Tag Archives: Nature

“Between the Particles”

“Between the Particles”

Between the particles, seeds, whole galaxies
With beings monstrous in physique by grace
To be or not to be of any consequence; a place
Of high dramatic action, energies, prolixities
And all that is the chaos and confusion here
Among us there between the millions, there
Where no present eye beholds the plan; fair
Throughout minions of the wide arena sated, dear
To those whose measures are diminutive
But in such numbers as we cannot command,
Or catalogue; and even here may be the death of man
In servitude to what is life to them, disease to us, illustrative
Of powers to the nano only recently imagined:
We seek where there is nothing; we see mountains in grains of sand.

“Sonnet in Honour of the Feast of Jalál [Glory]”

Bahá’ís of the world commemorate this First day of the Bahá’í Month of Jalál [Glory]  after sunset today or before sunset tomorrow.

A flower

“Sonnet in Honour of the Feast of Jalál [Glory]”

“The Dread of Moments”

Dread potentials, moments in the mould,
Images of nascent idols set to polish, so the keeper at his ease
Recalls; the times are shorter now; is not urgency greater than needs
Concealed within in a stamen that cannot yet unfold?
Nothing enters, nothing leaves this place, nothing’s free.
There are fears that in the groaning, smoothly flowing
Movement, here to there, the fruit and flower growing ever knowing
Unities of purpose, oblivious of confidence in returning delicacy.
Potential glory for the anther in the night,
auspicated but veiled in atavistic fate.
From here to there spells a restive, wearied state
In seconds–hours, really–and the weighty knowledge
that what augurs beauty pains in coming ever slightly too late,
“. . .And I’ll be going, now!” The pistil whispers thus: “I too am late!”
The stigma argues as the fruit becomes too ripe,
as aspirations of modernity expose their flaws
At dusk or dawn as substances within themselves
scribble all their glories  in the name of natural laws.

A flower2

“Winter’s Nod to Season’s End”

“Winter’s Nod to Season’s End”

Winter’s nod to season’s end and something’s changed, but he has
Fond remembrance in his veins and what remains of velvet skin,
Elastic reach, and exultation ever on the rebound; that once mighty fin’s
Bent perhaps to one side or the other with the tides. He’s come in last
Again; there’s no more north to his days; his dorsal sags–
One of many signals. What was wont to win against the odds
In all winds, all waves always gives sway to simple treasures. The pods
Have someday left him, or is he merely leaving? Here he lags. He’ll find sad pleasures in arenas, nearby bays, or just beyond the nets
Where all the lessers still pay for what they find. His presence draws
But cannot make a living. There comes that sundry sudden pause
Too many, and he’s trapped within an unforgiving inlet,
Or soon will be. He’ll not heed the signs, he cannot feel the warming;
Friends and family call to him but he can not hear the warning.

Month of Bahá [Splendour], Naw-Rúz, the Bahá’í New Year, the Spring Equinox

Bahá’ís throughout the world gather this evening after sunset within the First Day of the Month of Bahá [Splendour], the beginning of the first month of the Bahá’í Year, the arrival of Naw-Rúz, the Bahá’í New Year, the Spring Equinox, the first day of Spring. 

A Happy Naw-Rúz 171 B.E. to one and all!


“Sonnet in Honour of the Feast of Bahá or ‘Splendour'”

What greater splendour can there be in all creation
Than that the spectre of creation, the lightning’s grace,
A recognition of the Face
Of He Who in the blessed moment of elation
Outs form and substance to recreate stations
Of the greatest and the least, the favoured
Favouring within a regenerative sphere? Savoured,
Refined, bestowing rank and attributes to nations
And a crown to every whole who owns both fate and destiny:
Light-born spirits hear the cry
Throughout the world that yet another soul is signed
And welcomed by the denizens of heaven within the nest of He
Who made the Matrix, Who knew from time and dispensations immemorial,
In the ancient eternity of His Essence, His deathless spring, His Gift primordial.

“The Whale’s Eye”


“The Whale’s Eye”

The whale’s eye, the elephant, the gaze of tenderness in magnitude; schools
Of jack and halibut, determined unities in seas so deadly, so submerged,
The albatross so elevated that only vague inadequacies emerge
To name their realm—Jet Stream, Gulf Stream—moving trains in gravitas, spools
Payed out through skies and seas and threads
of all things lesser and greater in between.
Spied within the miniscule lens of a single spot,
The teeming millions merge as catalysts for the clot
And in an instant, a wondrous restoration, healing,
Growth, and reproduction or yes! a dissolution of all parts
Unto death, itself. A familiar spirit in an alien world will gaze in disbelief
Or then again in helplessness as ocean’s depths are strained, relief
No longer found in plunging to the deeps; restrained, their denizens depart
And reappear with regularity in the stratosphere
and while the megaliths”deeps declare
In silence all matters of the universe enthralled,
we as they in silence just stand or sit and stare.


…painting at top by Malstrummer of deviantArt…

“Sonnet in Honour of the Feast of `Alá’ or “Loftiness”

Bahá’ís throughout the world gather this evening and tomorrow within the First Day of the Month of ‘Alá’ [Loftiness], the beginning of the last month of the Bahá’í Year, the Holy Fast Period! To the Bahá’ís of this world, may this Holy Fast Period last forever both in this world and the Next! God’s especial blessings to each and every one of you and to His Cause.


“Sonnet in Honour of the Feast of `Alá’ or “Loftiness”

Loftiness eludes sublimity; it does not see
Nor can it be foreseen; immortality does not supply
Such purities and lasting cosmic breath denies
The conjugated, kneaded lump of dark eternities
Made outcast once again, as liars feeding fledgling heirs
Of what is rudely thought or can be imagined. Our fathers’ God
Escapes perfections and His imperfections give themselves the nod
With every slightest noise perceived. Perhaps mutation unabashed in cosmic flairs
That time has maimed records elation, but forever never lasts beyond its glass
And crystals gleaned by accident and myriad DaVinci’s
sifting raw technologies. The void and vast,
And vaster steppes in languid liquid wastes seem all but lost and cast
As such for want of measurements and crude utensils, bowls amassed
Within infinities of ends not yet devised; we,
the latest Adam and recurrent Eve, are lost
Within a dull imagination seized from random deaf
desire and darker rites without a thought to cost.


“Turn Left”


“Turn Left”

Turn left at fountains, then, to the south side
Of the park and memories of casual thought
On which he’s wont to sit and knead, the onslaught
Of mental detritus, an afterglow of present monthly tides
Reminding him of Dover Beach, some few sparks, the entrances
To evenings caught now between a season’s wealth
And dangers toward the eleventh month—the twelvth
The watchman’s rigour’s last—perhaps, the sure advance
Of scrutiny’s decay in a dynasty of years. Successes, they that take—
Hidden splendours—whose losses breed need and pleasure
Will at right angles bend beyond the simple measure
Of the lanes. All within the year’s end clearly underestimated
Magnitudes and the weight of regret for all that’s passed: remorseless,
the birth and death of stars evolving, conflicts of never-dying light;
The matter—ancient zircon’s azure oneness—will bless the heart by day
while nocturnal powers argue blatant blindness in the night.

“I Can Suggest”


“I Can Suggest”

“I can suggest that no one adopts
My line of reasoning or the solitary action
Of my life,” he whispers, “I’ve a fraction
Left to me, and while I opt
To survive, still, I mean to live a life
That bleeds straight out of this
Episode arrained by more than just a kiss
Or promissory note, or some cosmic strife
With fists raised high against the moon.
And just as wolves are wont to howl
Because Diana’s there, or possibly because an owl
Asks just who she is, soon
Enough the night’s owl is fed and wolves go into heat,
And no one sheds a tear for all those rabbits in retreat.”

“If Not Here and Now”


“If Not Here and Now”

If not here and now, then when and where?
The elephant’s tusk and dust, their meaning clear,
Declare themselves in certain urgencies that do not register as fear,
But majesty and certitude. Principals are everywhere
And conscious. If the elixir is time, the air,
And place are so much the lessers to delicate atmospheres
And periodic lethal effigies of spirit. Ears
Dine on sentiments, rust in spare
Moments scattered through the memory just as in a sonnet
Recapitulations of majesties and wondrous wonder  rhyme with ramifications
Primed, these! the badge and banner of everlasting transformations
Of fire and ice, evolutions common to a passing comet,
Gaia knows whereof I speak in abstracts that we both know;
The gods had turn to stone e’en before their suns had yearned to glow.

“The Streets of Montréal”


“The Streets of Montréal”

The streets of Montréal are empty now.
The neighbouring labouring winter lingers as the bus stops sigh.
Procrastination signs in odd displays of petulance at what must come south
From colder, darker Hudson nights as ice rusts earlier every year in forests; as if reminding us of reasons for early thaw. North from sales
In Southern giveaways the multi-fronts wave greetings from so many hills away;
Flight lanes set by geese suggest a conscious prodigeous delay
As newscasts and conspiracy reports have some little to say of chemtrails
As heckling sunspots’ hour to hour display for weather wearied eyes
Not at all concerned with what’s for dinner but everything to gain as teams
Of salvage crews prey along New England’s ocean shores. Reams
Of information on the cable news hours’ finely honed cyclones surface lies
And cries of what’s in Gaia’s oven and what on earth is all that’s going down
As BP Oil’s politicians in shameless self-promotion make their
usual strident claims that bolster bookies and talk show hosts placing bets
on just exactly when, not if the Mississippi rises next
and what, not whom coastline levies drown.