Quinta Essentia

Quinta Essentia:

 

 

Pythagorean

Basis has four points

Imbued natural

Contingent on void

Breathed by fifth point

 

Oddity of pairs

There is always one

That will stand alone

Perfect quintessence

To complete five lines

 

When there was but air

There became water

And there was then earth

Creation fire

Within all the void 

 

With Spring came rebirth

And Summer growth

To Falls fruit harvest

Unto Winter’s sleep

All are one timeless

 

There are three spatial

And then there is time

The fifth then has pull

By  a gravity

That bends time to space

 

A scent needs moment

A taste needs much more

A sound seeks linger

A vision matchless

A touch eternal.

Randomness

In the heat of richness

 

At summer’s table a sweetness;

 

An abundant of emerald flora

 

Beneath transcending canopies of foliage

  

In radiant sun leaves, a glowing minted aura;

 

Capturing the naive eye’s narrow edge

 

For youth’s randomness is still in fledge. 

 

 

A shade in change;  a subtle distinction...

 

Allows nuances to evolve into acts of attrition.

 

Bared branches, like arthritic fingers, grasp at the pall

 

Of Winter’s cold and hard reticence.

 

The woodland floors decay into a necrotic quintessence;  

 

Infused with blankets of chlorosis and scarred by canker scrawl

 

Telling randomness of mother’s hand in death and reclamation.

Between Nuances

There is a cruelness burdening the air tonight

A sense of wrong pervades the wood’s calm

An acrid smell strikes the senses awake

 

For in the shadows yonder, a shade in change.

Where in the heavy blackness, a subtle distinction...

 

A gradation of light, as in a gleam

Striking against the white cut of death’s claim.

 

The heart jumps with startled instincts

And into the abyss a burst of flight

As suspicion changes reason.

 

And then, suddenly the night’s silence returns to its nuance.  

Knocking at the Door of Strangeness

In the winter of the day

The brethren of green wear white;

Blue celestials are veiled in gray

 

O'er the long winding stone path

Alone through the edge slight

Where the narrows narrate wrath

 

Through a forest of green pines

Scratching at the heavens as hackles

Of the mad dogs running along the lines

 

Into hell’s fires;  licking at the open adit

Overseen by gargoyles strained by shackles

Spewing their fit with spitted warns  “Let It!”

 

“Beast, what matters do you keep

Beyond this entrance of dark and fear;

What remains there to be found within deep?”

 

“Who is it that stands at the door?”

The unrelenting knocks seek an answer clear

The pounding blows do more implore

 

“Open, Open! “ - For neither evil nor good with stand

At the threshold of the splintered barrier

The visitant is in your eye and calls with your hand

 

Shall you let it in; shall you let it out

What saith the incessant voice; shall it be harrier

Shall intents become contents to live out in doubt

 

“Who is it that stands at the door?”

With unrelenting knocks seeking answers clear

The pounding blows do more implore

 

In the winter of the day

The brethren of green wear white;

Blue celestials are veiled in gray.

Christ Mass of 2012

Only in nakedness can one find absolution

Of the shroud cloths of resolution

That holds  secret the way

To live in full - each day

Without ill retention

And with intention.


And with intention

Without ill retention

To live in full - each day

That holds secret the way

Of the shroud cloths of resolution

Only in nakedness can one find absolution.

  

Quiescent Mind

In the distance between the quiescent mind

And the silent depths of diminishing light,

Where fears and doubts dwell, entwined

With increasing tightened fright,

Like strained ropes pulled tight

   by strayed anchors of dissolution,

the floundering Ship of Good Hope

   seeks the lighthouse beam’s scope

that is the source of forgiveness -

so to silence the gargoyle’s screams of madness.

A Noise Pervades the Quiet

Each quiet morning a horizon ebbs open

Unto a fresh new day  - freeing redeeming light

That awakens reclamation

 

Of the lost who were blinded in the night;

 

The forsaken consumed by the noise of fright;

 

The desperate overwhelmed by temptation

 

That pervades the good rooms

Of promise; of hope; of children -  once bespoken.

Respite

If there is a point of respite

During these days of sorrow and mourning -

 

It must be in finding a peace

That the innocence of the children

Has found a permanent place  –

 

And that these little angels will now hold ease

Over our pained hearts.

 

Holding us near heaven’s blessed waters

So that  their little faces can reflect

Upon us - so to soothe our wounds

 

While the long dark night can find a new morning.

 

 

It is Raining

It is Raining

 

It is raining spring rain today

In the midst of December’s grey

Low hanging skies

Pouring sadness from teary cries

For madness has taken killer’s eyes.

 

It is raining stinging rain today

Who can explain;  who can say;

Where is the calming cold and snow;

Where are the songs of merry bestow;

When evil’s emissary strikes a blow.

 

It is raining stunning rain today

Find the children where they stay

For the vile smell of death is in the air

And all that is left is a young boy’s stare

Into the red abyss of ne’er.

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Free

I lived to gyrate among all my glories

 

And desires that were interspersed

 

Amongst all treasured materials of trash and conquests.

 

And whilst  once, I was possessed by the idea

 

Of coveting pursuits and keeping alabaster trophies,

 

I was too – owned by them.

 

 

And, now when all is so lost ...

 

 

I am at  long last – free

 

From the avarice of me;

 

Released from the chain of attachments -

 

I am stronger being in the nothingness of all

 

eternity.

Ode To An Old Soldier

Grey December skies weep

Their cause and their acceptance

Of standings spread across the wide

 

Reaching upward in stark contrast

To their deeply rooted terms

That seek warmth in the cold ground

So that an old soldier

Can find a final rest.

Evolve

Within a grain...

 

A willingness to yearn

is to accept a missing presence;

A desire to learn

is to evolve into essence;

A silence of awareness

That merit all the darkness.

 

Without...  no gain..

Dawn’s Face

Each morning owns beauty bright-

Be it a spectacularly grand horizon of hues

Or, a cast of low veils with blues and grays...

 

Dawn’s face is nevertheless, the reason one prays

For a hope and a faith that will find stays

Within or without the mind, mired with its doubtful rues-

That follow footprints through to the end of the night.

Two-to-Go

Two-to-Go

When we were young and blind

we came together for lifetime bind

Now we are older and see blurry

we hold closer without a worry

For our path is named Two-to-Go

and our hands as one, Em & Joe.

Being

When words, left to lain about

Like so many unread newspapers,

Filled the vacant rooms

That, nevertheless, were full of crap.

 

And so, the unanchored thoughts

Wondered around the empty house

Hoping iron spikes would stab them down

Upon their lost intention

 

While waiting the long wait -

Until silence regained place

And then, the calm shall assume the single reason

To continue to be... being.

Why Be Normal

Ride the why be normal

Through the feigned deterring walls,

Abound beyond reason’s restraints,

As chaos rebels form constraints

While the faceted carousel circular falls -

Freeing the horse ballet to a randomness;

Allowing helix twin riders a madness

to determine the freedom of abnormal.

Waiting the Cliff

 

The December air is crisp

As the masses huddle clinging to another

 

Closing tight their wraps of wisp

While singing: “Oh, We Are Poor Brother”.

 

And, the midnight train waits the rascal’s tiff

Whether we all will go off the fiscal cliff.

 

Oh, brother eat and drink...  in wary

For ‘tis the season...  to be merry.

Gingko Tree

Gingko Tree

 

 

From the ages before awareness

A maidenhair sets her roots

To find a place of timelessness

Where sun and shade share leaves in suits

Of summer green and fall yellow.

We shall sit with her to joy of mellow....

 

Her name is Gingko Tree.

She understands mother's reasons

For everything there is a time in the seasons-

A time to live; to die; to woe; to sing poetry!

A Simple Visit to Eternity

I found an expression

left to live;

to grieve

 

Eternally upon a black stone

Noting he never wandered alone

 

Beyond his words of poetry

Nor did his strains

lack rhymes

 

For hanging under his tree

Always - music in the chimes.

Numina

 

A coldness consumes the gradient minds

Each waiting alone, at the far corners of a sitting room,

Disinclined guests, with airs of fain notions,

While the host  proffers courtesies to the familiar visitors,

Who swear their devotion to the ghost’s affairs.

 

Silken robes of redden cast

Provide visages of disembodied dancers

With black scarves that waive the light’s touch

So that all shadows of deception remain parallax

Views between basis of realty and the surreal perplexities.

 

Floating hour glass spins off its axis,

Time assuming the fluidity of plasma,

As all physical limits are freed from form

For numina persist along the extreme quantum  

And the minute macro in a convergence.