Tag Archives: Imagery

“A Respite”

“A Respite”

A respite in the air today and news,
And down the chute comes something nice,
Some piece of fond assurance, the sweetness of advice
To justify past days and weeks of toil and views
Obscured by all that’s loud and cumbersome above;
Below, scenarios of arteries and paths
Through streets on seamless days. No dragons’ nostrils’ wrath
Knows no better than to lie between the wings of doves
Or gentle nestlings in the palms of all the psalms of fortune.
Today a gentle width in avenues and boulevards
And all the right-of-ways are opened wide, the gloss of plastic cards
In bank machines, the brighter melodies of shallow i-Tunes
Whistled in the mind on buses at the hour of noon.
A mystery witnessed in the heart, eternity cut short too soon.

“And When He Looked Again”

sun2

“And When He Looked Again”

And when he looked again, he saw the two suns
Rehearsing illusions in the river’s voice, the highest good,
The other lost within himself; the tidal mirror could
Not bear separation from the source, one
In signs, yet silenced, ever flowing in what it did
In passing. Crudely graced, seducing visions perfectly,
The first declared itself a certainty,
Its faith a recreated memory, its secrets hid.
In less than seconds, there was nothing of the rival left
To view. A single pebble and the river, too deserted,
stretches seamlessly, the cleft
Between the golden orbs become a prism,
the heavens suspended twice, the right, the left,
The recreation of creation, binding immortal mortalities,
void and substance bereft,
The heavens and the earth; breathless, lost within a common interlude
Where visions set themselves through perpetual accident and certitude.

sun-light-reflections

“This You Chose”

“This You Chose”

This you chose, you know, the lethal wound, external fire,
Internal final cut the cleanest; the choice was never mine.
This you chose; your arms, your scent defined
The borders, walls, the floors, the exposure. Your desires
Say nothing past the yesterdays of pre-dawn, and glad
I was to rest the while, and glad you are that I am gone.
But nothing’s rendered in the late night’s song,
The me in you, and yes! You know the sad
Result: that moon’s pain can not know a sequel.
The senses, these you know , with no contempt,
But radiant resignation in the hours of heat and pure idolatry. Spent,
The sentence stands within this world. These final sentiments rule;
The veil, the truths we’ve always known; the hourglass, the idols of our nights,
Its sands, a closing hush of breath at daybreak when all our meteors take flight.

“I’ll Not Wait”

“I’ll Not Wait”

I’ll not wait till dawn to praise the sun;
Shadows follow closely where I sleep; this night must end:
I’m guaranteed as much. What, then? Tomorrow? What? Again
A word’s delay a world away is all, so, patience me. The midnight trains still run
Their course–stampeding to the east to crawl back westward–and catch
The rising or the setting cosmos all along the local milk run. Coaches
Matter not, jettisoned or newly recreated in the Milky Way, we approach
Our destinations, dusks or dawns in proper times; passengers dispatched,
Who only seem to arrive at destinations previously booked
And so we do not blithely cease to live because we wait
Upon a final station or dream of tracks not even built. Medusa guards the gate
That turns all nightly plans to stone, and we her momentary shades that looked
To make the journey know the Night Train only claims a means to ends
Through mirrors while season tickets mark what joys the daybreak sends.

“No Phoenix Dotes”

phoenix-bird1

“No Phoenix Dotes”

No phoenix dotes, no albatross may linger long. The quail need fear
For nothing in the night, nor dove the eagles of the day
In precocious queues while the leaders speaking parables say
Whatever comes to mind, a finale of raw anticipation in arrears.
There are in any year those misnomer’d festivals, ferial seasons
Cut adrift by aimless circumstance and accidental chance,
A shameless perversion of the odds while a glance
To the right or left reveals clarity and reasons
Raised beyond the calculations of malicious minds.
Eagles discover indolence and periodic indifference outright.
When the winds gesture favourably in arcs of artificial light;
Above the here and now, pleasure ssurely seek its kind,
And well within the breech, parameters of careless joys soon
Dilute the fearsome images of bloodstained wolves and owls,
beneath a panoply of nocturnal props and playthings of the moon.

“How Soon?”

Nebraska Sand Hills Monster Supercell Storm“How Soon?”

How soon? I would be rid of rooms and paperweights
That cheat the scales and calculate the tales of whatever I’m about.
And when the last hour’s phatic pleasantries are made and I am  out
The door, I’ll be charging headlong for the fields beyond the artificial dates
Of screaming calendars to feed on endless smiles,
The natural harvests of grasslands stretched beneath my feet. I’ll greet
The memories and naked weathering winds on new-plowed yields to seed,
The freshly mined scores of sapphires, lavenders in wild-flowers though miles
Of crisp and fresher verse, the swelling pregnant soils between the harvest
And the husbandman.  For just so sweet a pause as this, oh, yes!
Nebraska’s wheaten seas sustain the subtle sirens of the shallow Platte and west
Beyond the borders of the sandhills; here, the meadowlarks nest
And little else. But, no, I’ll not hold the birthplace of these sonnets’ true rebuttal;
And labours at the loom, the weaver’s warp and woof that’s lost his shuttle.

“Bathetic Moments’ Voiced”

AirForc3

“Bathetic Moments’ Voiced”

Bathetic moments’ voiced, a tremolo; a single cigarette, a candle
In a valley, the briefest transfer from so little matter
To so innocuous a spark is seen perhaps for miles, the latter
End of someone’s random afterthought, the ancient mantle
Of exchange expressed in grains of sand,
And this so far from source, so utterly homely
Yet brilliant in its insignificance and still the only
Vindication of its kind through fogbound skies on land.
There is a barrier between the two
An enigma, twice a paradox,
Two thrice wounded souls within a box
That sits astride a gleaming paragon of simple views
And simpler decisions. Dilemmas offered to the least in time
Retain their energies but sacrifice their matter in a simple rhyme.

…art by AirForc3 on deviantArt…

“If Not Today”

pilot-light-250x150

“If Not Today”

If not today, then, always the promise of tomorrow; if no respite
In the evening, the morning’s fare
Is certain. Wisdom’s care
Is folly’s knowledge in an endless night
Pursuing coming days while safeguards
Are intrinsic and immutable
If not, inscrutable
In the toss of a single die, a solitary card
Placed face up on the table. Finite
Are the gamblers and numberless
The pilgrims. That one lives who bears witness
To victory with death no more indigenous than a pilot light,
The sovereign monarch of all desire and vigour,
A messenger and scion of the Divine Decree: “Thus far and no further!”

“Oh Yes, of Course!”

entangledtime

“Oh Yes, of Course!”

Oh yes, of course, I hear the cymbals echoed in my ear;
The thunder’s never altogether gone.
Lyrics never cease, sets give rise to reprise and just another song.
The stride is altered, yes! but never far from fear.
And always from the invisible “A” to the ubiquitous “B,” the line
Is straight. It flows, it does not fade and as constancy is there
I am bound to find the wicket, purchase another ticket there
To picture in my mind the Gate that lies beyond the mines
And traps I’ve burried, extensions of the elemental singular.
Ignorance drawn, pleasure in life egregiously proffers
Its own demise where duplicity wreathes herself in the divine collective. Coffers,
Dogma for all occasion profits veiled within the insular.
The rock, itself, sees through all the aye’s
And knows its nay’s must always seek a public gaze, disguised.

‘“Sonnet in Honour of the Feast of Sulṭán”

Bahá’ís throughout the world gather this evening after sunset to commemorate the First Day of the Bahá’í Month of Sulṭán [Sovereignty]
 
dark-matter

“Sonnet in Honour of the Feast of Sulṭán or `Sovereignty’”

The sovereignties of celestial spheres exists to need,
The limitless has its limitations as nothingness withdraws
According to measure, star to planet, king to pawn
And back again; the elements begin eternal needs with seed
In matter or of energy–little difference the subject or predicate–
In clusters round the universal abyss. Heat and weight
Of particles in accident and  by law are so great that seismic freight
Of galaxies and galaxies of galaxies, monarchs and their asteroids, late
And early viceroys and their sycophants cannot pause or hesitate.
It goes just so with all that is and is not His every breath within His dreams
As emanations of the seen and unseen posit progression in the cosmic stream;
Still other states of being thrive as condiments used within the universal state,
Signed by given temperatures, degrees of darkest matter unexplored,
In certain trust of  sovereignty, tales of energies and matters
that will not long be veiled, belittled nor can they be ignored.

—Once

Schopenhauer

All truth passes through three stages.  First, it is ridiculed.  Second, it is violently opposed.  Third, it is accepted as being self-evident.

Arthur Schopenhauer [22 February 1788 – 21 September 1860]