“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
“No Phoenix Dotes”
No phoenix dotes, no albatross may linger long. The quail need fear
For nothing in the night, nor dove the eagles of the day
In precocious queues while the leaders speaking parables say
Whatever comes to mind, a finale of raw anticipation in arrears.
There are in any year those misnomer’d festivals, ferial seasons
Cut adrift by aimless circumstance and accidental chance,
A shameless perversion of the odds while a glance
To the right or left reveals clarity and reasons
Raised beyond the calculations of malicious minds.
Eagles discover indolence and periodic indifference outright.
When the winds gesture favourably in arcs of artificial light;
Above the here and now, pleasure ssurely seek its kind,
And well within the breech, parameters of careless joys soon
Dilute the fearsome images of bloodstained wolves and owls,
beneath a panoply of nocturnal props and playthings of the moon.
Posted in Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Poetry, Sonnet
Tagged Delusion, End Times, Existence, Illusion, Imagery, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, poetry, Relationships, Sonnet, Tragic Flaw
How soon? I would be rid of rooms and paperweights
That cheat the scales and calculate the tales of whatever I’m about.
And when the last hour’s phatic pleasantries are made and I am out
The door, I’ll be charging headlong for the fields beyond the artificial dates
Of screaming calendars to feed on endless smiles,
The natural harvests of grasslands stretched beneath my feet. I’ll greet
The memories and naked weathering winds on new-plowed yields to seed,
The freshly mined scores of sapphires, lavenders in wild-flowers though miles
Of crisp and fresher verse, the swelling pregnant soils between the harvest
And the husbandman. For just so sweet a pause as this, oh, yes!
Nebraska’s wheaten seas sustain the subtle sirens of the shallow Platte and west
Beyond the borders of the sandhills; here, the meadowlarks nest
And little else. But, no, I’ll not hold the birthplace of these sonnets’ true rebuttal;
And labours at the loom, the weaver’s warp and woof that’s lost his shuttle.
Posted in Age, Aging, Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Poem, Poetry, Sonnet, Sonnets
Tagged Age, Aging, Existence, Imagery, Imagism, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Poem, poetry, Sonnet, Sonnets
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
Selflessness–flesh of arrogance–heeding, breeding
Longevity in philistines, reaching to the point of ennui at last
Ignites a fire in the blessèd, the righteous task
Of truth’s correction, potentials in a conscious meeting
Place—the heart—and outward while fleeting
Instruments presumed consume themselves in the the hour past
Its purpose, certitude. The catalyst—Illumination of the glass—
Reveals knowledge, faith, and prodigies of the gleaming
Arc that leaves no doubt, no time to delegate.
Discoveries addressing themselves as adagios
And like atoms terminate in the very act of viewing.
Markers, signs and metaphors are no substitute for misconstruing
Immortality for license; no laughing matter culminates
In action, nor in subterfuge beyond the grasp of simple innuendo.
Posted in Age, Aging, Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Poem, Poetry, Samsara, Sonnet
Tagged Age, Aging, Detachment, Emotion, End Times, Existence, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, poetry, Sonnet, Tragic Flaw, Wisdom
The guests are sundry supine, but never mind.
Was it something I said? You’ll find so many walkers
So much weaker than yourself–stalkers
Loitering at the starlight dining room. So divine,
They think to be with me. They’ve asked to join
The wake, but these, my friend, have not been asked;
They brought no invitation. The door’s been trashed
The furniture, the dishes, all the silverware purloined.
Nothing says it quite as well as, “you’d be
Entirely welcome here beneath the sternum. Door’s unlocked
Because you know you may as well just walk
Right in and sign on the dotted line. Please
Feel free to tell me who you are. Bathroom’s down the hall and not far
Beyond, you’ll find the kitchen and some pomegranates–the door’s ajar.
Posted in Age, Aging, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Poetry, Sonnet
Tagged Age, Aging, Emotion, Existence, Lyric Poetry, poetry, Relationships, Sonnet
“I Understand the Problem”
I understand the problem fairly well.
I am three-score years and more, I have one good eye
That still perceives albeit with an unpolished lens–skies
Are not more blue. Your eyes are young, you barely spell;
Your face is wrung with feigned abuse,
And when you write, you care nothing for the form,
The page, the colour of the ink. The cover of your book is worn
Not from age, even less from practicum of use,
But prominently, proudly displayed as if a medal, something won, someone’s gaff,
Proceeds from a raffle, a righteous rage inherited closer to a family door prize,
You’ve become a coupon, a rain check for some far-flung bold surprise.
“And what are your credentials?” you ask. Reply: “What is it makes you laugh?”
“I see no reason to give credit to the past, nor have I any need of laws!”
“‘Here am I’ should be enough; my life, my book, my word, my staff!”
…painting/photographs by Gottfried Helnwein…
Posted in Aging, Angels, Causes, Imagery, Imagism, Infinitive, Inflation, Lyric Poetry, Poem, Poetry, Powerlessness, Samsara, Search, Sonnet, Sonnets, Spiritual connection, Spiritual consolation
Tagged Age, Aging, End Times, Existence, Imagery, Imagism, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Poem, poetry, Sonnet, Sonnets