Category Archives: Matter

‘“Sonnet in Honour of the Feast of Sulṭán”

Bahá’ís throughout the world gather this evening after sunset to commemorate the First Day of the Bahá’í Month of Sulṭán [Sovereignty]
 
dark-matter

“Sonnet in Honour of the Feast of Sulṭán or `Sovereignty’”

The sovereignties of celestial spheres exists to need,
The limitless has its limitations as nothingness withdraws
According to measure, star to planet, king to pawn
And back again; the elements begin eternal needs with seed
In matter or of energy–little difference the subject or predicate–
In clusters round the universal abyss. Heat and weight
Of particles in accident and  by law are so great that seismic freight
Of galaxies and galaxies of galaxies, monarchs and their asteroids, late
And early viceroys and their sycophants cannot pause or hesitate.
It goes just so with all that is and is not His every breath within His dreams
As emanations of the seen and unseen posit progression in the cosmic stream;
Still other states of being thrive as condiments used within the universal state,
Signed by given temperatures, degrees of darkest matter unexplored,
In certain trust of  sovereignty, tales of energies and matters
that will not long be veiled, belittled nor can they be ignored.

—Once

Schopenhauer

All truth passes through three stages.  First, it is ridiculed.  Second, it is violently opposed.  Third, it is accepted as being self-evident.

Arthur Schopenhauer [22 February 1788 – 21 September 1860]

“The Cells”

“The Cells”

The cells call out their scholarity,
Mighty spires reach for skies
That live seasons in the earth’s penumbra and expire
Forever, so they say. Turn, then, to odd peculiarity,
Particulars in ornate stone formations possibly deliberate
When once they housed a single evening’s temple
Built by want and ignorance of what is simple,
Worshipped by multitudes within, immediate
To some, an intimacy of bodies petrified
And sprung from some light’s supple
Flight that had a need for nuptials–
She, the goddess; he, the priest. So sanctified,
They possessed a night that launched a myriad cliffs
And in that blackest of shadows, its oceans shifted.

–Once

“The poem… is a little myth of man’s capacity to make life meaningful. And in the end, the poem is not a thing we see – it is, rather, a light by which we may see – and what we see is life.”

~Robert Penn Warren
[April 24, 1905—September 15, 1989]

“Between the Particles”

“Between the Particles”

Between the particles, seeds, whole galaxies
With beings monstrous in physique by grace
To be or not to be of any consequence; a place
Of high dramatic action, energies, prolixities
And all that is the chaos and confusion here
Among us there between the millions, there
Where no present eye beholds the plan; fair
Throughout minions of the wide arena sated, dear
To those whose measures are diminutive
But in such numbers as we cannot command,
Or catalogue; and even here may be the death of man
In servitude to what is life to them, disease to us, illustrative
Of powers to the nano only recently imagined:
We seek where there is nothing; we see mountains in grains of sand.

“I See no Quiet Here”

“I See no Quiet Here”

I see no quiet here but qualities designed
In favour of the best the litter and line will offer,
The latest of dynasties of inertia, coffers
Open without the slightest cover charge, signed
In classic calligraphy with what hovers in the herd.
Dressed to kill to take one’s fill of benefits
And freebees, clowns and frowns and shoes that fit
The going price, sound bites to the latest word
From centres deep within. Commitment to yet another holy empire
Risen high above housed buttressed in steel and glass
And all that lasts beyond the skylines but to the limits of the present past,
And futures giving voice to promise and advertisement that inspire
Confidence and, ultimately, perhaps, yes, another royal firm
Or two to add to those that must germinate and cheat the pedestrian worm..