Happenstance and glory of a measured breath, the sun and moon
And distant scintillating light deranged and rearranged
To suite the insignificance of magnificence of a single scene and page.
Another sentence, a paragraph in which I find myself within a backlit room
To mark the hours the Doppler shadows all misfortune casts.
I have revelled in these signs, these periodic tedious monotonies,
Their very rising at once the thrall before the fall, monopolies
Of time and times again that only now appear to mask
Because when all that is has come to pass I happen to be standing here
A witness to creation’s synergies newly birthed. In the cold stare
Of noonish sunlight I sense with fragile accuracy the beneficial glare
Of all my peculiars, entities and particles that occupy the ear,
Delight the eye, and not so subtly remind me that I am,
And need not doubt the ground on which I stand.
…painting by Catherine Manchester…
Posted in Accident, Affirmation, Age, Aging, All or nothing, All that is, Anagnorisis, Anguish of the night, Anticipation, Lyric Poetry, Mirage, Myth of Sisyphus, Poem, Poetry, Sonnet
Tagged Age, Aging, Delusion, Detachment, End Times, Existence, Illusion, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Sonnet, spirituality, Tragic Flaw
Vetted miles and truck stops all across the state
To feel the blessing of the eyes, the rising voice
Within his own breast; the choice
Is always his, oh yes, of course, and he’s arrived, and late
Enough each time to bear the weight of witnesses that his
Are not his eyes, nor his the sacred words
That even he can use. He’s seen nothing here and so he’s turned
The car around and while it may be circumspect, he’s heading home.
Then comes the once again, the call
Is always there, that Tennyson and Frost in all the walls,
That albatross of restlessness that bleaches clarity in tones
Of sepia and bronze, the clothes, the nakedness of all
Past memories perfumed in ancient rhyme. Silences make every room
A canyon trussed by random thoughts of “Yes?”, “Tonight?”, and “Soon?”
Posted in Age, Aging, Lyric Poetry, Poetry, Sonnet
Tagged Age, Aging, Detachment, Existence, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Poem, poetry, Sonnet, Strife
I withdraw so easily, or waking, dreamed
So soon as laboured in the day ill-advised
Through doors whether in or out with nothing analysed,
Nothing ostracised, nothing blind. Early minutes’ quiet gleaned
From what I see, Rorschach patterns reckoned ends bit off before
The deeds were quite done. Salutations to the daylight in the darkness
Knowing light my only threat. I sought no rest
But simply waved my rights before I’d hit the bathroom door.
Another matin ritual and by the time I see the streets
My spirits rise to the anthem of inversion, papers purchased and there
When no one hears me enter (no one saw me leave; no one’s left
Who remembers where I stood before the fall–the cleft
Between the morning after and the afternoon before–the air,
The pavement, strokes of something like a sidewalk drawing, noted.
I’ve arrived in time to beat the elect but somehow never voted.)
Posted in Age, Aging, Detachment, Dichotomy, Disappearance, Double Sonnet, Dream, End, Lyric Poetry, Poetry, Sonnet
Tagged Age, Aging, Detachment, End Times, Existence, Imagism, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, poetry, Sonnet, Tragic Flaw, Wisdom
Philosophical principles daily posted pass
Me by; I can see nothing. I thrill to what I sense
In worlds beyond the simple physical; I have no defense
For case. The economics of the street come hard and fast
As I am walled out or worse, within. Relationships
Quite simply, cast doubt; I am alone. The trick is in the chip;
I am become obsolete. Psychics set my soul on edge, their tips
Much greater than the check; I get no reading. Doctors seal my lips;
Somehow, the Ph balance in the aquarium is wrong; my fish
Have died and husbandry’s beyond me; I tend to use
A bankcard. Thoughts elect to the elusive next to
Tarot cards there upon the shelf, perhaps a shade above a wish
And whisper, far beyond the random tea leaves that interrupt
My golden mile, and so I drain the coffee, and throw away the cup.
Posted in Age, Aging, All or nothing, Antithesis, Chaos, Detachment, Sonnet
Tagged Age, Aging, Certitude, Character, Detachment, Lyric Poetry, Sonnet
“Did Ever Peace in Motion Come”
Did ever peace in motion come to mind while living still,
Or what’s an ego for? We do not cease; we know we die
But, what hopes are hung there in the clocks, the early cries
Of “Quickly!”or “Grant me time that I may kill,”
And whether there is joy in sunrise there beyond that hill
Or here behind this present place within the wall we occupy.
The only guarantee we have testifies
To purpose, patience that we have lived to see what fulfils
A destiny, no mere approbation, positive as this may be,
But willing prophesy and added acquiescence to the turning
Of the page, the further reading, the greater goal
To ascertain than to achieve. Then on beyond the poles
Whither to the north or south, to encompass greater than the seas,
Further than consumption; such limitless forests as are beyond all learning.
Posted in Age, Aging, Lyric Poetry, Poetry, Samsara, Sonnet
Tagged Age, Aging, Detachment, Emotion, End Times, Existence, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, peace, Relationships, Sonnet, Tragic Flaw, Wisdom
“That Yearning’s Passed”
That yearning’s passed, I know
A peace of simplicity, relief;
A promise fulfilled, the passing of grief;
An outrageous gift of understanding’s flow
From grace to bounty; platitudes, slow
To middling in mine own eyes but quickened as when the wreath
Of outward stars surmounts the inward scars, the chief
Priests’ glower glowing darkly through an ancient glass. In escrow,
Then, to points of no demand and nothing left to chance.
Remember!! greatest secrets born within are less than burdens
In the light and more than shelter can bestow;
Turn the blindest eye to life’s sweet afterglow
And take another look. Let the foot another step and advance
Beyond the point of scripts for life’s inevitable diminishing returns.
Posted in Age, Aging, Lyric Poetry, Poetry, Samsara, Sonnet
Tagged Age, Aging, Certitude, Detachment, Existence, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, poetry, Relationships, Samsara, Sonnet, Strife, Tragic Flaw
The eye that spies the ends is blind to all beginnings. Behold the interim goal
Of travellers en route to respective vanishing points. Oh, the distant stations.
Occupied, souls espoused to the indicative,
to common motive, patrimony, emanations
Of the suns of their peculiar blessings in demise
mouth creation’s inner and outer wholes,
Divide the daily spoils, weights and ballasts
with blessings to them who bear it all:
“Tis a consummation” in fortitude “‘devoutly to be wished” *
at every turn about the stage with radiant acquiescence;
Seeing ten’s and multiples in terms of one’s and nothing’s, natural dissidents
For marking time with mercurial devotion,
schemes and schedules, all attend the call
Of Tiresias in the mornings of a hoary age that worships moonlight’s
Witnesses to lighting embers, they who are but never where they’re going.
Yes of course the hammer falls,
nocturnal sparks provide an impetus to groaning.
Who will ask for more? Burdens roam the night, the midnight rites
For teeth and tongue and pallet that rarely speak
but yield to winds that lift the veil
Of utterance in wondrous tongues
of worlds that must evolve and cannot fail.
* The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, Act 3 Scene 1, by William Shakespeare [1586-1616]. First Folio 162
Posted in Age, Aging, Imagery, Lyric Poetry, Poetry, Sonnet
Tagged Age, Aging, Delusion, Detachment, End Times, Existence, Illusion, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, poetry, Relationships, Sonnet, Tragic Flaw, Wisdom
“We Gather and Disperse the Seed”
We gather and disperse the seed, we minor gods in ceaseless search.
No ends exist in harvests of self-satisfaction with their certainty of blight.
And which of us discerns the which through veils of light
And endless superstition , revision—aspirations ceded on a mountain perch—
Or the imminent descent to sound the maw of landlocked ëgotism in oceans?
No one here survives mortality but all will live to tell the tale
Of peoples, nations; lofty wholesale tales that fail
Within the present feed then in upon themselves from wellsprings of notion
Filled with promise and devotion to prove their axioms secure.
Nor time, nor reticent imagination can define
The earthly limitation of the heavens here below a line
That pays out gilded veins of pride from anxious weavers in this world.
How often is it so that few if any see beyond a moment’s pause
The awful symmetry between ephemeral success and eternal loss?
Posted in Lyric Poetry, Poetry, Samsara, Sonnet
Tagged Delusion, Detachment, End Times, Existence, Illusion, Lyric Poetry, poetry, Relationships, Tragic Flaw
Selflessness–flesh of arrogance–heeding, breeding
Longevity in philistines, reaching to the point of ennui at last
Ignites a fire in the blessèd, the righteous task
Of truth’s correction, potentials in a conscious meeting
Place—the heart—and outward while fleeting
Instruments presumed consume themselves in the the hour past
Its purpose, certitude. The catalyst—Illumination of the glass—
Reveals knowledge, faith, and prodigies of the gleaming
Arc that leaves no doubt, no time to delegate.
Discoveries addressing themselves as adagios
And like atoms terminate in the very act of viewing.
Markers, signs and metaphors are no substitute for misconstruing
Immortality for license; no laughing matter culminates
In action, nor in subterfuge beyond the grasp of simple innuendo.
Posted in Age, Aging, Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Poem, Poetry, Samsara, Sonnet
Tagged Age, Aging, Detachment, Emotion, End Times, Existence, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, poetry, Sonnet, Tragic Flaw, Wisdom
Someone asked if I am sad these days;
Well, every planet in his season takes on hues of gloom,
And even so, while I have moons to tend, all too soon
My Sun’s day is over and Moons’ day sways as they all walk away
Without a “By your leave!” for yet another week.
And I suspect there’re dawns enough and dusks in what I write
For Tuesday’s struggles in the flight of simple allegories from the last night’s
Day to blast through Wednesday’s pride and Thursday’s prejudice to sleek
And curious rides across those graceless skies to Friday’s constant aim
To put another world between the fire here below and light above
And consecrate some fading vision’s yields to fielding fruits of love
Beneath His gaze. And, yes! I’ll make some crude remark while I remain
Here between earthly clouds, my ceilings and cosmic sods, my floors
As I run daily the gauntlet of a startled sleeping spider through bananas,
Three Most Jealous Goddesses and golden apples rotten to the core.
…painting by 12GO from deviantART…
Posted in Age, Aging, Lyric Poetry, Poetry, Sadness, Samsara, Sonnet
Tagged Detachment, Existence, Lyric Poetry, poetry, Sadness, Sonnet