10 Respect Those Elders

Perhaps I was wrong from the beginning
There is no axiom for valid
Or is? Let's talk purpose

I watched him
For so many years
I am still watching

Click n' Click
Game n' Game
Tick n' Tick your life away
I say

Wake up you bastard
Before life falls short of the ninth board
What about the rest of it?
I wanted to say

It was none of my business
Life is for one
So don't you dare
She told me

It's by our design
And who are you to say?
That this is the best design?
Another asked me

Well I guess that's that
Points taken
I'll not scream too loud to get this across

Some will build the bricks
Others will lay the roads
No lots were cast for him
This was all opted for

He and I will never truly talk though
So as I pack my bags
I'll be sure to pay respect at the current exchange rate,
On my way out

09 This is Exactly How it Happened

As I was driving across a bitter highway

I entered a blue haze

Which upon further inspection was seen

To be a cloud of dry snowfall

It was here that I realized

That I must take this paradigm of mine

And transform it, consciously

Into something else that I could more easily manage

Regardless of the fact

That I would be ignoring a particular reality

As I tried to utter this in my mind

To create a new piece of literature

I realized that poetry is the pathetic attempt

Of self-short-handed men and women

To place themselves above the people around them

By expressing their thoughts

In grammatically incoherent mumbling

And claiming this failure to use language properly

As a license of the artistic

Only further proving their incompetency

I then came home

And several hours later

I wrote this

This is exactly how it happened.

08 Roses of Rome

I remember once stumbling upon the pebbles of Rome,

And trying to recall why rose petals tasted so good.

Is it their flavor?

Or do their thorns make them a worthy meal?

I suspect it is the pigment.

As much as it may fade, it never washes out.

And with a little time,

We have ourselves an entirely new sweater to wear.

07 If I Were E.E. Cummings

"That mouse was a panzer tank and I was like, 'Woah,' and stepped back."

-Edward Hoeppner

let's go said me
but why said he
because I want to said me
no matter said he

this isn't a joke said me
I'm not laughing said he
but you're me said me
who's we said he

we?said he
indeed said me
make we said he
you must said me

I dare you said me-he
how?far said me
(too far said we)
I'll do it said me

(I'll bleed said we)
we'll see said me
nevermind said he
leave now said me

(or what said we)
I'll:I'll said me
like I thought said he
!fuck!you said me

--you first said we
deep down said me
(down below(said he
nothing )makes confusion( said We.

06 In Winter

These trees have become so much more during this winter month.
With so little left of them
I begin to understand
or comprehend
or gain glimpse.

Three seasons rotted off;
This is the nature of these trees and so many others.

I press flesh upon flesh to try to become a part of this.
But in this body I see it too.
There is a core in here
or a tree in this vessel
or a life force flowing.

Isn't it curious when it can be seen?  In winter?
How much must be removed
for this to be shown
or be brought forth
or be imagined.

These branches are concrete.  They are castles.
Hidden in a burst of birth and haze.
But today we can see them
or I can
or no one at all.

Are we any more real as ghosts?
Flesh-less?  Like the winter?

A jigsaw rendering entertainment, remove my pieces and I am
what?
Am I less; My shadows and dreams rotted?
What would a winter make of me?
or my winter ponder
or nothing at all.

While these trees,
Simply being,
Are so much more in winter.

05 Modern Thought

This phallus, standing ten feet tall,

devoid of any caress,

is a cannibalistic weapon

rather than an existential understanding.

Where is the man

in this orgy of mutilation?

04 Shrouded

I have missed the light between two snows
Failed to find the roughened diamond within a granular universe
So now I seek a You for reconciliation
The particulars of which are little concern

I attempt harmony with Gandhi
But am rather barraged with
Lowercase T's
Overlapped triangles
Sickle moons and pentagrams

I have met Joseph Goebbels
He is a man of Exacting Genius

All I have left are pages and pages
Which I must continue on with
So I may remind myself
Why I continue to breathe this air

03: A Fundamental Concern

We are kings within mountains.
Captains of its crevices and canals,
Tribunal of its tributaries.

From slow paced mannerism and lamentations: we wear down.
So close, side by side: a white cap ocean,
Becomes a rolling valley.

Our struggle to motivate one another,
Yet still unmoved: What now
Does it accomplish when we are weathered?

Us kings of mountains.
Our words: gabbled echo in the distance.
Our concepts: faint withered haze in still air.

With wisdoms and meanings and motivations still not followed,
Can us kings ever meet hand in hand
Upon summits so far apart?

02: It was the College that Killed Him

It was the college that killed him.
Looked him in the eye,
and told him no.

It was the college that betrayed him.
Told him to be quiet,
and forced him to go.

It was the college that lied to him.
Told him he could learn,
yet kept him at bay.

It was the college that scolded him.
For jumping ahead,
they got in his way.

For every book and lesson he struggled to gather,
A rule and a price is what they threw at the matter.

It was the college that maimed him.
Destroyed his desire,
And tore him to shreds.

It was the college that killed him.
Gave him diplomas,
And left him for dead.

01: Glorious Stones of Troy and Avalon

(In light of "Shine, Perishing Republic" by Robinson Jeffers)

As this globe of icy mass continues its journey - through and
   down a snow laden path of highly paved frost - it is a
   consuming entity of individuals from which I wonder where
   and who the first few flakes were that made this pact.

All in well counted and exacting time it will reach its bottom
   river bed, gloriously silencing itself in melting by the hand of
   its own primordial constituents.

Weep and fear not, unnamed kings, for the table of nobles leaves
   always room for a next, fast minded visionary to see through
   the means and endless end.

Need only a drop of water; the sands of institution be shaped
   once more, oh glorious stones of Troy and Avalon.

And when the glee of the young dawns once again I will leave my
   reservations on the porch as an old rifle of protection.

For the beach castles are already en route to cities. They are
   still just . . . child's toys in my eyes; temperaments of
   adolescence.

There will be little need for reeducation as the trade from
   tyrant to nun would all the same be oppressive, lest I presume
   the definition of a better life for all.

Rather . . . let's play together in the structure we've so proudly
   assembled and enjoy fruits for the sake of fruits' sake.

My musing observations are content enough, for now, that
   miserable understanding is always a more colorful portrait
   than blind bliss.

13: Solace

I sometimes become tired of current life;

I often grow weary of daily strife.

No longer can I maintain what many expect of me,

nor can I withstand the pressures of society.

There are those who wish to see me fail

and others who insist I must prevail.

I can't take it . . . escape! But where to go?

Alas! There's only one safe place I know.

A secret realm no other can find

deep in the recesses of my mind.

There are no expectations - simple tranquility!

There are no limits - ecstatic liberty!

I see a crystalline sea with a warm beach

and the verdant woods just beyond reach.

The sun sits right above the lurid sea,

frozen in a sunset surpassing all beauty.

I hear the ethereal serenade of the sky

and the gentle tones of a wind passing by.

The water mimics the cello in its undulating motion,

adding a harmony to melodies beyond emotion.

My stay is temporary but it feels like eternity,

burdens fly away as stress is washed from me.

My mind is refreshed, my soul is renewed;

I return to current life with a better mood.

12: Break

Too long I've dwelt in my own silence,

listening to the thoughts of those around.

Too long I've kept my opinions to myself,

never quite letting my voice to sound.

But all that is now going to change,

as I'm on the very edge of breaking . . .

I've heard the views of the world,

but it does not seem quite right.

It resonates stupidity, going in circles;

fragments missing, hidden from sight.

Are you blind to the truths I see?

Or am I the one who's blind to all?

I implore you to please listen to me,

before it's too late - before we all break.

It has already begun deep inside,

a crack venting words at every chance.

Soon my thoughts I cannot hide,

but perhaps some wisdom I may share:

Everything is now going to change,

As I'm on the very edge of breaking . . .

11: Lament

Everyday old memories cease and fade,
their creators slow to forget and pass away.
Generations of wisdom are daily unmade
as I lament for our dying elders.

It's sad how a spirit dulls with age,
a life's flame cooling to solemn dignity.
Time and experiences produce a sage,
yet in the end the reward is death.

Many secrets are taken to the grave,
our ancestors' knowledge buried in oblivion.
Too little can we preserve and save,
too much lore never to be remembered.

Dim lights are snuffed out by darkness,
their true sparks forever lost to history.
Whispers echo not in a silent abyss,
past thoughts are now but dreams.

Yet hope remains in futures still to be,
they shall listen and learn from their seniors.
Whispers become voices resounding in eternity,
past thoughts become dreams made real.

Everyday old memories cease and fade,
their creators slow to forget and pass away.
Generations of wisdom are daily unmade
as I lament for our dying elders.

10: Odyssey of Friends

What a fickle world we all live in,

never quite constant from day to day.

But between you and I, we change not within,

for friendship is unbroken till the end of time.

But now we come to where our paths diverge;

one leads to my future and one to yours.

I know not if our futures converge,

so let us linger a while and dwell on our past.

For years we've walked this road side by side,

never fully knowing where it would lead.

We thought not of the destination, only the ride,

and looking back, our memories were rich and deep.

You were my partner, competitor, and enemy,

and we lost sight of our bond along the way.

Yet still you were always there for me,

as I will always be there for you.

You were my eyes when I refused to see,

and I was your ears when you wouldn't listen.

I was your complement as you were to me,

helping each other reach the end of our own paths.

Yet our true odyssey begins here,

where we must go our separate ways.

But in my heart I'll keep you near,

hoping to see you again before the end.

09: Of Music

Part I

I know not whether it's only me

or others feel what I must say:

My mind is lost to sweet oblivion

when my cello's music begins to play.

All doubt, all worry, all pressure leaves

like a burden lifted from my soul.

The cello's resonance engulfs my senses

and its soothing melody makes me whole.

The strings vibrate beneath my fingers

like delicate ripples on a still pond.

Each note echoes in my empty self;

such is the nature of music's bond.

A reserved strength flows into every bow

like a calm breeze before the coming storm.

Every thread of sound is woven with control,

all harmonies waltzing with perfect form.

Within my ear each tone is clear,

scintillating upon my mind like light.

Strange how contrary is a cello's song,

so low and dark yet true and bright.

Fleeting all peace seems at music's end,

each second like ephemeral sands of time.

Yet when one song concludes another's born;

eternal dreams of serenity infinitely sublime.

-----

Part II

I know not whether it's only me

or others feel what I must say:

My heart recalls the somber past

when my piano's music begins to play.

Smells, sounds, and sights creep on back,

slowly weaving a loom of memory.

Things that were and things that are

merge into the piano's own melody.

The keys dance beneath my hands,

the notes binding me like a spell.

Then I hear a light rustling wind,

and sweet flowers I somehow smell.

I hear a steady nearby creek

and I see green grass and trees.

The sky is clear, the sun is bright,

and a breeze flows through the leaves.

Each note, every song, all music

has a life, a story, a history.

They tell tales and endure time,

living within my piano and me.

What happens now, the piano stops

and the memory drifts away.

There's a silence as the music ends,

only to be summoned another day.

08: Of Nature

The willow weeps, its droopy leaves become

cascading waterfalls of slow, sorrowful tears.

It stands rooted magnificent yet wizened and old,

its wisdom passed beyond the measure of time.

Dark and ominous clouds obfuscate the sky,

making the air tense and heavy in the gloom.

An eerie calm engulfs all tangible senses,

futilely shrouding the imminent storm.

The scent of fall enchants the autumn air

as the wind sweeps away summer's verdancy.

A collage of polychromatic hues burst forth,

painting a kaleidoscopic season of transitions.

Dawn arrives yet the world slumbers on,

no one awake to witness the beauty of morn.

The early sun drenches all in its orange-crimson light,

bidding everything to arise from night's oblivion.

Music is the expression of the immortal soul,

its harmonies woven from that inner note.

All melodies resound to that internal flame

as delicate tones echo forever in eternity.

Poetry is the language of the sapient mind,

the flux of words completing that urbane thought.

This humble voice will not be placid and still

so long as we are the dreamers of dreams.

Inspiration is like a pool of scintillating energy,

the source and wellspring of every contemplation.

For some it's ever-flowing, for others it's capricious -

here at present but gone with a whimsical air.

Like angels from heaven the crystal flakes descend,

drifting slowly to earth like fairies in the wind.

Thy pure white form gleams with cold sparkling beauty,

thy nature is to blanket all in a wintry vision.

The silver moon is full on this somber night,

its cool light washing over the dark scenery.

Shadows creep beneath its pale radiance

as the moon guards the entrance of dreams.

Nature stirs again at the threshold of spring.

Snow melts to green while the cold air thaws.

Young flowers bloom as birds serenade the sky,

all life awakens as the seasons start anew.

07: Breeze

The gentle breeze has a scent . . .

of grass, of trees, of the evening sky.

The gentle breeze carries a chorus . . .

of children laughing and birds passing by.

The flowing air encompasses me,

moving in and out and all around.

It releases my soul from its flesh;

no longer are my emotions bound.

The neighboring houses fade from sight

though in my memory there they'll be.

The wind tempts me away yet begs me to stay,

keeping me here yet making me free.

The gentle breeze brings me nostalgia . . .

though my home is still here.

The gentle breeze is my reminder . . .

of a place that's both near and dear.

06: Cold Beauty

Winter yields not, even to Spring's domain;

it lingers yet, though its powers wane.

The air is chilled in one last breath.

What irony! as cold meets its death.

Winter cries tears of icy rain;

its sorrow clings to roofs in vain,

its mark binds to branch and tree -

what now remains is cold beauty.

The world is frozen once more,

and all is crystal ice like before.

It blooms white like flowers of cold,

alive but not, delicate yet bold.

The winds make it crackle and chime,

succumbing it at least to the cycles of time.

Spring gains strength while Winter has none.

Ice flowers melt as cold beauty is undone.

05: Returned

Long years it has been

since I've walked this path.

Many ages ago it seems

since I've heard people laugh.

Here I stand once again

amongst the ruins of my past.

I reminisce on a former life

trying to make each memory last.

Now I painfully weave

the infinite threads of time;

each fragment being pieced

within the confines of my mind.

The melody of remembrance

seems more distant than near.

These delicate strains of music

I summon to my ear.

And yet the more I recall

the more I see the change.

This once too familiar place

how now grown . . . strange.

The trees, once tall and proud,

have become wizened and old.

Even the once bright azure sky

now seems dull gray and cold.

But even with the broken shards

of the glory days of yore,

I shall put forth my strength

and restore it to times before.

For I have returned . . .

04: Moonlight Race

Tonight I gaze into the twilight sky,

observing the moon way up high.

Its light, a peaceful glow,

calms all that shelters below.

The pale radiance fills my sight

as it pierces through the velvet night.

How it promenades with the stars above,

laughing and dancing like fairies in love.

Suddenly a change in pace,

across the heavens it does race.

The moon, Luna's chariot, quickly flies,

moving to the distant horizon before my eyes.

So close now the mood does seem

as the sky awakens from night's dream.

Darkness is now fading ever so slow

as the aura of day begins to glow.

The horizon's so near but not quite there;

the moon wanes as the sun ignites the air.

Through morning mist the moon disappears,

so far from its goal yet still so near.