4.28.2015

Wormwood


it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
Behold, I saw the sun of democracy
Wormwood, falling from the sky
Rising on men in perpetuity
Burning them to make them die
Poisoning the waters to punish men
Without a thought or intelligible word
Its absinthe men have first preferred
But later, with regret for it then
"Only when the country is last empty
No stone upon a stone can you see
Will hope return from its desolate end"
Behold, this is the sun of democracy.

Fifty Shades of Grey

it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
All things are zero and one
Though not seen by the naked eye
Not witnessed in the shifting sky
Whose gradient does softly run
And run down are all things
From bumping into what is not
Through with void all things are shot
Shot through in their hammerings
Yes. all things are zero and one
Grey is not discovered, but is arranged
The black and white are not strange
No, there is naught new under the sun
But color exists; as new as the day
Among those things that still are
And all perception of near and far
And all intelligence, every wise way
Fall among the zero and one
Is and is-not, and Is and Is-not
A thought and an absence of thought
An act and an act yet undone
To do and to know is but binary
Though harrowed with images false
That they tore down from the walls
And have only imagined multiplicity
Discern before the pointed gun
That black you are and no shade of grey
Not a new thing passes beneath the day
To see color, you must see the sun --
All things are still, zero and one.
a postscript is here written:
Adage #1: "Fantasy without morality is pornography"

4.24.2015

The Orator To The Soothsayers

https://www.flickr.com/photos/8525214@N06/2918055523

it is addressed thusly:
A thought.
it reads:
"What is new is old", the teacher said
The spring comes and comes again
The new year lives, the old is dead
But the new year lives and dies the same
Mark my words, you who understand all things
You say wisdom only great sadness brings
But is grief not anger and anger not zeal
And what is grief to those who do not feel
At least a twinge of regret for love lost
Those thus wise hope for eternal return
Pray for a generation that need not learn
For a generation who need not count the cost
Dreamers without a vision, visions without light
Do they still yearn?
                                    Do they still yearn
For an end or a beginning, real or glossed
Are their elucidations radiant in the night
Does the fire in the belly still simmer and burn
Or did they court and jilt Wisdom in turn
Of both his face and his shadow in deathly fright
You who understand, who can explain all things
Where is Wisdom's merry voice that sings
Where are his tears, for our sake in holy bliss
On account of his friend-betrayer's kiss
Which were wept, on which the earth fed
You fearful, where yet is your holy dread
"What is truth?" as if to hide from this
"What is new is old", the teacher said.

4.22.2015

A House United


it is addressed thusly:

A vision
it reads:
A castle which stands upon nothing at all
Seen by those walking quickly by
In a shadow of its great monstrance
They dare speak not ill, but fully serve
A meal given of our last substance
To the hungry birds, poor and ravenous
Men in lines and cues, black and white
Given without measure, Given without measure,
Men in lines and cues, black and white
To the hungry birds, poor and ravenous
A meal given of our last substance
They dare not speak ill, but fully serve
In a shadow of its great monstrance
Seen by those walking quickly by
A castle which stands upon nothing at all.

4.21.2015

Rosemary Green

https://www.flickr.com/photos/nein09/7572832152

it is addressed thusly:

An ode.
it reads:
Of golden wave, as when seen
The crest rising as dawn may be
Calling ascending day, Rosemary Green
She weaves, in deep memory
A thread of gold, she saw it
Others saw a blinding bow
Of what might be, Of what might be
She knew not, but did duly fit
Stitching and tearing above and below
The song that ordered the sea
Thinking not but to keep thought
Busy, await arising from is, ought
She be as clever as true Penelope--
As dear as one for whom Troy was fought?

4.20.2015

No Man

it is addressed thusly:
A thought.
it reads:
No man is a single idea alone
Though in our mind he become
A principle one, heavy as a stone
His utterances then made dumb
For the sake of our memory
How do we remember any more
Then our ten and seven score
Allotted by the power that be
Yet they ask us to love the world
Though whether it be flat or curled
I cannot recall, though abstractly
I see it, a star-tossed stone hurled;

You have objectified me, they cry
As though not objects at all
These speaking bodies, they are sly
And not deficient in gall
We lack not systems which coerce
And what but death does law bring
Turn the edge away, turn away its sting
The subjects riot and make it worse
The game, if wiser than a stone
Learn limitation, and once it is known
Know how much is kept in a name
No man is a single idea alone.

4.15.2015

Eggman

https://www.flickr.com/photos/psyberartist/6686826117

it is addressed thusly:
A song.
it reads:
We are slighted by their presence
- but such is the way of diversity
If they come together, will it be pleasant
No, that is not even hard to see
As its center cannot hold
Ever coming apart, coming apart
Though pushed at every side
Fold under fold
                            Fold under fold
Of its dried out and crumbling heart
Slide then, cleft and drift and slide
And become again as of old
"Humpty dumpty sat on a wall
Humpty dumpty had a great fall"
And of that eggman we are not told
What from him hatched -- anything at all?

4.09.2015

Will and Testament

https://www.flickr.com/photos/paullew/3417336857

it is addressed thusly:
A thought.
it reads:
They would not had they known
But he knew they would not
He came forth as their will had shown
As one willing to be caught
His own of his own as Joseph of old
Found it just to be done with it
To have him cast alive into the pit
And thirty coins the price of him sold
A year's rent for the king of life
As those who sell their brother
To make peace with their own strife
Because he would be king of another?
And the world altogether is no more
For though it endure for a trillion year
Though to us it be more than dear
Than thirty silver - a ten and a score.
O small one, while you cast out God
For a life rich in your own pride
Or your family that you may quietly nod
Folding your hands, warm inside
One other has broken all the worlds for him
And the narrow seeing it, is made grim
At this, for ourselves we must groan
On this day, cast aside then every whim
"They would not, had they known."
a postscript is here written:
Since the time of the Apostles (in 2015, this would be nearly 1982 years) a fast has been declared on Wednesdays, in memory of the woman who poured out the costly ointment, and the disciple who sold his master for a pittance of silver in an envious response. As it is written, "When the bridegroom is no longer with them, then they will fast." Steel yourself against betrayal by mortifying the flesh with a fast.

NOTE:

After comparing the world to thirty silver we compare the costly ointment, worth perhaps 300 silver at that time, to all of the worlds. It was as though it was not enough for her to dedicate but the earth to God, but all of the worlds must be dedicated to him. All of the worlds will perish in fire, as a burnt offering to God; and like her, they may be remembered forever as a blessing, or as with Judas, a curse. Such is the role of material things - they are not, ultimately, 'sustainable', but are gifts to be offered back in glorious fire.

4.06.2015

The Orator Dismisses his Accuser

https://www.flickr.com/photos/alaskaent/16117496567

it is addressed thusly:
A vision.
it reads:
Not I, for I am not an aesthete
In them there is too much love
For that which they cannot complete
Life is pain enough just thinking of
How crooked the boughs bent down
A merciless gaze of True Beauty
In which there is no kindness or duty
At least has the dignity to frown;

Too much love of woman as thing
The humanist; with the image of Man
A Bachanalian in his cups to sing
Of which way his last fancy ran
It is thingness all the way down
Do not objectify, but love beauty?
But if lovely, then is love duty
And to possess all but then to frown?

Even the subject is an object with Man
A mystery of two paths must go
They say it is fine for those who can
But the have-nots must all know
But God bless the child, for gone-down
Is the reaching-across that is Beauty
Drowned now in the sea of strange duty
Lost is even her ephemeral frown;

You have made it all one thing or another
But is there not a wondrous pleasure
In writing 'she', just about one other
- an alien like myself without measure?
Sorrow, fear, laugh, at the last sundown
Write whatever you think is 'beauty'
But know, you who live without duty
You will live always with a frown.

4.03.2015

The Sage Speaks Of The Social Medium

https://www.flickr.com/photos/davidking/5940700324

it is addressed thusly:
A thought.
it reads:
To him the digital person assails
A true fake, but a heinous facade
Though something here strikes us odd
A test of truth most quickly fails
Had he looked in the mirror of late
But yet forgotten man's constant estate

Does the medium make man deceive
Is that the message it must always send
Does anyone decode at the other end
"All sense through a medium receive"
So says The One Who Knows such
And about this he might say as much

He who knows not himself at all
Is a fiction; but that story is his own
Though his time and face be on loan
From remembrance he did always fall
Man deceives everyone without a care
And the medium of that fiction is the air.

4.02.2015

The Good Mother

https://www.flickr.com/photos/timtom/1417336029

it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
Kind of heart; as all gracious-kind
Not a creature of war, but of victory
What price paid would still find
What was given to us yet for free
A keeper of every needy soul
Though herself not in body great
A small, soft and clever thing
Of grace, full;

                         Of graceful
Motion, Of low and lowly estate
Of quiet, though quietly we sing
About such our words sound dull
The good mother; in labor refined
As fine silver, as the salt just mined
If she will submit to be made whole
In just a word her Man will she find.

4.01.2015

Third

it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
Ruddy child of March she called
When at last we were worried
Taking matters into our hands
Were they stalled; Were they stalled
Or were we far too hurried
God's gift, on her merit stands
May her gardens be wide-walled.