A Darkness - I Can See

So much I can see and still... see not -

 

Fixated deeply - beyond the mirrored spot

a haunted face peering back inquisitively

asking, “Is the light coming forth deceivingly

bright, or will it sear me with hell’s cleansing fires?”

 

Puppet strings and handling wires

will not keep me, nor will they save

me from the footsteps that must brave

the unknown paths and the specter

of lost dreams, songs, and laughter...

 

All these belong to the robber tele-rector

preaching for sweet music and more money...

while the brethren sit and nod slowly like honey

dripping; dripping across buttered toast

to be offered to society as a better communion host.

 

So much I can see and still... see not -

observing deep beyond the mirrored spot.

 

Are these images of inspirations

or are they the ghosts of hurtful reflections?

 

So much I can see and still... see not.

Tarantella

Come forth close before me

Reach out to this giving hand

Dance with the black key

And the white base stand-

 

For one arachnid at lee

And I - left at a four-beat sea

No so much a tarantula -

But a folk dancer Dracula.

 

Awake

The coldness of the bed lifts night ‘wake

to seek the heat of nature’s breath

and pulls me unto waters of the quiet lake.

 

Passions slaked gently with each cast

for neither life held, nor lost in death

matters more than this moment’s last.

 

The line has no intent; nor seeks more

than connection with infinite time

where body and soul are one – adore.

Touchstone

I was lost upon my path alone

When I came upon a small stone

Affixed upon vastly larger rocks

That in reference were but play blocks

Sitting beneath great mountains.

These monoliths of the planet,

In turn, but droplets in cosmic fountains.

 

The question then arose:

In rhyme within a prose-

What meaning is this existence

If all importance is but self-pretense?

 

Where then the small touchstone keepsake

Touched upon me knowledge - of my forsake.

Place of Grace

 

Even at the darkest place

where evil may have a trace

there is beauty how one faces,

despite reasons of fear’s basis,

and finds the saving graces

of self-strength that embraces;

even at the darkest of place.

 

The Collective

    

Sit here beside me young one

And we’ll find your immenseness

Amongst all the stars and sun.

 

Understand that this quietness

Is your mind seeking one

Apart from all the restlessness.

 

As the collective seeks your uniqueness

To a lifetime under the sun

Of universal unity to commonness.

Mystery of Old

Old houses and old faces

hold posture

with nature -

 

Each allows for mother time

to find her line

and to speak of history

and mystery...

 

What happened to the boy

Who wandered away

Without knowing of joy;

A secret friend to a sad play.

Old houses like old faces;

 Mystery of forgotten graces.

Let It Be

A man named John spoke of Camelot

and would become the new president

for the largest generation -

 

He challenged, “...ask not what your country can do...

ask, what can you do...”

 

And then from across the ocean a song played like no other!

It was February of sixty-four

came the Fab-Four –

 

Beatles with long hair and full of bother

singing about holding hands because she loves you.

 

For a moment – youth held forever

Mesmerized; And held in surprise

with every new album every teenager welded together.

 

That was nearly fifty years ago daughter John -

that has brought us to this point

when on a summer night, upon a Wrigley rooftop,

you found and connected

Camelot, Paul, and the Beatles

to a young man who still yearns to just Let It Be.

Books in Cave Nooks

Books in Cave Nooks

 

In the cave of ignorance lives impulse

That suckles the darkness with sleep.

 

Fearing any fire that hath cast shadows

Or stories against the epistemic cavern walls

That speak no language and follow no thought

Since Ignorance keeps company with the formless.

 

What they can fear is what they can see.

 

The child, that spoke without sense

And who was casted out to the unknown,

Reappeared at the myopic opening

From where nothing is understood.

Because all things are the same

and never change.

 

From old knowledge - forms are being re-collected.

And now, one word doubles into two words

And then, two words become four

And four words become eight -

And soon the cave dwellers

Claim a mother tongue.

 

Back deep in the cavern’s shrine of the ancient

It is soon written that holds:

 

No sentient

Shall keep words

Forever from books retracted

Unless mandated

By the digital wiki gods

Who reign over the cave of the redacted.

Silent Esteems

Wooden chair in solitary place

Opining upon the empty rooms

With windows of mirrored glass

Reflecting an empty face.

 

Tiered steps going nowhere.

Turning matter rising;

Ruined conscience slipping

At each level and each stair.

The tall house enclosed

With paper liens

Sinks into the murky grounds

Of the robber barons of greed.

Chair, stairs,

and house - silent esteems.

Ships of Fools

You sway around my mind

Floating across the eyes-

 

Like ice cubes melting across the Tyne

Freeing the ships of fools to time

And in the end - wont cries

Of missed dreams; lucid and sublime.

For the seas of fire shall melt

Thy bounty and fortunes svelte.

 

Aforesaid ships hold neither evil prime

Nor bring common goodness pelts.

The raging captain is more a mime.

Night Light

I sense you are there little night light.

 

Standing there in faint glow

Holding back the powers of night

That encircle and engulf all foes

With immutability bearing full might

Against lost reasons and found woes.

 

I see you are there little night light

Waiting for dawn before I go.

Rooms of a House

The place that houses the rooms

That fit askance together, is fractured.

 

Pieces of a puzzle - tortured

By lemmings and the loons

Swirling about in cavern tombs

Convince no one of any sanity

Nor of the slightest enmity

Between the dawn and the doom

Where the grace of angel’s lies

Whilst the devil’s wrath doth rise.

 

The cursed rooms collapse into empty

As the vacuum consumes the last entry.