I am my feet, my history tells me so;
My shins; dexterity amid the rocks reveal it may be true;
My thighs; their balance in distraction sees me through
Illusions at the level of the groin’s most pernicious foes,
Receptacles as voids in need of better news; and though
I am my mother’s navel, my father’s love left so many similar clues—
The evangel to what was otherwise ignored—that the view
In any given moment’s blocked. Here, then, my heart maintains its flow
In reasonable annuity, and I’ll be damned if I am weak,
But if you ask my legs, you’ll find a sometime potent posse,
Nothing else. My once proud pectorals could
Never act alone―as if they thought they should―
But laboured twice the time for heartfelt evidence
That given time I would succeed―
And so I have as I can plainly see.
I am my eyes whose rivals in the ears
At times have overcome the world and all its fears,
But though twice born view both here and our eternity
I see but vanity served that while I eat, I hesitate and feed
On noise and what is after all experience in arrears.
I am my mind; “Cogito!”— the mantra’s cadence shows as through the years
I’ve dined on fine receipts and tallies that what I meant most certainly should be
The outcome of all my powers to deduce a spark from what I’ve seen,
A truth in what I’ve done and glean from what I’m told I’ve been—
This, despite what I know I am,…but let that pass. I am
In fact conceit, itself, and in its place I stand
And where I sit and both but simple remedies to all I’ve gleaned:
“I am,” the Ancient Sage made replied, and “that I am,” shall be
a fleeting moment’s apostrophe to truth and not at all what I believe.
3:14 And God said unto Moses, I AM THAT I AM: and He said, Thus shalt thou say unto the children of Israel, I AM hath sent me unto you.
Posted in Aging, Arrogance, Born again, Father, Feet, Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Mother, Navel, Poem, Poetry, Samsara, Shins, Sonnet, Sonnets
Tagged Age, Aging, Double Sonnet, Existence, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Sonnet, Sonnets, Tragic Flaw
“I’m Not So Cavalier”
I’m not so cavalier, you see; I’ve heard, I’ve lent a hand and bowed
To acid rains and lurid wastes and elements stacked,
Deranged, spewed, sprawled and rearranged, and I’ve attacked
And married Buicks, Saabs, and Fords and I’m not so very proud;
My many homes are bought and sold with not a thought
To living in them. Mine eyes have seen the glory of a myriad of pulpits,
Certified accountants and a pride of priests whose pious culprits’
Books are cooked in scarlets, blood-gelt orders in their sanctities taught
To serve the venal equinox between the self-sequestered fetid clans
In every land who have no ticket, pass, nor ever need to walk
When they can ride, nor ride when they can darn the stocks
That fuel the jet streams’ markets, currencies, and family plans
To lengthen gas lines leading lambs to houses built more or less on sand;
Three coins tossed in every fountain is the trend
while the Fed and Humpty Dumpty transcend The Wall Street Journal briefly
just before they hit the fan.
Posted in Humpty Dumpty, Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Materialism, Poem, Poetry, Sonnet, Sonnets
Tagged anti-Green, Ecology, Economics, Economy, End Times, Green, Humpty Dumpty, Lyric Poetry, Market, News Media, Sonnet, Sonnets, Strife
The test is in its gauge, a poem’s weight, nothing equitable but fair,
In and of itself an offering, a discrete particle in an innocuous conceit
Upon some higher power in the substance that in its sleep
Has left the path and all the usual signs and banners with little thought or care
To what it means to shoot the sun, its moon and know that they came
To pass as a mirror’s movements in the moment; receivers quickly feign
Reaction to the pen and page and all such shibboleths as questions beg the reign
Of order in a desperate bid for substance and recognition, inertia that sustains
Momentum in the swamp and swell of ownership by simple dint of will:
Mindless arbitration comes to mind as sparks defining truth spill
Words and destinies and budding paradigms, the seed and fruit of every hill.
Both will measure every valley undetected, unrestrained.
The eye, the plume, the generations of the word itself must all reveal
An effortless encounter of win and lose no matter what the deal.
Posted in Age, Aging, Evolution, Fruit, Imagery, Imagism, Inertia, Life's gamble, Lyric Poetry, Poem, Poetry, Revolution, Samsara, Seed, Sonnet, Sonnets
Limbs, appendages, extensions, sinew stretched
Across chasms, voids, and axles;
Creation’s foam will occupy the mind; cosmic jackals,
Vain imaginings spun from fractals, etched
In plaited mesh and skeletal remains combine
To people thought and populate whole scenarios—
Nothing ever quiets the machine. The interim’s need will borrow
Legitimacy and gravitas from life’s singularity, refine
Their use within the era, penultimate lines in rhyme
Penned to presage the tentative, simple strokes of time.
Transition’s in the air, my friends, and next in line
For what’s about to come to pass might well be curses
For the speed with which the world embraces change for its mistakes.
Creation weds the art of accident to apposition for its own sake.
Posted in Astronomy, Change, Existence, Experience, God, Image, Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Poem, Poetry, Providence, Relativity, Religion, Sacrifice, Samsara, Selflessness, Sonnet, Sonnets, Spirituality, Stations, Universe
Tagged Change, Evolution, Existence, Imagism, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Poem, poetry, Samsara, Selflessness, Sonnet, Sonnets
“Spotless No Doubt”
Spotless no doubt, thrice polished
Marauding tensions—emotions’ nomads—yet nothing moves―
There’s no breeze, no grievous moon, no licit solar meeting in the groves
Of smothered cradle songs, no childrens’ adagio. Uselessness polished,
Memory is detained in the waiting room in peculiar movement
While destiny and fate consult on who’s left wanting in the atrium. These
Foolish thoughts of weightlessness and spiritual sclerosis augur well to please
Wallpapers and clocks left crucified upon the wall. Mindless queues atone
For any lack of purpose with no hint of propinquity. Then quite naturally
The caterers and guests soon arrive and someone has to answer the door.
As the long day’s counsels end, ignition’s off, feet flat on the floor.
No need to move the mountain; the benchmark: The will has atrophied,
We’re there. Then, of course, we return or break the deadlock
So let’s get on with what the fox intends and who will watch the flock.
Posted in Donald Trump, End Times, Endgame, Lyric Poetry, Poetry, Sonnet
Tagged Delusion, End Times, Existence, Illusion, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, poetry, Sonnet, Strife, Tragic Flaw
“Simple Blocks and Wheels”
Simple blocks and wheels, sombre reminders
Of what it was I had to do and where to lay the hands;
My world, an expanse of conquered floors, the lands
Of my imagination, the intricacies of finders
Keepers, some helpful word, perhaps the key
To meeting nuances and overcoming obstacles,
Rites of singular and plural with canons to the right and canticles
To the left of learning; now the primer, now the spelling bee,
And all the while the painful elongation
Of extremities and bedtime stories
When it seemed that all I wanted were the glories
Found in just another glass of water as a right and prolongation
Of those steady arms, not the voids implied in counting sheep
Or the monotony of that final mantra: Now I lay me down to sleep….
Posted in Age, Aging, Imagery, Lyric Poetry, Poetry, Samsara, Sonnet
Tagged Age, Aging, Childhood memories, Lyric Poetry, Sonnets
“It Matters Nothing”
It matters nothing in the lightly screaming
Thoughts of what I might have done
Had this not gone so far; the early’s clusters, the latter’s stars, the sun’s
Eternal meridian, no matter what the clouds, the veils, the feelings,
With midnight’s nightly thinking on the path through Saturn’s rings
Remains the same, and in the end, illusion never dies.
So constant, time in winnowed wanderlust—the skies
The seas, the cosmic meadow’s breeze where only quasars sing
Simple measure pleasures of a thought made longer than a dream
That I may walk beside the old canal that leads to even older docks.
Yes, of course. I might have visited more often. But clocks
Are stormy petrels, eternal days that leave a stain on what’s deemed
Meet and seemly for the nonce; so while I frequent these familiar lanes I think
On what I might have said and how I might have stayed awhile,
and wines I’ll never drink.
…photograph above by ECU…
Posted in Age, Aging, Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Poem, Poetry, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets
Tagged Age, Aging, Illusion, Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Poem, Sonnet, Sonnets
“There’ll Be No Holding Back”
There’ll be no holding back this gathering time of year.
We both know what’s behind these growing shadows
In hearts, the slight miscalculations at the window’s
Sash. Seedless middlings grow daily here
And with them come a hint of plenty’s fears,
A portion’s curse, the grayest riches’ fallow
Grounds withheld from sight; silt in shallow
Memories of polliwogs and fry and not a single tear
For losses deadly as frozen promises now as both egg and spore
Abundant in the chaos speak well enough of pernicious peace
And what the seasons’ greeting means. We behold
The evidence of what’s to come so blindly gripped within its cold
And unborn fingers smothering the future in random disparate chords
Of dissonance and denial calibrated not to inspire progress but to please.
The phrase transcends the pen withdrawn
And so, too, the movement in and of itself.
The notebook’s filled, volumes line the shelf
And there upon a winter’s night, the low straw
Wins and he reviews the lot and finds the flaw
In each. Perhaps a word crossed out, a gulf
In time allows a light to objectivity less the self.
And when the wheel stops, the law
Of averages condemns the thing to sit there
Once again, forgotten, anonymous as a star
That far away, explodes with fireworks
That would consume a galaxy—matter gone berserk—
Ignite and what had no energies now amassed, a pregnant flare
Until at last, one starry night, a whisper reaches earthly ears.
Just so, the incomplete, the Word to words and back again
Traverse the gap as the task of phonemes
Aspires to ascend to higher stations, morphemes
Honoured in this natal happy path. Observe:
Throughout the zodiac of conscious meaning
Stars that matter to velocities in galaxies
Reborn inspire genitive ignition in the gravity
Of natural wisdom’s past and present leaning
To fruition in what was always meant to be.
The moon, in its phase; the sun, its angry season,
The poet writes within a pendulum of forces, reason
Bound, but nonetheless eternal mysteries
Revealed as the Ancient of Days calls behind the present hour
Words from phrases only time, distance and the pen can devour.
As the audience is eternal, so, too, what will compel
The heart and mind to ideal calligraphy; the wordsmith’s nod
Secure. And as “the source of all learning is the knowledge of God,”*
So, too, the gravitas of the nib cannot be silenced, nor the muse expelled.
*Bahá’u’lláh, “Words of Wisdom”, Tablets of Bahá’u’lláh
…pieces of scupture by Hazel Reeves...
Posted in Age, Aging, Ancient of Days, Audiance, Creativity, Eternity, Genitive ignition, Gravitas, Gravity, Imagery, Imagism, Law of averages, Lyric Poetry, Moon, Morphemes, Phonemes, Phrase, Poem, Poetry, Poets, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets, Sun, Wisdom, Words
Tagged Age, Aging, Double Sonnet, End Times, Existence, Imagery, Imagism, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Poem, poetry, Sonnet, Sonnets, spirituality, Tragic Flaw