So clean and so neat

Doesn’t it just insist

That there is a steady beat

That things persist

But the static on the screen

Seems less uncanny

Than what is plainly seen

All or any

Tidy

On the shelf

Tides are never tidy

You’re talking to yourself

Slip and fall into a pool of summary

Drowning for a grip

In a sea of solipsistic symmetry

Till there is a slip

And a billion points of light

Reveal the origin

The tidiness of sight

Complete in shattered pieces of a glass of gin

O you somber

There in myriad ringing notes

O

Cast forth from Crete

As the eleventh hour floats

Abdicate mere merriment

Be fleet

In bending sail with wind of sacrament

Angel of weeping

Mourn now Dionysus as his blossom wilts

Raise your crown and kiss Persephone

Her silver foots procession

Be friendly unto us for we have torn free

Our beards at a season that knows not youth’s possession

Gird our loins incline our ears to listen

To the subtle symmetry of spheres

How the tears they glisten

With the awry wearing of eternal years

Yet the heart is young

Beating fast

Thundering strong

O to last

Our hope is in you – your song

Thumos – hold fast

To you o minstrel at the gate

O solemn master singer

The hour is late

Give us strenth to ever linger

Roll forth now and down the way

Through the depressions go among lillies lay

There you’ll find the sunshine in strange pockets

There in atmosphere too rarefied for rockets

For far beyond the sun there is

All that is a whispered breeze

Yes to learn of all of this

Far beyond corporeal symmetries

Is to grasp the writhing Asp

Pluck the tail from its fanged grasp

And hold a fresh flower in the dew

For there’s no such thing as you

A poem to hold you over dear and patient visitors. I am in the process of rendering a video which will be uploaded sometime in the next twelve hours. Thanks for stopping by. You are always greatly appreciated.

Ranging through the mist

The mountains and the valleys twist

As if flicked by capricious wrist

Who had only time to get the gist

Is there really any way to list

That to try to play the scientist

Will result in deeper mist

There are things we know

Things that are not shadowed

Memories seen before they’d grown

Such familiars as Notre Dame and the causeway where giants tred

Yet glad are they that have seen more

Them that have scorned nepenthe and her balm

Have brought the back into the fore

For there were many towers

Oh to gaze upon these stones, this mud, this litter

To wind back a billion hours

Set black lamps aglitter

Such light as would restore old Odotheus

Sublime in wisdom are her spires

Triumphant curling colonnades

Wreathed in heather and in briars

Sacred sycamores there stand

On ground again to be discovered

By sons whose sturdy hand

Though blind is never overpowered

For Athena is the daughter of their mother

Whose voice is sweet with wisdom

Guiding captains who dream of the sacred truth called other

That lies beyond the Kingdom