Cryptical lyrical Azonal aloneness suppresses the leeching callings of the parakeet nations, Forth comings of red white and blue flow forceful through the milieu of timelessness, Sources of fullness cannot feel the plague’s spread, Can I can you follow the suits of us-busters, Do we not follow our thoughts in our writings, Eruptions of alchemical callings do not sway our wind, Listing in the divine helps our selves heal, Sometimes the leading is the following, Sometimes the following is the leading, Confusing to follow yourself or some unknown agent within, Different rules do not apply themselves as self governance doesn’t exist, “Call we what to will me forth,” Why understand when you can just feel and vent into creativity, This isn’t funnelling but flowing directly frictionless, Cryptical lyrical, I feel full, and the door is so rusty, Do not understand, hold strong and make someness accountable for its own train, The conventions are strong within us but don’t fight them, Or at least do not seek to fight them just weave in difference, In what way are we limited by what we know? Freshness falls to all men and boundaries are met and agreed, adhered to in brokerage, The lines have to stop forming, there has to be an illimitable ending, Or maybe I ran out of paper.
The cup rocked, but the air inside was still invisible. I knew it was there because someone told me, and we trust unto each other. The ultimate cooperation moving towards standardisation. Either that or the play station. Life tick-tocks me, flips me like a penny, a new one with infinite sides; makes my mind want to hide. But I know it has to fall somewhere. And it landed in the cup, with a plop; the air having replaced itself by decaffeinated tea blend. It made me feel cold as the non-caffeine took hold, but I knew it was just a deeper meaning as burning feels cool when it doesn't destroy. 12/03/11, 18.20 gmt
THE PURSUIT OF MERCURIA For some years I have pursued that lovely Greco-Roman woman named Mercuria; I’ve yearned till I could no longer reason. Once, just her sight would have pleased me; But now, at whatever cost and downfall, I must taste of her fiery passion; At whatever risk I plot her every move. When the time is right, I’ll be seeing her; It will be just us, while the world’s asleep. The problem is that she’s a fast woman And is quite difficult to even sight, Much less capture, entrance, embrace, and kiss. And I can only have her for awhile; Before dawn: if I linger with her long, We’d soon be consumed by a rising fire; After twilight, we’d be lost in darkness. Yes, I have courted her many times, But she’s so elusive, fleeting, and small. Once I waited for her just before nightfall; All was perfect—’twas the best time of all. There was the calm of a windless sunset, Then the brief brooding of twilight’s gloaming, And the promise of a slow sultry night… Clouds arrived—and so I missed her again! She strayed not far from her fiery lover. While I may have glimpsed her (I wasn’t sure), She slid toward her master’s gravity, Condemned to whirl about his light; However, I was quite determined; ‘Twas the thrill of the quest that kept me strong. I planned to surprise her just before dawn… I crept onto the frosty roof, near slipping, There waiting. Damn! Clouds were boiling along And blocking the view of her beauty rare. Suddenly the clouds cleared, and she was mine— Just over the eastern horizon was The planet Mercury—dear Mercuria— I stayed with her as long as possible, Naked in the night, until, to blazes She went when the sun arose; however, Memories remain of those precious moments And now she belongs to me forever. Venus is too easy, Mars is always there, Jupiter ever-present, Saturn bright, The Earth under my feet, Pluto underworlded; King Neptune, Queen Urania? Where are you?
Luckily, English has many synonyms to help with the preciseness of our attempted conciseness, but, still, down deep, sometimes, there may surface wordless thoughts which can only translate as ‘ugh’ or some foggy feeling that some notion feels great or true, again in some vague and unworded speechless way; so, then we must interpret and even sometimes invent the rest of the story as best we can. Even in poetry, in which we force ourselves to be precise, to get the message across within the constraints of the form, we might only get across a general interpretation of the “soul’s” feelings. In fact, this presentation of all that is possibly not so readily apprehended as truth is the very purpose of poetry. Poets translate the “soul’s” thoughts and feelings into words and attempt to send them forth finely dressed for others to read. Is this the end of it—the poetic words? Did we really write a total poem? No, not necessarily, for the poem must induce the reader to then translate the words back to the depths of the soul feelings of its sometimes speechless mode. It is only then that one can say that one has written a successful poem, that is, only if the reader’s soul is responsive to it.
THE END OF THE EARTH The Asphodel sustains the Dis dwellers, Where they rest beyond that fatal river— There the wretched shades drink forgetfulness, And to oblivion sink without distress. Fireweed grows from Hell’s sulfurous embers, As does Purple Loosestrife—dead men’s fingers; But wildflower air revives the dead—and then Those happy souls can thrive on Earth again. Charon was withered, wan, and skeletal, Although eternally grateful for his immortal life And steady job of ferrying the dead across the river Styx In their transition from life to death to forgetfulness. As Earth was the only planet he’d come across With such promising higher life forms, Charon had grown rather fond of its inhabitants, Even though he only saw but the worst of them; But, even from this he could extrapolate To the qualities of the best. Charon did his job well, professionally, Although it was ever so dreary With the endless darkness of wasted lives And the grim and gloomy skies all around, For this land always had That same gray and leaden feel. He ferried on, though, For his own life was precious to him. The soon-to-be really really dead never said much, For what was there to tell after an empty life That had often turned to deep regret; So, Charon did not prompt them for information, For this was not the thing to do At the time of their passing, So he was always most Courteous and kind to them, Even to the most evil of the darkest, Doing his task as well as he could. It was not that Charon was afraid that His undersized master of the underworld, Pluto, might be watching, But that he had the extreme clarity To duly serve the task at hand, A testament to his character. Charon had been quite alarmed lately— What with the numbers of the hellish-souls-to-be Climbing into the millions in such a short time, But, he had been through this kind of rush before, With the doomed and damned of other planets That had been consumed by their suns Or had undergone other such catastrophes. He just used larger boats And patiently took his time, For he had all of Eternity. Of course, Charon could and did feel deep sadness, But he didn’t show it outwardly, Even when the numbers from Earth Increased a thousand-fold again. A few of the now billions of depressed Earthling souls Had enough energy left to mumble a few words And so he was able to glean from them The latest happenings on Earth. In 2012, the predicted exponential surge Of melting ice from global warming Had quickly inundated all of the coastal cities, Many of them large centers Of population and commerce. Everyone who could possibly make it Had to retreat inland, Creating the largest mass exodus in history. As the heat rose to unbearable levels, Many had begun living in their basements As the Earth’s infrastructure Began its eventual collapse. Millions eventually headed north Towards Canada and Siberia, But had to retreat when the ice caps totally melted And formed the great Ocean of the North; Most did not make it. No one but the ignored physicist mathematicians Had predicted that the end Could come into sight so quickly. Then came the dreaded polar shift That made global warming seem but a small note Compared to this new and Darker Symphony. The Earth was thrashed with storms The likes of which it had never seen; Electricity was completely out all over the world, But for a few nuclear powered areas that didn’t last. No one could drive very far, Even on their last tank of gas, For the roads had melted, Along with the tires of the vehicles, And, if the vehicles stopped, They’d find themselves mired In the meltdown of the asphalt. Food would no longer grow very well, Even in once lush gardens, In the amounts that were needed, And, as the heat rose further, Into the 140s, plant growth ceased altogether, Although a new but rare And expensive form of food pill Extended life for some of the rich For a short while. Charon, had, of course, Seen much of this kind of thing before From the many other solar systems And galaxies on which life had formed; But Earthlings seemed to have A special charm and hope Above and beyond the other alien races; So he rowed and ferried And deposited them on the far shore, His job and life forever continuing In a place with no color, No joy, and no future— On the shore of the land On the edge of oblivion. Charon had depths of compassion, But many passengers might Many thought him stoic, Although they were mostly Beyond the capability. A sign on the opposite shore said: Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here Billions more arrived In the gray land all too soon And Charon learned that Either madness or desperation on Earth Had caused a nuclear winter all over the planet, Bringing on a deep freeze that few could escape. Perhaps they were trying To combat the ultimate heat, Which would have been But a cool breeze in Hell. The polar shift had greatly Added to the deep freeze. A few of Charon’s still speaking But chilled customers Even expressed a longing For the legendary warmth of Hades. Charon, stalwart and reliable, rowed on steadily, Ever steeling himself to the misery. Finally the masses slowed and dwindled To a few dribs and drabs over a few years And then there was no one for several years. A lone man appeared on the shore near the ferry dock And Charon readily approached the man, Something he had never done before. They had a long and hearty talk, For the man was animated And not at all like any of the other wretched souls. “How is it,” inquired Charon, “That you are full of life and seem to be a good man But have been sent here?” “I am not a bad person in any way,” the man replied. “Actually, I just spent some time in Heaven. I found out there that my sweetheart Was sent here to you, For she was a suicide And so was destined here; However, I had promised To be with her forever, So I chose this place Over Heaven out of my love for her.” “Extraordinary,” exclaimed Charon. “I knew the Earth had A few good men and women— I’ve not seen very many clues Of that elsewhere in the universe. Did you colonize space— Will your species continue and flourish After your Earth bids farewell?” “I’m afraid not,” replied the man, For too many needless wars intervened And this greatly delayed our space program.” “A shame,” said Charon, But is there any hope left on Earth, I mean, are there any others still about?” “I am the last,” the man answered slowly. The first tear of Charon’s long life Rolled down his cheek; Nothing had ever made him cry before: Nothing had ever made him weep. (Rewritten from Lord Dunsany’s brief sketch)
I like the combo of myth with modern. I would love to see what you would do with a magnified extrapolation of this. Maybe mythical character viewing the distant future of life in the universe.
Yes, I fall down with some of my poetry because it can be very cryptical and more like song lyrics than poetry. I'll post something a bit more transparent next.
Overall I like your delicate use of traditional diction. I have been spurned in the past on contemporary poetry forums for using such language, but I enjoy reading it.
THE QUALE OF LIGHT WITHIN THE 'DARK' HEAD Photons arrive as some electromagnetic waves, As do the vibrations of undulating air waves, Yet no sound nor light does out there tread, But is transformed to such within the head.
FROM TOE TO BEING AND FINDING MEANING THEREIN Why & How Nonexistence can’t be, nor could something Make itself or always have been perfect, For, before definition is the possible— Lawless–formless—the options were open! What, Where, Who, Then, and When ‘What’ matter stabilizes in ‘where’ space, Begetting the appearances in motion as ‘When’ future moves through the ‘now’ to ‘then’ past— This “spirit of life” granting our ‘who’ being. The Forces The strong force facilitates stability; The weak force allows changeability; Electric action, leading to magnetic motion, Facilitates the movement of appearances. The TOE to Being The TOE has to explain origin, method, And life, and, so, this does, the key being That movement of appearances begets Changes in time, showing in our life’s realm. Universal Answers Since there’s no rhyme nor reason for existence, We’re free to make our own meaning of it; If we don’t, then it’s really meaning-less; If we do—it becomes the ultimate! Luck Happens Asteroids swept away many species; Two chromosomes fused, leaving chimps behind; RNA remembers all survivors; Good fortune smiled on Homo Sapiens. The Balance Sheet Life on Earth is death’s borrowed debit; We spend this life on good fortune’s credit; We’re not God’s puppets, but free of the strings; Dispensing with angst, we’re free in being. We Are What We Are Unintelligently designed, humans Were a lucky accident of nature, A haphazard Rube Goldberg ‘invention’, With a nervous system ruled by ancient times. The Lucky State of Us As an accident of evolution, We have the ultimate freedom of choice— No “God’s will”—we’re beyond instinctive; We’re free to grow and evolve, through learning. Difficulties Abound Emotion often bypasses the intellect; Many stand at the brink of insanity. Only education can save the world— We’re at the turning point of history. Wishful Thinking Pride: Ego exaggerates self-importance To claim that we’re specially created, Deserving a divine destiny. Humility: we’re electrochemical. Unfortunately… Those who can’t or won’t learn are doomed to stay As their robot selves, living the sitcom life, But, learning disperses the myths of old— We make our own way or stagnate and die. Meaning—or Not Direction arrives or one goes nowhere; Growth happens or one vanishes to null; Creation comes or reaction destroys; Planning makes a life or it collapses. Coming Full Circle Searching for the ultimate happenstance Of how we began leads to exploration Of within and without, a rewarding quest; Upon return, we know the place for the first time.
I am 31 years old now. This was composed around 15 years ago Into the Dark Slipped to blackness, In the distance a light, The shine of which comforts, The thought of its sight, The feeling of loss, Is lost in its glow, Growing bigger, Enveloping slow. Faintly a calling, Is heard all around, Sweet divine singing, A song without sound, Wings spread upwards, An embrace soft and kind, No sense of loss, For what’s left behind. Gone is the flesh, The soul has flown, The purpose accomplished, The seeds are sown, And now a judgement, All of its own, A test to see, If your soul has grown. From celestial shoulders, Two voices divide, Conscience battles, Angels decide, One from the dark, One from the light, One showing form, The other night. Questions unending, Coming from them? Or is it your conscience, Judging again? Was existence worthwhile? Did life run its course? Was a meaningful purpose, Imposed by its choice? Has a cold barrier grown, Since the womb? Or does enlightenment sit on your throne? Inner fulfilment? Look deep inside, Is your heart open? Or do you hide, The goodness captured, Flowing within? The test is nigh, Weighing of sin. The voices a figment? Maybe but true, For the next world is based on subconscious review, Your fate unknowingly, Decided by you. Affray is over, Judgement is called, Darkness ascends, Divine light falls, A hand reaches down, Caressing your own, A claw grabs your heel, Cutting to bone.
Satan reached out and up from his cell of ice in the center of Hell and pulled you back down to Earth?
THE SHORTEST POEM Sunshine, fresh air, Existence everywhere. The above is far from being The shortest possible poem. Me, Thee. This is short, but probably Not the shortest, as it has six letters. Is this the shortest rhyming poem, Especially about the TOE? I, Why? How about Me, We. Well, that ties the record So now we need a three letter poem. Aye, I. This again tied the record, And it still makes sense, Which of course is always a requirement. How about? Hi I. Is it not significant enough Because it is only the start Of a lower-higher self conversation? Or do we know that from that? Or, like at the Cheech and Chong show: I Hi. or By, I. Now we must reach The two letter poem of two lines of rhyme… I “I”. Meaning, for some, That I am the same as “I”, The soul or consciousness? Or to question it the other way around? I “I”? (But they both suffer from the flaw Of the rhymes being the same word.) W, 2. Not in the IRS sense but, double you, too. Then, finally, There is the 0-length letter poem entitled “The Zen Poem of Nothing” (Hey, it’s not there, but it really is, Since nothing rhymes with nothing, Plus the poem has a title, Which makes it qualify as real.)
I suppose it is a bit like your +/- theory. During the process of dying ones own mind will judge itself. I suppose the ending is just a reflection of the nature of humans. There is no perfection, just greys of a good and bad mix. The sixth stanza is telling. It is all illusory, the mind hallucinating during death, shutting down of the mind. I suppose a believer could read it in a different way. Poetry (in fact any art) can often only have the meaning the reader/examiner wants to take. I must admit I do like the imagery angels embody for me. They seem to be freemind incarnate. I am a saggitarius. We value the reality/illusion of freedom.
You forgot the full stop/period. I reckon if it had one then it would definitely qualify as a poem, though it may detract from its nothingness.
This one is even older, it won a prize at school when I was early teens. I redrafted slightly when I was around 18, just made it a bit tighter: Hiemo cum sperare Rise of sun, Sing of song, Wondrous beauty, summer throng, Full of splendour, divine in light, Enlightening softly all in sight, Be it beast, leaf or stone, radiance shines delight, To each of which subtly loans, refuge from the night. Sadness dwelleth, ever strong, For the hands of winter surge along. Scatter of dew ‘cross grassy land, Freezes stiff as if to stand, Like an ancient army deadly, Ice stalactites at the ready, Armed to crash with reveric trees, Drooping branches as if to freeze. Awoken from a summer borne slumber, Creak of bark, shudder of timber, Trees forest an almighty host, Mustered to drive back ice and frost, Annular battle must ensue, Neither force willing to lose. A crash of bough, With bite of snow, Quick as a dream the silent throng froze, With eaves to proclaim dreadful woe, And wintry trumpets to summon more snow, Bleak and bitter winter wins, Trees reduced to skeletons. Days grow shorter, Darkness falls, Life halts in branch-ed halls, If they hide, beasts should survive, Cold limbs clamber, scrape and strive, All retreat through fronded tunnels, Winter wreaks its blasting pain, Slow, old and weak are funnelled, And at the point all are slain. All that will, all that are left, Return to find forest fraught with death, In woodland clearings the wounded ground shows, An imprint of fauna and their deathly throes. Fog rolls ‘cross grassy glades, Stretching out its ghostly shades, Taking in the frozen land, Smothering, choking, humid hand, Enveloping quickly tree and grass, Omen of a break in rootly fast? Itch of bark, Change of wind, of leaf, A thermal firm brings relief, Overcast grey, disperse, cease, Faint globe emerging from yonder peaks, Cloud reduced, now lonely strands, This long tail discarded the rising sun stands. Melt of snow, ice and tundra, The banish of winter from the land, Glorious summer, Trickle of water, The smell of springtime O’ so grand.
Yes, UD, that on is worth a prize. Very seasonal visual. This may be in a similar vein: SEASONINGS Nature Springs from Winter’s tomb, The bloom already in the seed, The tree contained within the acorn. Surging sprigs sprout from the soil; Spring showers make the Summer flower. Summer wakes from Spring’s dying kiss, Blooming when the rose does, Sunning after the Spring’s running. Summer reigns upon the land, Eventually fading in the night. Autumn Falls as Summer leaves, Harvesting its sum of days, Seconding the rose of Spring. The smile meets the tear— Fall’s embers last through December. Ice winds stalk the weed flowers, The ghosts frosting the dead stalks, Snow crystals barring all that grows. Winter is death cooled over; Melting snows feed Spring waters.
VIOLATING UNIVERSAL NATURAL LAW You will always be caught, So don't even give it a thought. The violation of universal natural law Is the cause of our problems, all, Of everything that becomes rife And plagues individual and national life, These stresses only leading to more strife, From lowlifes leaving their wife for the wildlife Of nightlife to cutting someone with a knife. So stem problems of national health, Crime, the economy, education, wealth, And the black environmental sins, All of them having their origin In a widespread law violation By some portion of the population. Universal Natural Law is very terse In governing the entire universe, It being the orderly principles That regulate physical events/processes. Science defines the universal law of nature, A precise description of how nature nurtures. Universal law pervades everything, Of all that is in passage and being, From the motion of particles To the evolution of life’s articles— Operating at every scale: The subatomic, atomic, Molecular, biological, geological, Astrophysical, and cosmological. The universe is structured hence In these many layers of existence As worlds within worlds, Distinguished and not only furled By vastly different time and distance scales, But that every level has its own set of details; For example, an electron/nucleus system Is not analogous to that of a planet/sun. The more superficial macroscopic levels of nature Can be seen as fragmented expressions, for sure, That are manifested from the more unified laws Governing deeper levels with their scrimshaws— The reflections of the dazzling symmetries Of what once were inaccessible mysteries. The outer ‘becomes’ are based on inner ones, The only fountainhead of all the rhythms. (And the converse is not true.) Nature’s governance is maximally efficient, For it is frugal, and not a spendthrift— It following The Principle of Least Action In all of its action and protraction. This is why a ray of light refracts When going from air to water’s tract, Minimizing the time And saving every dime. From this maximal economy of nature, All classical behavior can be scriptured. Entropy is a count of quantum states Accessible to a macroscopic system’s estate, This available number ever increasing; The nature of life is to grow, ever reaching. The path of least action’s welcome Is just the macroscopic outcome Of the simultaneous superposition Of multiple coexisting paths’ auctions At the microscopic level, The outcome ever of the least income. The law to which all must succumb. All is rooted in the verse Of the Constitution of the Universe. Life takes advantage and cause Of the universal natural laws, Even such as in merely walking, Which is an immensely complex undertaking. We employ technology in all of its variety. Everything that we fail to accomplish Is but due to the total failure To apply universal natural law effectively, This being the source of all difficulty. In the absence of knowledge of a lever, The simple task of moving a boulder Becomes complex and arduous to the shoulder. Not learning gravity has caused unmild Injuries to many a young child; The old uses of radiation caused cancer tumults; The use of DDT had many adverse results. Smoking cigarettes, heavy drinking, being out late, And other addictive obsessions surely violate Universal natural law, at whatever rate, Resulting in negative consequences, While psychological violations dispense Stress directly as a sequence immense. While fulfillment of desire can bring happiness, It also raises the scope and standardness Of future desires, making the duress Of frustration an inevitable process. Over time this causes psychological stress, Which in turn impairs creativity’s success, Stalling future desires By watering their fires And also leads to problems of health, These then causing further stealth And violations of universal natural law— Resulting in the nonsense Of a life out of balance— Leading to aggression, anxiety, Impulsive violet behavior, hostility And substance abuse— A vicious cycle of refuse That, among other effects, Fills up the prisons to correct.
