Category Archives: Mind

“Silversmiths”

“Silversmiths”

Silversmiths retrace the fire; sweats
In rivulets down brawny arms, twin bushes
To the chin and through the valley of the pectorals; and he pushes
Gyres in the waters;
determination defeats defect, fatigue, frets

Along the instrument mould the

shining of a gentle mind’s design,
Undone, the fist and fingers as hammers in the process
Till the thing that was not is and what little rest
In thought becomes the thing, itself, the line,
A cut above a cusp between inspiration
And its final destruction. Destination, oh! the beauty of the thing
Will guide his hands securely and the synthesis, the ring
Of something new or newer makes its run from mental registration
To obsession in the finishing and glories to polish a wondrous sign,
A medallion of conception, some fine image formed of inner space and time.

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“Blue Addresses Red”

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Blue Addresses Red”

Blue addresses Red, and Purple should reign,
But for hue and a quire of lesser gods
Come nothing from the ether but from odds
On conjecture; motivations enough for  further vain
Imagination conjuring copious tomes twice their equal: Red
affronts Yellow, nothing untoward in appearance nor rushed
Within a natural vision but nonetheless in pernicious light hushed
To placate the numbers, whose former hearts in warmer pigments fed
Producing towering sensations in the physic, yes! But wait—
The spirit and the mind, by nature ever in need, rewarded enter
Ever elder Purples, Greens, and Oranges,  or coy splinters
Of the three—and while these residues of former purity are late
They are more than welcome to the loving eye, secondary sequels,
Aunts and uncles to the genus who scheme and dream as equals.

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…in short, these are not the only ones in peril;  we’re all of us deluded!…who’s aloof when all are naked?…

“He Knows”

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“He Knows”

He knows but one truth, shares it openly before
His own eyes. “It’s thoughts,” he says, “that are the enemies
And thoughts that spin the winning remedies
For now, forever and then some furtive moment, the more
The search for leaves of spirit and mantras soaked in peace
The more immersion in the blessings of a sage.
The added “carrot” seems to curry rage
And disappears around the bend to please
The treasuries of teachers, preachers, those who “‘know’ the age”
In which they live.  He bought the book, retired to read, and strove
To keep the incense burning on the stove,
His altar-now, or was it time to turn the page?
The longest way to truth is through the mind;
Still from mind to heart the bridge is there to what he wants to find.

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