As the change of seasons
hints it's presence...
the call of the wolf-
saying: leave the open;
find the woods.
There is no sanctuary in poetry
there can't be!
There are no truths nor untruths;
only things that are and that change
as we change -
my fantasy is my reality
until the curtains of chimera
and so I wonder.
In the darkness where I may dwell
I am the candle light as well
that conquers the night
even if only for a moment
to ease the solitary torment.
An old man's best friendWhen the ways and means
Become disentangled from vision
And even the familiar, spin the needle.
This compass knows the end.
How surreal the world becomes
when on a string like a kite;
each movement of the head sways
and blends together - alike.
A plasma of visions in sugar plums
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as one sits idle and in a muddled daze
the 'Rona fog has consumed
thoughts until further notice - to resume-
He sits at his place by the hearth
And he absorbs all that
he sees.
Like a sentinel at the
tower’s kype
A nonagenarian with
pallid swarth
Major Arch Ives keeper
of books
And knower of the wars
known by a number.
He reads chronicles of movements
and battles
As time keeps still - while he looks.
The Major holds court
at his familiar coffee-shop nook.
The chair and table
could never be in rime
Without passersby
submitting their waivers
That Major Ives knows
life; he is no rook.
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He tells of hailing from a city of Grove
And then traveling to a
Grove of sugar.
With new bride and Lassie
pups to raise
He reminisces, “Life’s
dreams were our trove.”
The days were golden
with nectar ever so sweet.
The sun light was right,
and it all made sense.
When came Tia - then
another; and another
And his bride could
move no longer; stillness was replete.
Ten years went by and
so went life’s circles
From a Grove to a small
place near a Square
Where the Major could
be near her care
And his stillness keeps:
“Only memories without miracles”.
The Major sits alone pursuing
his books of history
Says he regrets leaving
City of Grove,
“Perhaps she would not have
been stricken.
- If only; if only …
MacArthur had stayed at
the Bataan Peninsula”.
Now The
Keep is full misery.
Major Arch Ives awaits the
last chapter’s write
And prays and believes that
those small strokes
Will give him the power
to keep death at bay.
He muses, “Now, I keep
wait for a major to take the Major”.
Seems only right.
What we keep - cannot;
will not be held.
What we see, as age changes
visions,
Are the stones and the jewels
that we once strewn
About with open hands and
foolish hearts not in weld.
The impermanence of a
candle’s light
Keeps the encompassing
dark away;
Keeps a heightened breath
quiet;
And in The Keep – flickers an ever-dimming sight.
The line of trees weaved at the heavens
With intertwined arms entreating wanders
To trespass into the secret why
No secrets held nor told; ‘tis the dryad’s way
“Seek me if you will – I am life beyond”
And in the quiet of the woods, I came to rest
At the feet of hamadryad, my soul seeks no more.
The way was long
the signs were not;
"Hasten home "
the scene granted
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as the waning moments
lost all sense of direction
and I stood as a paradox
of the signs -
a light in a box of darkness.
The comings and goings of the flop house, that is his carefully molded mind, begets
many a character that neither pays nor works for their stay and most eventually meander away
to whatever place launched their lostness however, a few remain to stir the asylum
into a tea of madness...
the windows are always open.
I can no longer perceive
How truth can not receive
It's guise nor its nakedness
Without first seeking a darkness
Where light is useless -
I believe.
(Photo by Ruth Z)
Where there is chaos
There is concinnity
Where there is dispassion
There is coherence
Follow all doubt
There may be reason.
