Introduction

And now I will recite for you
The three poem’s
Of the author’s—
Poet’s—
Stand on Life.

It begins with a song.
Sung dourly enough, it is
A thoughtful look,
At love,
Our world

A Litany ensues:
The anguishing voice,
Of an enlightened body

And in More Visions,
You will find the illustrations
Of a serenely innocent world.

So here it is:
The trilogy
In its entirety.
Enjoy!
I certainly did.

 

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Visions of an Inspired Poet

The green trees are dying
The shadows sweep past
And no one is crying
Except the trees.

Through the night cries a blackbird
Mourning his friends, the Stars
And no one is a blackbird
Except he.

And Love is an ocean
Only for the willows
And no one is a willow
Except the trees.

Down the Avenue
Rejoicing sinners ride
Starting at the whistling
Wind who died.

In Santa Fe,
Incendiaries sit
Longing for the ocean
And the tide.
Memories in a bottle?
A fantasy, I know.
But one can always dream
Amidst the snow.

And whilst the cars
And the people sweep past
I am just sitting here,
On the grass.

Love is an ocean
Only for the willows.
And no one is a willow
Except the trees.
And I’m weeping for the willows
And the trees.

A litany

My body aches
My mind regresses, but
My countenance deplores
The nature of humanity
That my love obsesses.

I feel alive
My brain reeks
Of clearness,
Begat by a haze.

A state of rebirth,
A colourful Renaissance,
Induced
By a joyful cacophony

Here, though,
In the awful pits,
In the recluse’s room
This house of—
Of the obscured sun—
I am
Oppressed

Here my thoughts are muddled;
Here I try to think;
Here, I am not allowed

I know what I mean
I say what I mean
I think through
My father’s glass lens
Clear as this day of days
In all my life.

Here, though!
Here!
Here I know not.
Here, I cannot say;
Here, my lens is nebulous.

I am One

Here I am several
Split by a Schism
Wrought by a merciless…
Master in this deep chasm

My body vibrates
In tune
With the Music
In key
With the Music
I am part—
One voice—
In the Music
Of the universe

Dissonance resides.
Here, it takes hold;
My soul sings
In utter lament
The tri-tone
Of this place.

My soul connects
My spirit remains
My mind lies
On the confluence
Of planes.

I can feel,
I can breathe,
I can be,
Alive.

Here I am numb
Here, my lungs
Constrict around a fog
Ridden with the germs
Of a secret life.

My body aches,
My mind regresses.

I am One.

More Visions, (being the third installment…)

A wheel rolls down
A market-lined street, silent;
Nobody knows what forces
Put it into play.
It accelerates.
A crash of garbage,
Strewn on the Alley Street:
A singular noise.

A majestic crane
Stands one-legged on the dock post,
Isolate in a sea of posts.
The waves lick wood
Long forgetful of the new sensation
Of water;
An unseen gull
Cries for the hill-blocked
Sunset.

Moonlight shimmers—
A waxing gibbous-full—
Bright upon the snow.
The land lays crisp with ice;
Across it skitters a white hare,
Invisible but for the light.
‘Neath the moon, close by,
An Empire wanes, officials fall—
The ground turns red.
A battle horn sounds.

Branches interlock, forming
On the ground a matrix
Of flickering shadow and light.
From its blissful perch hangs
The three-toed bear of the skies.
It yawns, unaware
Of the instance
Its presence constitutes;
It is serene,
Nonetheless.