Spera iovis, Jupiter
An ineffable thunder.
A benevolent sky untouchable,
Bewashed with holy white.
His eye, from that smoky height,
Benevolent, or careless.
Sucking up breath, bellows,
A bull in heat, a vast progenitor
Bestowing fast waters, furious light.
A plunger, a pummeller, a fondler
Of breasted mountains, a piercer
Of earth’s deep, warm valleys.
The biology of deity: what is fecund
Evolves to the remote ineffable.
The lusty roarer, to righteous, wrathful judgment.
Template to transcendence, he dabbles yet
And dribbles his pleasures in little lives
Spread-legged, surprised by glory.
Panting and flattered by the fierce blast
Of his rumbled, lascivious breath,
His weight borne down and admitted.
So it is a face of infinity,
A voice vague with distance,
A beam breaking clouds,
A covenant, a breaking into and out of,
Grandiose lusts and transfiguring flesh,
A feast of flesh for formless air, a cold, clear possession.
No other face but a storm of thunder and a sudden cloud,
An animal roar, a shower of gold.
All encompassing as air, as mountain squall, a rush of cold water,
As clay turned incense, as sacrificial fire on beacon top.
The placation and violence of an unseen height. From there is sought
Return of revolutions, approving victories, an evolution
Of sorts and measures.
An eagle’s wing, a single feather, a sharp beak, a clutching claw.
A rosary of names heroic, a prayer of appeasement and summoning.
Above all, and through it all,
A mystery of heaving curtains,
A spotlit stage with screaming plot,
A certain, definitive gravity, the thunderer.
A strange evolution it is from dark cloud and downpour
To remote, inviolable vastness.
But they all do shuffle and elbow eternally,
These interferers, these hungry, unconcerned
Bickering departmental managers,
Jealous and lusty,
Breeding prophets and demigods in casual catastrophe.
They run off with themselves, whooping and roaring,
Eternal adolescents, hormonally sparkling, unrestrained
In all their sudden, bright passions.
Free from opprobrium, earthy,celestial gardens of delight.
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simonhlilly 
Conversations with Invisible Friends (14)
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged art, commentaries, comments, conversations, language, matter, Poetry, thought on June 17, 2014| Leave a Comment »
CONVERSATIONS 14
HOW EASY
Wonderful wonderful
how easy a cat will purr
how easy a flower will open
and scatter
how easy a smile
how easy a hand
how easy a good word
leads the way
becoming a vast flock
of joyous song and seeing.
—
VERBAL WARNING
Word to word
invisible tugged ties,
chains golden from tongue to ear,
a ripple of bells, a chime, tinkled river,
mind stream quenching thirst,
a million million reflections
showing nothing much of anything,
just how it is.
—
SEDIMENT
In the deepest oceans
Are the bones of all
That have ever lived.
A sediment free of sentiment,
World shaping pressure
Of was-ness turning into is-ness.
—
GRACE
Dressed ghosts, borrowed rags.
Why so hungry always? Why so?
As if bereft. As if supported.
As if punishment. As if reward.
As if a test.
Interpret this.
Pain and beauty.
Edges, boundaries, limits.
A dance to slow music.
If we can be but elegant, somehow,
so the universe turns toward us
(as we turn toward its ever open eyes),
weave a new way, gentle, strong,
accepting, melting, acquiescing.
Grace, it would be.
Perhaps reason enough.
—
RED SHIFT
Heat haze.
A shimmering road.
All the colours shifting towards evening.
A sharp sound rumbles into deep distance.
An elucidation of edges.
A smudge of vast moments.
Thought storm, tranquil dreaming.
Your voice (somehow) in my head (somehow).
Via the heart of things,
we ricochet amazed
through crystalline spheres.
—
HOW ELSE
A tissue of lives.
Connective, connected surfaces.
A fine tracing of whorls and ridges,
Whispering alphabets
Attempting an understanding,
Perhaps a cataloging,
An exposition of position.
A thin, sky thin, elucidation
A slender, tender hinting thing.
Not quite dream, not quite wish,
Nor remembering, nor forgetting.
This placental sustaining,
Held suspended,
Amniotic day,
Bridged away from pain.
Else we slip unseen,
Or so we conceive it,
Mouthing wept whys
Into blank cold nights.
—
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