Speaking In TonguesIt's true that the poet must ever struggleSpeaking In Tongues4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
with the dead weight of words, must shape
the beginnings of meaning from all the contingencies,
the accidents that blur the smooth edges of spirit's form.
It's true that every beginning will falter
long before the moment is discovered
clothed in simple perfection. Though I must fail,
I still can glory in a wealth of harmonics
that a greater soul might one day resolve.
UrbanThe broken paving stones provide a niche within an unforgiving world,Urban2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Tenacious weeds have multiplied around these narrow opportunities
these stringy plants are fitted for survival against the odds, each one
pitching its separate claim to life. Beneath the ruptured slabs, spindle
filaments of roots seek sustenance in gritty soil, dark and moist. in pockets
Too shallow for the ornate costumes of the pampered rose.
No horticultural art is practiced here, in this harsh universe
resources must be hoarded, so close to the void of the lifeless these survivors
grow. For them the season of flowering is brief:
a short lived flash of vermillion
ArachnidDeath sunbathesArachnid3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in the afternoon,
Its web of shiny
filaments spread wide
to entrap the unwary
Suspended in its trance
of desire, it's fixed
in motionless anticipation.
It awaits the moment
when a careless hope
will enter into oblivion.
On The PodiumThe art of conductivityOn The Podium3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
as the maestro explained,
is that the man with the baton
serves as a lightning rod,
earthing intuitions from god.
CadenzaSuppose each one of us older than the stars,Cadenza4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
suppose that we are other than the ragged beggars we seem,
suppose that our engulfing slumber, our inner darkness,
is constantly erupting with the vanity of dreams.
Consider those uncounted aeons swallowed in the oceans
of that virtuality, where we, the ever drowning mariners,
must cling to the absurd shapes we call reality.
Will we, unknowing captives, ever be free?
Has liberty become our cage of captivity?
Oh yes, we writhe, our nakedness become despair.
as our frenzied touching reveals that nothing's there.
ChantryListen, child, listenChantry3 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
to the love that the bird sings
mellifluous, monotonous, it chants
the changeless song of its being
that love, that ancient syncopation,
that emptiness of the overflowing heart.
Wasted YouthHe was a lost man, trapped in a webWasted Youth3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of expectation spun by family and priests.
His youthful energy sapped, he marinated in his misery.
His heavy shirt of denial clung to him
What if others might see the ailing man
trapped within this garment of fear?
He believed their eyes looked right through him,
that they could see the shadow of his shameful secrecy.
A City Augustine Never Dreamed OfSuch strangeness stalks these dream haunted alleys and lanes.A City Augustine Never Dreamed Of3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
At noon the city's byways still remain submerged in subterranean shadow,
sunk in a motionless reverie. No creature stirs, Within enclosing walls
murmurs, even cries might be heard, were there any curiously listening.
The sun vanishes abruptly. The day ends, precipitating all the activity of night,
the sensual argument of the drum, flares providing erratic, dancing light,
and shadows whirling suddenly like dervishes, across the crumbling plaster
of close packed walls. The alleys seethe with the flesh of strangers,
lives that pass too close to each other, remaining unrecognised.
The city's passionate nightlife huddles beneath the moon's baleful enquiry.
Decadent, MetallicAbandoned metalDecadent, Metallic4 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
dreams of disintegration,
Functional no more,
decay imposes its own
Finale 3Finale 33 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
The heavens ablaze,
Massings of vapours kindled
by reflected light.
The distant cosmic furnace
sinks from sight, consumed by night.
HypnopompicHypnopompic4 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
A key too rusted
to turn, a door once solid,
now rotting away.
As sentience stirs again,
the dream's images decay.
RecitativeYou're right. I have chosen the uniform of mourning,Recitative4 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
At first it seemed that I had made my choice pragmatically.
I thought the dark mode would enhance my performing,
nothing in my appearance would distract from my words.
Then I realised that I was mourning indeed. Each poem
experience once lived avidly, now but a wordy husk.
Past1Past3 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
In youth alluring,
they remember cameras
and their flattery.
A shadow, a shade
lingers, an after image
In the inner eye.
Need To KnowAcross the landscape of my dreamsNeed To Know2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I see an empty sky remote and glowing.
All that I might be is shrouded,
swallowed in a cloud of unknowing
Too often I have tried, only to fail
exhausted by a passionate need to know
Anguish is the only crop for me to reap,
the only crop that I could ever sow.
ColloquyWhere, I asked, does the sun set?Colloquy4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Have never heard? It's swallowed by the Western Sea.
But how then can the sun rise?
Child, your dazzled eyes are too easily misled,
How can a hero rise again after he's dead?
Yet I see what I have seen. Are so many heroes then,
that they're extinguished every day?
You have seen what you have seen,
we faithless creatures can only watch and pray.
LingeringLingeringLingering3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Many of them lost by now –only a few struggle
against terminal decay. Too many are sealed
in the amber of habit, repeating their lifeless repertoires,
impervious to change.
Oh yes, we can try imagining
the price that survival exacted from them, as we listen
inattentively to their tales of sacrifice.
They have become the last of a lost generation.
They drink too much, or wake raving in the dead of night.
They stare with haunted eyes at worlds
they no can longer recognise, they're drowning in their anguish,
ostracised by strangers whose hearts
have never been shattered by brutality, by agonies of fear.
ExpeditionaryAs we travel across it, we get the impression that this vast, naked landscape is comatose. It has been lying here in stunned inactivity for who knows how many millions of years. The turbulences of the air assault it, water and ice work to refashion the giant as it sleeps. We are too minuscule to be registered in this empty vastness, in spite of which our banners flutter, bravely as it seems to us, in the keening breeze. It remains our ambition to travel beyond this emptiness, into verdant, friendlier regions. That is why a part of our caravan is loaded with the essentials for trade. We must be ever vigilant for the health of our pack animals, lest their illnesses and injuries should injure us.Expeditionary2 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
All of us, men as well as beasts, will be in need of water. So we have secured guides, taciturn men who grew up as animal herders on these arid plains. They alone can read the messages that emptiness conveys, yet at night, around the embers of our cooking fires, there is muttering among us. How d
WinteringDecay's lush coloursWintering3 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
brighten the cooling season,
herald winter's chills.
Dead blossoms remain,
once yellow heads become husks
of breeze tossed summer.
Not the months alone. These are no more than the signs of those ever-returning cycles as the universe continues in its timeless revolutions. Against that backdrop, the rapid blinkings of the cosmic eye, there is to be gained a paradoxical stillness.
Not that I, or any I, will prove to be impervious to change, to the fitful shifts of decay and regeneration. Rather, the strobe-like blinkings seem to freeze my flickering existence. The candle flame is a process of static motion. I too persist until the fuels are all consumed.
I am warm still. The winter night is still outside.
Long days are shrinking.
Night, arriving early, departs late.
Heavy curtains drawn tight.
Stranded 2Stranded 23 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
The end of the line
had ever seemed likely
to leave the traveller
abandoned in empty space,
no hope of resolution.
AloneAlone4 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
Lost for the moment
in a reverie, maybe
past, maybe future
forms before his inner eye.
His person, the empty sky.
SpiderSpider.Spider3 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
within the void.
a tiny intelligence
extinguished in a moment.
Air Force Revisited.Air Force Revisited.4 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
dense enough to deflect light
Water drops suspended in
the high, thin air, wind sculpted.
solid enough to impede light
yet made of nothing.
Water drops suspended in
the high, thin air, wind sculpted.)