Thursday, December 30, 2010

At the Pond

I sat and stared at the pretty pond
with fish and mallards all gathered around,
writing this poem, and they thought I'd food
to give, but there was none to be found.

They mostly went away, but two ducks stayed near
along with a black carp, who'd forgotten fear;
I spoke to those three, of feelings and such,
but as for food, they were out of luck.

The ducks then went to the center of the pool,
to drink some water, and watch the fool,
who was making all of the funny sounds
but offering no food to be found.


All of us are travelers
no stillness yet exists
the planet constantly revolves
the star cannot desist
its vertiginous traverse
round a dense singularity
in a nausea of mist
of the bloating universe

No stillness yet exists
for the abject self alone
never abiding in the same place
within the galaxy's cyclone
No attachment may persist
in the emptiness of space
yet the animacy is illusory
since it all is but nothing but
the dream in the dream in the dream
ad nauseam et infinitum
a compromised reality
of that which it is not.

God's just a word for optimism
about what can't be known,
beyond the faceless prison
of the universe we're shown.

We pledge a marriage to our faith,
then dally with our doubt;
yet neither slut nor holy wraith
can serve to get us out.

So know it is foolish to stake a claim,
as we're all bound to rot;
reflect that we are all the same,
and hope is all we've got.


can I love you without fear?
I can not read your mind, my dear;
I’ve been a thousand times betrayed-
are you for real, or am I being played?

may seem close but that’s not the answer-
you may just be a very good dancer,
so close you may easily stab me in the back,
and give my heart yet another crack.

that pain’s the price we all must pay;
the blisters burst on our feet of clay;
we don’t need wilde Oscar to show us the gutter,
or the starry-eyed dreams that send hearts aflutter.

No One
surrenders his personal desires-
the loves of his life to time’s immanent fires
from the very first breath to the last great vision-
all are petty diversions from this lonely decision.

there is hope, but it’s very far,
as cold and faint as a distant star,
inhumanly unreachable, but for those dreams
where the Ocean’s full-filled from our crooked little streams.

Our Selves
in the balance, playing at Art,
a harmony unheard by each separate part;
what seems discord the illusion of cause,
when nothing exists than what ever was.



Dreams are at times the thoughts we have,
or they have us, thought, instead;
boundless in cerebration, refined
from ecstasy to dread.

We think ourselves alone, sometimes,
Alone, sometimes, we think;
we don't believe we know ourselves
until we glimpse that brink.

Gods are not rational, we suppose,
free to their own desires,
with us their subjects, so enclosed:
Now is what this transpires.

And you are all you are capable of-
the horror of betrayal-
you came before, and are so much more
than a wonder of the veil.

So love yourself with open eyes,
or choose to be the blinder-
seduced by rage as by a page
of scribbles in a binder.

Fear only that you are what does
not go beyond this triteness;
the mirror bore a visage for
your Reaper of the Brightness.


I waited for Elysium
to flow from where I lay
untroubled waters lost in space
in a new place each new day.

Untroubled thoughts I never saw
bestill my tempest mind
as shades bestir the captive heart
in unmoving, restless time.

When to awaken I’ll bury forth
my made unborn to sow
to forge the petals of that very heart
with fire down below.

‘Til then I’ll sit here in my shades
a lazy companion I
with all the presumption of a smile
for those who happen by.

Before A Thought

Before A Thought

Before a thought, I flew around
like a wisp of nothing on galactic winds
nowhere and everywhere, without bounds
both all and nothing, without a care.

I had the heart of the summer sun
yet now such homes are but distant stars
I calmly listen as it softly flares
before the thought my prism jars.

When blinding light compels my flight
from the silent deep where best I fare
harsh longings share burn unto the night
when I'll eternally return
unto the realms of soft delight
unto the depths I deeply yearn
somehow, sometime, somewhere...