it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
The unstoppable one
Born free, legend earned
And the original red
Under the sun, under the sun
Left few so concerned
But "friend",  spoke instead
Of this, the Geranium.



it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
The perfect model of their mind
A procedure, not one of a kind
Prove the hypothesized before
It became not a god - an egregore
Light in moving, the mind on God
The apple falling, memory lapses
A star is born, another collapses
Striking as it goes the ruddy sod
Or does it strike the man instead
As Adam, as Newton, as of old
And being struck thus in the head
A certain truth of things unfold
And also a lie - both evil and good
Vision and blindness, as he could
His mind's motion alone behold
And believe that he has understood?


The Orator Considers the Spectacle of Power

it is addressed thusly:

An ode.
it reads:
Brazen faced - speaks more in a roar
With brow furrowed, lip in a frown
Hand or shoulder cast to the fore
In expression, they call him a clown
If he is, would a sad clown he be
That he glowers at their paucity
Or a happy one, throwing down
His causus belli most merrily?

Knowing the seal of power's name
Which was once chained and bound
"Do you think this is but a game?"
In such hands it would be found
If that law which held it fast
And granted it largess en masse
Tax, conscript, regulate the ground
And strength o'er strength--!
           -- free at last.


The Sage Considers the Dusk

it is addressed thusly:
A vision.
it reads:
Now we know our night is not night
When the sun sets, it is not in the west
Even the day has been robbed of its light
And the summer wind of its breath
"The dry men, the stuffed men,"
Is the summer's breath but then
As the poet said, who went to his rest
The last breath - a gasp of the end?

Lightning flashes - the heat of the night
Erupts in a sudden and white cascade
A call of thunder is a call to fight
A horn's call - of what battles are made
But to fight where do the blind go
If the lightning broke clean did they know
Or does the shuddering make afraid
Those who scrape earth here below?

Dry grass - if such dryness had a name
A browning of soul - a birth of straw
An anticipation before the flame
Accepting its red and final law
A law of blood - not fair or slight
Once of mercy, now mickle of might
Was this the vision he once saw --
"Now we know, our night is not Night."


Sonnet VI - "Leverage"

it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
It was as though the sun would rise in the west
And Archimedes is silent; silent in fear
Would such things be done at our behest
What lever could be found to turn back that sphere?
Pull with all of your might, O mighty man
But you must push also with your feet
Raise a god with but a string in your hand
In that place where beast and overman meet
On what now does your mighty mountain rest
As now you've thrown the name of God away
A lake of fire that has no bottom? - this
Will gods not also burn in that day?
With the right amount of effort, perhaps
But he pulls too hard - the lever snaps.


The Poet and the Auspex

it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
We walk in the light of afternoon
We two - as though two were not
Myself and her - and the rising moon
In peace, though our spirits fought;

"You act as though you cannot see
Though the path is plain ahead
The white hart I saw run behind a tree
But a moment ago," she said;

"I see tracks," I said, "Though I know not of
The spirit of which you speak
Subtle they are, as daylight above
Has made my vision weak;"

"No spirit he was," she then averred
"But a being of bone and flesh.
You play as one blind, and you've preferred
To deceive me yet afresh;"

"The day is too bright to see such things
As candles glow not in the noon
If I dream we may see what the dreaming brings"
I said, though dusk was not soon;

So I sang a song I wrote of that wood
And she sang as she alone can
Of paths half-lit that lead to a rood
Of we, both woman and man;

And as though we had jested a thing out of turn
We, walking hand in hand
Tripped as though uprightness to spurn
And fell in a crease of the land;

We awake in a daze, our heads to raise
To ensure that the other was there
"Tell me then, did you dream-" she says
Quietly between draping hair;

I reply, "I saw a white deer go by
And she stopped to turn her head;
In her I hoped was the Eastern sky
But I dreamt of you instead."