Virginia’s Lover

Virginia’s eyes searched the horizon’s darkening line

As she walked along the shore’s silvery edge

Stepping along carefully - methodically as if at life’s ledge

While the ocean’s thunderous waves pounded out time’s keep

And she synched each her breath to mother’s metronome;

Virginia recited Poe’s Annabel Lee poem

 

The moon darting in and out behind the brigantines; leaving her in the dark alone

To ponder the coldness of the waters below - down deep

Where her lungs fill with the sea’s blood and she tastes the brine

While imagining the dimming lights above in a magnificent view

As Virginia is slowly embraced by a lover she knew

Would keep her secrets without fault or rue

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Broken

 

 

 

Billy is broken more than one can see

with nine sides – each cut into faceless

opposites contorted into lines that entwined

the oddities and the natures of each in a misaligned

narcissistic relationship and with voices of contradicting plea

 

There is Billie, the banshee, whose wailings warn that death nears;

Wiley, the fabricator, has the imagination of Aesop

And tells stories that are necessary to veil the illusionary family;

Willy’s vanity consoles the torments of anomie;

Willis, the abnegator, denies the chimera’s many fears;

 

Wills, the politician, construes the rules of empathy;

Wilson, the eldest of them absorbs all their sins;

while Willie, the youngest, is the sentimental mind

and then, there is William - treacherously unkind

with severe eyes that burn away any sympathy

 

The nine odd lines transect  at the center of the self circle

In entangled trapeze bars sitting at feigned projection points

With each pair of the nine parallel chains consigned to strain at rage

Against each other and yet, each is compromised to exist in one cage

Entrapped by the mirror of Narcissus and the spectre of Virgil.

 

 

“For trust not him that hath once broken faith” -William Shakespeare

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Desolation Served at Seven

 

 

 

 

 

Desolation Served at Seven

 

It is always in the eyes - that is the tell;

there is the callow innocence expressing joy

or the stale darkened blank stare from hell

perhaps, averting eyes darting between purposeful ploy

then again, there are eyes that are desirous and cunning

tracking and playing off a heart that is coveting

 

Harry, had neither of these looks today as he waited

in a languished posture by the exit of his tortured life

as patrons of the house with course of seven sated

brushed by him without noticing he was rife

with remorse and weighted by mental exhaustion

given that his soul was listed on the menu as “done in Faustian”

 

The moniker, Harry, was perfect for such was he - a common man;

that he once owned the streets of the dancing double crosses

where truth was merely a matter of setting a profit plan

was of little note now that the gold leaf buildings were total losses

consumed by the greed and avarice that poured like fine wine

to fill the stemmed glasses with wantonness and to toast the lusted shrine

 

“Hello Harry, it is good to see you after all these years

where have you been – what happened to you – why”

There could have been many reasons with stories full of tears

but, Harry never did explain his turn in place nor did he cry

only that he now lived where desolation was served at seven

and drinks followed into the night before the closing of heaven.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Divergence

Waking from the stupor of a primordial mind

the formless non-identifying self winced in pain

for a pregnant thought was forming in a creature’s brain

 thus, nature would cease to reign

for the self was becoming a presence of a kind

 

These thoughts would exponentially expand

into a matrix of ideas that burst into sounds

of meaningless squeaks and grunts like pigs and hounds

faces contorted by the strange new fears and astounds

as voices arose from their throats to speak opinions of new land

 

Where the self is like and the unlike is not oneself

and divergence takes a different course

from that of the conforms in holy books and doctrines enforce

used by priests, lords and politicians to claim divine source

over the kingdom of flora, fauna, giant beast and lowly elf

 

There is an oddity to behold and a strangeness in the air

words flocking into thoughts that speak of a different way

a growth by separation, distinction from the masses stay;

a convergence back into universal silence - ingress to the formless day

where music and poetry shall return, not in death, but in silent prayer.

 

Heartbeat

 

 

 

 

Heartbeat

 

 

 

Listen to the stop

before the drop

 

Feel for the rhythms

pulsating and coursing

through vessels and across

the spaces of emptiness

 

Where ships and fools

are of a singularity

 

One heartbeat

one beat

beat

 

Each in the  moment -

moment by moment

 

Solitary so solitary

beating beat by beat

 

Until its final movement

move by move

to rejoin the cosmos -

 

The essence of nothingness

where no thing is one thing

and nothingness

is everythingness

 

The silence in the between

is breath becoming serene

and so, ramble on John

for the beat goes on.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Letting Go

A river runs forth in one direction

flowing and changing at random

reflecting the water’s spools

and the level of deepness

to her moody pools 

Her deep secret waters are calm

construed by tranquility

whereas, her surface waters are confounding

emotions;  raging and unpredictable

or languish through time

moving towards the drop of the horizon 

Shall the soul be as well

calm –

in a solitary place

balancing between life and death

positioned at the pivot of infinity

or stormy –

in passionate frenzy

ready to dispel the grips of fear 

What mask should one need to wear

one that shields the face of the egoic mind

a rational mask

that portrays an outward sanity

a desirous mask

that appears to be kind

a spiritual mask 

that seeks a grace to bind 

What are the river currents saying

when they become raging rapids that threaten -

To steer mightily against the river’s power

by flailing at turbulence’s beset

or allow thoughts to quiet and be gently set –

as rudders to navigate life’s travails

and so to regain balance and equanimity 

Life moves along relentlessly

from the places and time of a distant past

creating shadows of nostalgic tell

seeking tranquil tomorrows

as the eyes peer at the face of mortality

as finite reality

reflected in the mirrors of perception

images of the infallible – will falter

the future is an unknowable existential place 

Using words to form thoughts

may please ambitions

however, these are notions

that need interpretation 

Explain the way out

through the portals

where nothing matters

outside the vastness

of nothingness 

Goodness and evilness are amorphous

based upon a dubious covenant;

a human stake

do no harm

it is so easy to make a mistake

falling into temptation’s wake 

Or to become suspended

by the conforms of madness

it’s only a nightmare until awakened 

Is that the voice of evil that beckons

what then, if it’s just a dream

nothing has changed in the reality

does being awake disprove the dream

of being good

or will wickedness wait

for the shadows of sleep

Shadows in the cave are formless -

forms inside the mind are hidden reflections 

and will egress from the darkness

when the candlelight defies lines of madness

Is there a better twisted rhyme

when does truth become its own fantasy

The image in the mirror owns its own flaws

trouble and happiness have a face

each arrives and stays

at its own discretion

whether or not invited or welcomed 

The universe is the dark source

containing all matter

including the light that touches

and brings life from nothingness

thus, allowing reality into being 

Unless the light is lost in the spectrum

creating the blue of the sky

as reflected in the blue of the oceans

and the blue in sadness

when longing and loss

are the reality

of solitude and distance 

Words of purpose and intention

promise no harmony nor bearing

words can be lost if no one remembers their connection

such as life and death

that tie a survivor’s pain

to a prayer’s reflection 

There is truth in that a sunflower is yellow 

There is a grace in saving a butterfly 

There is a nobility in the eye of the wilderness 

There is certainty in the eye of a wolf 

And there is profoundness in the hand of a newborn child

Does reality exist within reveries of the mind

if one cannot see randomness –

Will it – can it still exist 

The river calls

with currents that are perpetual

the water’s are deep

the streams of words converge

unto the river’s keep 

The reeds at the shore’s edge

stand static against the flow

being mere witnesses

as life’s canoe must meet its destiny

and challenge the laws of nature 

Set down the oars

it is time to give the river its play

trust the direction

follow its way

The words will flow

forever  - as long

as one knows

to let go.

Finding the Way with Randomness

 

Ever know the universe to make a claim to be all

And yet, nothingness does not disprove that this universe is everythingness

 

Stars do not appear to need a name or a number;

the light we can see is their past existence or might it be a forthcoming

 

The sun is alive with dynamic energy and radiance –

earth reflects upon that - does it not

 

 

Ever hear a tree cite its roots or make regret it loses her leaves

Or extol its presence is to cycle in the poisons of breathings

 

A lion hunts for its very existence and without hubris

Can the human hunter do the same and live with equal honor

 

Ever know a bird to exaggerate its flight to gain fame

Or know of any ego that takes flight and then eschews notice and renown

 

Does a dog need to give loyalty to exist with a human

And does that human always accept that fidelity needs balance

 

Do dreams need an awakening to establish realities

Or can a reality also exist within reverie

 

Does nature accept that the human touch

Creates as well as it destroys - with and without intention

 

Because one places a name

To something - does it then become its claim

 

 

If one cannot see randomness

Can it still exist

And will purpose allow variate

to remain intact without change

 

 

Do the words in this thought

Change meaning if they are placed randomly