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Posts Tagged ‘mythologies’

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WHAT THE GODS SAY

1.

These,
the ghosts
adhering to inner walls,
stains and smudge,
scribbles in haste
‘remember me’.
Words that leapfrog meaning, bray and boast their sounds, exultant cascades untranslatable, insubstantial, picked out, chosen, chaos bouquet, emphatically vague. They are summoned and summon yet more. A duty, to weigh the grains and count.
Enumerate.
Embody.
To be,
(that’s what the scholar said),
to be, only the purpose, the desperate clutch of the sliding mind, the seed to puncture shell, to push aside soil, to explode in cellular satisfaction,
only for a moment,
only a fragment spinning from sight,
(a haze of insect wing, moth dust, singeing carapace),
quick fizz of smoke
before a new
silent morning.

___

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2.

The gods are talking and
who, now, will listen?
( except the still heads, still ears of cats, furled limbs, breathing soft).
The songs drunken with time, beyond reasonable explanations, beyond vocabulary, even.
A world rhythm,
geologic heart,
solar wind tatters,
a raiment of light.
Bruised and blue, bullied, subdued with belief, the weight of knowing, the want of neat ends. The jazz ravings disdained, we stutter, scatter, mutter into neat insanities, inexcusable attrocities, the most urbane deniabilities: accepted gospels, ( polite murmur, a scatter of slight applause).
Damned, chained,
not fit for consumption,
bagged, tagged, dumped.
Peeled back, flayed, hearts melted, livers liquified, bones removed, it rattles yet: the endless excuses, one more throw, red or black, no more bets.
Certainly, a certain outcome.
These flickering words dissappear.
Peals of laughter.
Exit stage.
Silence.

—-

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3.

The giants, ensorcelled, (confined to the bitter end, the edge, paled and wan)
Believe they begin to believe they doubt their own existences. Instead, we have designed
Towering tree houses, worlds on a toothpick, serpents performing charity,
Clever monsters spruced up, natty dressed, elocuted, certificated
Charm themselves into, insinuate, invade and invalidate the belated wakers.
They are now the boys in charge, elegantly rewriting memory,
Railroading necessities. The taste for giants long past, evaporated ice.

——

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4.
Shall I list the devatas, the demons and angels, ( who bear the identical of names, who bear the burdens of our blame). Pinned out, wings splayed, members politely erased, genders hushed up. Who strode worlds: now only the names of new cars, lines of fashion, confections. Reincarnate as pet dogs and cats, the endless dreaming of glories, biding time.

—-

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the images are taken from a longer sequence of drawings, yet to be titled and still ongoing, an animation of stillness, a shout of silence

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Another star poem:

NIGHT PATTERNS

Looking tonight
It was a child’s game,
A peasant’s carpet.

Patterns of light
Stuck on the slow swing
Of the sky’s bowl.
Refusing to flee farther
Than over the rooftops,
Beyond the field.

Try as I might
They adhere to old
Cosmologies:
Telling stories,
Whispering names,
Herding seasons.

Yet
One spark from a star
Lodged fast in my soul.
A splinter of light,
Lost tombed in my eye.
Quick burin of night
Engraving my brain.

As I lie now
Echoes sift
The skull’s dome.

Suspended
From a million threads
I turn slowly, slowly,
About a still Pole
Whose name is mine.

————-

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Followed by another night poem:

NIGHT RAIN, SUMMER RAIN

Ripening moon
Warming breath

Through race of wind
Sharp scent of stars

Rain-grass taste
Blue supper

Black towers
On whistling wheels
Wing, scud
Trundle
Timewards.

With their first lick
Our Lady’s sides shiver

Embraced in shouts
She melts and fades

As night rains
So silk fish leap,
Flash and ripple
On the water’s face

But She swings
Like silver
Wings
Like silver bell
Around the dark dome

Rings
Sings
Shakes light
Sinks shrouded

———

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Followed by two poems of waking:

HUNG AS A HAWK

Hung
As a hawk
On the cross-beams
Of tick-tock

Spliced
By light
With the blackbird’s
River

A slim wedge
Pricks this
Bubble bright
All-swirl

The riddle orb
Cascades.

The shadow flock
Leave whispers:
Pool worlds
Flash and floating
High and dry

Leavings
Purchased with oceans-
This blanket demesne
Whose senses
Night’s scythe
Dismembered

Strewn grains
They sprout
Strong cauldron

Tinker tailor
Whets and sews
Resurrection

Nerve and sunbeam
Weld the spark
To Jolly Roger’s
Skull and bones

Ahoy!
The Last Trump!
The Seven Citied Isle!

The five floodgates
Open.

R.I.P
Drowned
In daylight.

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THE SHELL’S SONG

So long lost,
Save what is saved
For the brave wave’s winnowing.

Cast on the drift,
Drowned in the deep oh,
Drawn down in sleep,
Slip the fathoms,
The far fathoms fine.

Tumble slow in motion,
Heels over head,
And leave to care
The coves and caves,
The sloping sand
Losing time in tides:
Each beach that speaks
The long waves reach.

Breathe green for aye
The deeps
No eye
Has seen.

Sink in seven seas:
The eighth ocean
Where fishes kiss
These fingertips-
The slow shoals
Of sweet dream.

Where stars fish
The deep green dream of hue,
The skein of scale,
Glimmer shimmer of tail.

The sigh
And sough of sea
Within the shell’s siren ear.

Sigh and sough,
Sigh and sough.

Now
Fish the sea’s eye
And rise on tide’s wings.

The wind-washed world
Calls the length of leagues
To the seaweed tangle
Of your thought.

Bleached shell
Rolls a line to and fro
And rising,
Floating,
Sleep ebbs away.

Eyes closed:
The shingle sounds
Of day.

——–

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