Bahá’ís throughout the world gather together before sunset to commemorate the first day of the Bahá’í Month of Jamál or “Beauty.”
“Sonnet in Honour of the Feast of Jamál or “Beauty”
Dust from dust, the single particle,
The transformation, rust, the curse and blessings, ornamental numbers
To please the unities—vary weights to settle the matter—cosmic lumbers
Fortified in broad strokes, letters given seraphs, articles
Of incorporation; yes! but to whom; to what eye or ear? Neanderthal
Or philistine, both regard beauteous bending of the light obliterating
A thing of greater timing than Movement alliterating
This with that, or these with those. The call
For more than senses can tolerate compromises
An abyss of physical multitudes and armies marshalled
To reconstruct themselves in harmonies, arsenals
Of discordant sighs and the mysteries of transubstantiation. Chaos apprised
Is order where there was none, beauty is but a cut, a degree above
The alloy wherein instinct succeeds and fear has turned to love.
…art by Robert Becker
Posted in Imagery, Imagism, Love, Lyric Poetry, Poem, Poetry, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets
Tagged "Sonnet in Honour of the Feast of Jamál or "Beauty", Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Neanderthal, Philistines, Poem, poetry, Relationships, Sonnet, Sonnets
“The Ignorant Mentality”
The ignorant mentality finds
Exception to what’s proposed;
And closed and indisposed to close
Inspection of the wound; then, proud philistine,
Contemplate well a rude rebuttal. Adamant,
Implacable will thus obfuscates against a so great a gift that’s offered.
Choose! righteously hold the line before a clearly proffered
Simple sacrifice. Come quickly, then, in heat; attend the chant
Of legions gathered in and for themselves. Relief is found
In ready fevered fractures formed by litigants in lethal
Indignation born not at all from wisdom. Withdrawal–
Now impossible–follows. Fissures and a fury in the sound,
Will attack and sack the messenger, who, barring flight
Becomes the consequence of his own eleisons in the night.
But summon courage in the circle,
Friends. Steps in blocks of four thrice struck
Upon an annual medallion redux,
Minted first within an ancient cycle
Of the whole of mammon and reignited
In the physic; seasons separate are reunited
As the central orb permits but unrequited
In the mind’s most jaundiced eyes. The abstract’s now cited
By the palm’s cartographers who say this Spring’s
Returned, but we know better.
Yes, of course, he’s seen these letters
From the Concourse on High, but in the ring’s
Obverse, so, too, are signs. The messages were ever slightly
Smudged in careless transit while the seals were never worn so tightly.
Posted in Affirmation, Denial, Hubris, Ignorant mentality, Philistines, Poetry, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets
Tagged Double Sonnet, Ignorant mentality, Lyric Poetry, Philistines, Separation, Sonnet, Sonnets, Strife, Tragic Flaw
“I Thought to Tell You”
I thought to tell you this, but then I knew
That any hopeful thing I’d cause to say
Would only serve as an apostrophe until the day
You might repeat without doubt, without the usual effort; by then, you’ll
Require nothing, you’ll not lose a syllable nor waste yourself in thought,
No hesitation in the lobby, no strain or pain at all; you’d know
That what you see within this sunrise can only grow
And assail you where your greatest strength remains; knots,
Issues, nothing matters here but action whose crown is certitude.
Exigencies of the moment smile and while there are so many winds,
Ambitions, urges, still what is of value, truly, must begin
When it’s begun, not merely when its known. Truths
And givens: not so; time and place and fruition
Early rushed are soon eroded, lost in lust, and buried in fatuous decision.
Substantial dividends, the grasses have their roots
In wholes and overweening gluttony upon any great savannah;
A cipher to the needs of elephants but not necessarily the rude hyena.
Whether for foraging or bloodlust, the arguments are moot.
Someone said the speaker’s soiled himself or worse; he’s said nothing.
Really? Is this what we believe? But the audience sits rapt and listening,
And in his fevered silence Crito sits there bristling
In the sweat of final bows to egregious appeal and nothing
If not futile to the likes of Socrates. Tragedy in the choosing
Of an hour that never is and only seems to be
Remembers in itself a splendid sharp hypocrisy, a certain will to see
The light reduced to sparks and fire, kindling from stolen virtues
extinguished for the sake of mere illumination for the philistines, amusing
If you’re not the one who’s speaking, or the author of what amounts to treason:
Protagonists of wisdoms favouring knowledge above experience are
the nemesis of balance between what is common sense and what in fact is reason.
Posted in Certitude, Crito, Experience, Imagery, Imagism, Knowledge, Lyric Poetry, Philistines, Poem, Poetry, Samsara, Socrates, Sonnet, Sonnets
Tagged Certitude, Crito, Double Sonnet, Elephants, Experience, Hyenas, Knowledge, Lyric Poetry, Philistines, Poem, poetry, Relationships, savannah, Socrates, Sonnet, Sonnets, Tragic Flaw