Transitions, troughs and floodgates
Swell before the crops are in;
Appointments rough-hewn begin
From centuries’ wealth in soils. He hesitates.
Lamentations of the classic farmer’s touch
Bestowed on something that was expected
Neither to outlast the seed nor tip the balance but once elected
Audit landscapes from the past and serve the sudden rush as much
As circumstance permits a well to gush and choose another path.
He was a teacher; was, and no doubt
Will continue to apply the torch to oils of souls
Whose mission is to lance the boils of youthful wrath
And freely prime the wells of mass miscalculation of the myths,
The babbling and cursive powers of hubris and its shibboleths.
Posted in Age, Aging, Centuries, Crops, Farmer's touch, Floodgates, Hubris, Imagery, Lamentations, landscapes, Lyric Poetry, Miscalculation, Myth, Oils, Past, Poetry, Samsara, Seed, Shibboleths, Soils, Sonnet, Teacher, Terrorism, Transitions, Troughs, Wealth, Well, Wrath
Tagged Age, Aging, End Times, Existence, Lyric Poetry, poetry, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets, Strife, Youthful wrath
“I Have No Idea”
I have no idea where this shift will fly;
But, I am almost there, and still, within,
I have such weathered movement that my skin
Cannot be warmed, nor can I breathe, resigned
To find what has always seemed to be just across the waters on another shore
Beyond my chosen station behind another veil. I choose to cling
To bare necessities, confidence in misgivings sing
What I have cherished, and with no more
Warning in the room than a single glance,
A soft address, a current’s breeze to where the lightning strikes.
Vernal voices reach these trees and shrubs, the lofty flights
Of mountain streams anointed, burning shafts and lances
Of the sun crown doubts with quires of smaller chits and gains,
Impediments of distance seen through everlasting rains.
Posted in Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Poem, Poetry, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets, Terrorism
Tagged Abel, Boston Mathathon Bombing 2013, Divine caveat, Double Sonnet, Esau, Infinite outrage, Isaac, Lyric Poetry, Murder, News Media, Newtown School Masacre, Pain, Reconciliation, Strife, Terrorism, Tragic Flaw
“Imagination Styles the Face”
Imagination styles the face of vanity that solves a thousand wrongs,
And no one guesses what’s behind the door.
Closer to the truth, the portal to escape closes just behind him; gore
And all that glitter exposed, tinsel moments in the early morning songs,
Playground glories among the boys and toys, reasons to declare
An eminence–petulant and sulking–ever hamartia, ever cool,
Who stalks the school yard–recess, lunch, and after school
And preys on younger lambs who cannot see nor dare
To think beyond the present master and the class
To one day leaving what was never meant to be
A permanent abode but stepping stones to what only seems
To be a day’s delay until the graduation fantasy, and one more hall pass.
“But, then again, I never meant to study, people…
I never meant to pass the test!”
Posted in 9/11, Closure, Death, Ends, Fame, Hubris, Mortality, Numinosum, Obama, Poetry, Politics, Pyrrhic Victory, Terrorism, Treason, Tyrants, Zeitgeist
Tagged Lyric Poetry, Sonnets