceptions
Of an ancient mountain’s bile or gleaned from its seed, diamonds from the sun
Are death to those who negate. Just so say Prophets in the Sealed Writ or sung
Beyond capacities of the ear may hear when spoke, pronounced and uttered
Only once in pre-existent natural form. Seized,
the Word is cut and polished in the tailings of the present.
The Holy Word defines the substance of the raw material of divine parsimony
cut and spliced in sacrifice, rendered gems from ore of human ignominy.

“There Is a Oneness”

Post-oak2

“There Is a Oneness”

There is a oneness in God, one sea, one reality
In all exigencies, and so it is that we may be forgiven
And promptly forgotten for want of pure imagination. In vanity, they who live in
Fear of all things independent, who recoil from continents bound by seas
Of visions circumcised in shibboleths; those who fear their kind and its Holy See
Of horror, elevated as the Host in the cacophony of leisure’s golden trumpets
on the page or silver screen; to these much is given, these perpetually driven.
Spent, they prefer the image of the albatross, the unicorn, what thrives in
Flight, in tears, now realised now immortalised in manuscripts of fantasy;
These of fact, these of fiction hoard seats at the banquet by dint of circumstance
As they huddle together in nights of simile and metaphor; laurels, the oak leaves
Crown their worried brows with scales of vicarious habit born of years of ease,
Forsworn by tedious cloning of the suns leaving nothing to life and chance.
Given, then in specious time or choice, both now please
Their phatic lioves, emphatic in numbers yet limpid in the slightest breeze.

Figure_15_02_01

“Fear”

index

“Fear”

Fear, and all things fear your breath
And that only when it’s too damn cold;
Yours is not the source after all. Even so, it lasts for but seconds in bold
Neon colours; reckon, then,  the shadow in stealth
And sign of something more than simple breathing?
Fear Creation and even more the Creator and all things fear you.
Accept both fear and trepidation and all souls pursue
Your death warrant or leave in peace; effects, the boiling broth to seething
Steeps wherever there are causes. Success is the flirt,
You know and equally victorious, they flash those teeth,
Those canines, those barbed corals on the reef
And their guardians the rays, those who give a damn, and if you’re not alert
Before they’re through, they make you know how much they love you.
For them, it’s in the index or more than likely in the brew.
So come, then,  to blows, perhaps, but never to the clues
Beyond the observations of the moment, contemplations viewed,
As thoughts and dwelling caves for the more or less sincerely
Involved. But, there’s the point! There is no point, the hour sees
Itself to the arbiter to the end that in the conclusion there may well be
A reckoning within the chance occasion between the you and me,
Wrapped in conspicuous consumption until the advent  of a third cares to listen.
Does the sun in glory truly set itself against its own fall
Whatever solutions unify his children nor their enemies withal?
True it is that early morning chill and dews that glisten
Do not last the hour to noon, and neither shall
They serve the moment’s view as all fortune will burn
The whole, and while the part inevitably returns
To haunt the memory, it does not touch the soul,
And if there’s something whispering in the gold,
It’s not the detail, not the story told,
Not a weakness in the strong, nor cowardice in bold,
But rather the humanity’s rôle for the moment sold,
(It’s true!) at times for the innocuous cup of coffee, Esau’s bowl
Of soup to while away the time until the final train departs, and gone.

“Disconcerting”

“Disconcerting”

Disconcerting; expressionless about the face,
The eyes, the gestures, my smile in any minor step
You take; sudden entrances, exists, all essentials swept
In torrents across this mobile stage, the supple need for guidance as I pace
The floor to find my shoes. The simplest gesture burns; the sparks, elite,
So subtle brilliance in the softest action while you, the witness to it all abhor
The fact that what I am is what you are. Denial rages through a score
Of fears exhaled in sweat and tears that flood whenever I begin to seat
Your soul where it belongs, this sacred trust
held deep within me. Rest easy, friend.
I will be true to you. In later moments when I’m gone you’ll think
On it and know we are nothing if not sums of spirits
in the grip of centrifuge. We drink
From common ladles. Mortgaged mornings’ lights’ assay and bend
The prism’s light to bleed tomorrow’s rainbow’s form from drops.
We form an ocean, mariners of error and mistake;
We bear a circumstantial curse that leads
to universal light in every breath we take.

 

“Within the Second”

“Within the Second”

Within the second, tension
Greeting and suspension
Sought by no one’s intervention
Never seen when the incision
First was made; immediately regretted,
The fisherman must pay out nets in
By miles in order to withdraw from what is set in
Stone for life and wife and children and the silence of posterity. Sunsets
Measured by exigency’s precision and jealous alacrity in moments
Of lucidity crown flights that condescend to incidents and stories
Never dreamed by this finest man or that great fish by land or sea
But in and with slightest motion’s predetermined goals, histories
Of continents and oceans satisfy Calliope
and there within their stations, torments
Boast of sacrifice for crowds where cowards
in the chorus crucify their tragic characters and epic plots
swell as sweat from depths within the pores of poets
finding every gilded ancient fear a kind of test
that does not rest but resonates as never-ending glory.

“What Peace of Mind”

“What Peace of Mind”

What peace of mind can find a living here?
Pundits’ fantasies will not stop the tears, the midnight cries,
Incessant lies, and still the public yearns to know whatwe despise
From commentators and the late show comics. Do we fear
The truth and turn the other way when asked
If what comes down the pipe is truly past
Our tacit understanding? Reasons? Seasons? Are there tasks
Beyond endurance here, or is it always first and last
A matter for the courts, the press, and cold realities
That simply digest information and ingest lucid cosmic facts:
There’s them that’s got, and them that’s wracked,
The rich, the poor, the lack of morals backed. Atrocities
And blessings rank as equals, ours to fricassee, ours to fear.
There’s them that’s got, all right, and them that no one hears.

“Did You Think…?”

“Did You Think…?”

Did you think it pays to read between the Holy Lines
That spoke with outward-bound and bonded particulars and austerity
In eloquence to which the gray-scale decibels of earthbound clarity
Speak volumes if only to the ears of dogs or elephants; defined
Somewhere between the womb and coffin, clearly signed
Within the matrix, nothing; to all else
exquisite in the melody of choice, metonymy
In fear, perhaps, but action put to wind chimes, pure and unrefined divinity
To souls of children and the penitent in prayer, yet the object undefined?
Within composts of saints and poets supernal senses  are recused, none refused, and far beyond, their Prophets,
Hounded and reviled within their own brief imprisoned span,
The single particle becomes the raging legion
in cycles newly framed in paradigms
So far from what was or seemed to be convenient both to litigants and followers,
All concave mirrors turned to Truth. Their attentions birth
as the premature in understanding puts the match

to kindling fires of corruption in the land.

Yes; even the word holds sway in beauty just as be and come and go as always in concert with all beauteous words seem to hold some affinity to one another that begs for more; it is the glory of affirmation; negation is its inverse holding fast to less as nothing seducing while it shuns to die as though to love is somehow related to a force of hatred amongst the other sovereignties  and prerogatives of antithesis, and, while integral to physical existence, are nevertheless peculiar to this world only and can draw no conclusion beyond the present natural illusions of form. Such fellowship is its own demise as is all that occurs in the material universe.

“The Midnight Hymn”

Friedrich Nietzsche
[ 1844 A.D. - 1910 A.D.]

Oh man!  Take heed!
What does the deep midnight say?
I slept!
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.

“Lest Adjudged in Blindness”

“Lest Adjudged in Blindness”

Lest adjudged in blindness, we must surely know
The juggernaut will move again this week,
As highways clog, evacuation buses seek
The higher ground and  seeds of fear are sown
Within the airways, “Danger! Friends beware!”
And no one now may turn away and say
He is not moved nor moved to reëvaluate
The ground with prudence; diehards raise the fist and swear
They’ll not be first or yet a second time be removed.
But in the main, these , the very spark and fire
Among the cries, pathetic measures up for hire
Throughout the Amazon’s muds, Australia’s floods, and choirs
Of wonder at what traffic walks the streets of California,
There is the spectre, closer to truth, of the reign of Cain in Hispañola.