“Idyll of the Notes”
Idyll of the notes: strike the first, then close the second; together,
Hail propinquity, call a third to birth a melody:
From nothing more, strange grace. Thoughts become celebrity
In congress with emotion in the progress—tethered,
Binding doubled, redoubled—repeated over time,
A saturated affair, approbation
With solemnities, an aspiration
Quickened within a rhyme
Of mere coincidence and proclivities; a leaning
Toward an accidental brilliance, plaudits gleaned
From union and fresh existence and what seem
At first but three streaks’ slight in plaited harmony gleaming,
Potential fugues’ intrinsic affinities drawn from thin air.
purity of heart inspires the masterpiece and who bears its weight?
At once in lieu of action words foolishly assure themselves it’s not too late.
…art work at top by Paul Pinkman…
Posted in Age, Aging, Beginning and the end, Eternities, Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Medusa, Perseus, Poem, Poetry, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets, Tiresias
Tagged Beginning and the end, Double Sonnet, End Times, Eternities, Existence, Imagery, Imagism, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Medusa, Mortality, Perseus, Poem, poetry, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets, Strife, Tiresias, Tragic Flaw
Situations at the wishing may well be crude but demand an answer;
Primed from who it is does what to whom and who will surely lose
When Monday’s powers, profits and dominions in the refuse
Fall to Thursday’s victors. And what was that woman doing at the well? Panzers
For Tuesday’s pounce surprise Wednesday’s pansies in pots once the steppes
Exhaust their rhetoric of chickens and the odd reclusive mongoose.
Culture’s lichens wither in her vast domains and fireflies loosed
Will taunt their former captors in the galleys put to bed while the people slept
And all the while they scan for even greater news. Rest assured
That if their wish were granted crosses would be twisted; someone wins
But someone loses all he has. Surmising spring will witness sins
Of the many vices turned to holy virtues’ within the haunted soul of Perseus
As he gazes at her reflection, someone tonight is not at all happy with her lot.
Lebensraum is only paradise to them that’s lost to them that’s got.
…scupture by Dorothy Grostern…
Posted in Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Perseus, Poem, Poetry, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets
Tagged Economics, Economy, End Times, Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Perseus, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets, Tragic Flaw
Split infinitive, the cleaver cannot leave a mark;
Whither here or there, I can
Say nothing of it save that in such spaces weightlessness demands
Safe passage through the night, and dawn, the every morn as sparks
In the extremities reveal mere likenesses of divinity, an excess so easily payed
Out as if ‘twere planned or ready bought, a largesse in signs
And light diffused. Humanity’s the excuse, the very line
Drawn in sands that separate here from there as if in an arcade
Where emotion speaks for intelligence and former lovers find a place
To hide within the withered phallus, the wilted orchid for just a little while.
Who will look upon obscenity as a mask of travesty whose caustic smile
Cannot pass the lips nor wisdoms register results within the mind? Efface
From memory the protocols of inertia in the game and such a stench is discerned
That cannot in the end be seen where more than innocence is burned.
Posted in Cerititude, Medusa, Mirror, Orchid, Perseus, Phallus, Poetry, Prophesy, Truth
Tagged Double Sonnet, Lyric Poetry, Sonnet, Sonnets