Tag Archives: Cain

“The Knowledge”

aviation-firsts-wright-brothers

“The Knowledge”

The knowledge of the thing, a single breath, a pebble
On the beach, a grain of dust, a semblance of a solitaire in seed
That afternoon at Kitty Hawk that married destiny and need
For millions…or even worse, some jot or tittle on a treble
Note scribbled on a single page within a tattered score;
It’s firsts or yet again, in time it’s lasts; the leasts
Among the spores abused and blessed within the kneading yielding yeast
Of five fecund loaves that feeds the thousands; the thing she swore
She’d never do the night before he knew he would. The ringing
Of a solitary bell in 1941 one cool December Sunday’s outing`neath a rising sun
From where the first “Hello!” from Cain to Abel,
in the afterglow of “firsts” to repetitious marathons
That set the record straight the night they drove Ol’ Dixie down
to the tune of raucous drunken singing
In the belly of a ship at port before McHenry
as the glare of flares and rockets filled the ears and lit the skies:
The first and last hurrah in Nagasaki on the beach the night the music died…

“Beauty’s Reticence”

Quotient

“Beauty’s Reticence”

Beauty’s reticence has no alibi,
No longing year-end wish pursued
Through the New Year, no final cryptic interview;
Absence like the shadow has no definition. The lie
Is gently raked, inclined toward a simple quotient, a goal
Known only to fools or Prophets.
Urges toward the froward ascend for yet an hour’s solstice; epithets,
Then, and envy, raw ingratitude in Cain whose sole
Remorse is that he lacks and displeases God,
That he is no longer chosen and therefore set adrift. Apart
He reveres his own creation high above all others in his heart
And so, too, the truth, the one true God.
Stations, then, are forever sealed, the exile plods
Through warnings from the wind flower, hidden flaws within the seed;
When asked, “What ails thee, pilgrim?” Comes the answer, “Basic need.”

“A Writer’s Block”

PenPaper

“A Writer’s Block”

A writer’s block is nothing more or less
Than social indigestion, a factor of isolation
From the others in the cast, and while satisfaction
Comes in lack of mass in intercourse, I confess
The situation in taking solace in a single peanut, a test
Of will, perhaps, is more or less in fractions
When compared to tolls it takes in interaction
With the flock assured within of taking all the best.
But what is servitude when what is served will never rest?
Guaranteed the greed, the caviar of avarice of so many factions
For whom taking and receiving is a mere distraction
From the thorny problem of being not the master but the guest
As souls are prone to honour the name of Cain in the fray
Between the people and the Creator of both the night and day.
For once I cannot truly say I have the thread in hand
Sufficient, taut, the monuments of the day.
But I have hopes that with these grains of sand
In contact with others held at bay,
The times will once again point out the way
To action. I have been alone too long,
And while I sought this place, I cannot stay:
The air’s too close, the light jaundiced, and the pattern’s wrong.
From the womb in solitude; I could not bear it all
Forever. And when I leave this place, I’ll sing
Again, and join the others in the hall
Who wait for me, who cause the bells to ring.
Solitude; the sirens deeply call;
But I did not make myself
nor single drops the waterfall.