Mirage

Happy National Poetry Day everyone!

Photography Luca Zanon

Photography Luca Zanon

Mirage

When answers shift like grains of sand

twists to tongue like traders in a foreign land

Truth becomes a camel

sucking sustenance deep into enamel

sifting for parsing hopes

built on childish slopes;

it will last

until the next repast

humanity colored with invisible ink—mirage

success would never dare presage.

Of Truth and Milkmen

Truth, like milk, arrives in the dark
But even so, wise dogs don’t bark.
Only mongrels make it hard
For the milkman to come up the yard.
~Christopher Morley, Dogs Don’t Bark at the Milkman

English: American journalist and writer Christ...

American journalist & writer Christopher Morley with American publisher & writer Mitchell Kennerley (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Like a river

Like a river

it’s all just one-way

around the bend, they say

just another lap down the whipple-waves

of human faces, frothing

for a pound of flesh

mermaids

with claws more like

singing out the sounds of life

the lurid lure into the deepest depths

humanity always spoils before

shorelines are an issue

no, ser not me

you’ll not drink the soul

but every protest comes half-hearted

the waves, once seen, always longed for

by child-mind, learned not learning

that the whispers really hide

men’s shapes.

Willpower

Affirmation of the Day: Lies are what we tell ourselves in the mirror at night. Truth is the mirror’s reply.

Will to power. Willpower. Do I have the will to achieve power? You must be the change you wish to see in the world. It would be hypocritical to have it any other way, yet the hypocritical is what we excel at. I should know. I’m just as human as anyone else.

It may be true, but can the truth be handled? The truth always has the potential for deeper harm than lies. Lies can be dismissed. Yet the truth, once known–inescapable, all-encompassing. Man comes to the crossroads: do I have the will? I have the longing–the dream, he thinks, but the will, well, I could say yes and the world would never be the wiser, I could say yes but I do think I would be lying. I would know that I was lying, even if the world doesn’t know.

History, after all, points to the contrary.

Man stands longing at the crossroads, mired in the wait, for a lack of perseverance to press forward. The easiest path is often the path that leads nowhere at all–the circular trail to nowhere.

I depend on my perceptions of reality–on the pre-conceived boundaries as set by society. Dwelling on this issue, no matter–trying to come to terms. I really on the work of others. I profess independence, yet I hide amidst the foundations of cozy uniformity. Go with the flow. Don’t think too hard, it will come in time.

Waiting, what is with all the waiting? Man can but shake his head.

Good things come to those who wait.

How cruel is that? Untrue as well–the world must be moved, and someone must take the courage to move it. So it always goes. The waiting is merely waiting for someone else to do what you might have done. Such a notion! Surely man recoils at the insinuation. Yet reality looms: I call myself free, he whispers, yet I am content to submissive docility, waiting for the changes I wish to see, writing about them, idolizing them, but never once myself for the doing.

Waiting on the world to change. Still waiting. As the song says, one day this generation is going to rule the population…and what changes?

The ultimate question put before man at that crossroads comes not long after this thought: am I weak, than? Is it a factor of strength and weakness, or do some people simply have this capability–this fortitude for change–and others inherently don’t?

All answers lie in the self. But how does one strengthen the self? Through will. How does one strengthen their will, their resolve? A much more difficult prospect altogether. The first step to believing, after all, is having the will to do so.

Crutch

No dream may suffice

in lieu of waking glances.

Still life holds love destitute,

such that dreams become vision,

the lie on which heart relies.

* Oh I do so loathe my stomach, at times, for all its troubles.

Forgive this poet’s absence this evening. The above is my submission for One Stop Poetry, and it may not be my best work, but it was produced under a day of food poisoning…which consequently is the same reason you may detect a noticeable disappearing act from me tonight. I’ll likely read as I can, but I’ve been keeping quite to bed today, and given how my stomach’s still acting, I don’t foresee that changing shortly.

Over-Saturation

 

Photo by Sean McCormick.

It is a rush—world—

Nothing holds not still above the

Colored creations of memory.

Years in the making the foundations

Sound and solid arise yet

Time bleeds into the framework,

The tumble of tumultuous tints tingeing like

Rainbows bursts of blown out washers –

We don’t forget, but the lines they

Blush against the battery of luminescent life –

We color detail till it all seems dreams,

And the world it circles and it sighs

And we’re rolling in the dyes of little lies

Watching change day by day.

Just beware of

Over-saturation.

* My submission to the latest One Shoot Sunday Photo Prompt, with that lovely barn/grainery shot provided by one Sean McCormick, a Canadian Photographer that is the focus of my latest interview for One Stop. Great guy, with some truly stunning nature photography…it absolutely breathes with life, history, and all the shadows of memories gone before. Have a look when you get the chance, and check out all the other poets inspired by the prompt!

Perceptions

Divinity in a smile

These eyes, like stars alight

To stoke the fires of this passionate

Elation, embrace of thought

That tickles yet the nervous breath

Coiling through the nerves—

Sensory serendipity.

Watching this Mirage

Deception of romance

Serpentine coils of medusan gaze

Wrapping around this memory

Of a man, once knowing

These lines, unrestricted,

Entwining about his heart.

The portrait and the face

Smiling through the frown

Of this imaginary madness

We’ve come to call a life

Will this define

Or refine

Your perception of meaning?

What dreams we greet

To hide the nightmare

Of reality.

Deception

Photo by Chris Galford

The fire dips beneath the azure sea;

All eyes turn to their own hands.

No one spies the serpents slithering

From the long stretched shadows

Of a garden ripe with glistening fruit.

Demons whisper in the peoples’ ears—

The straw cast down,

The crows descend.

Fruit rots and garden fades—

Ravens circle high above

The corpses of the fools.

Old men stir within their ancient tombs—

The dream is dead,

Another Rome, decayed.

For The Thursday Poets Rally, Week 28.

Set Me Free

Set me off into the Black

far beyond the stars

set me off into the Wild

far beyond the wilderness.

Set me free of mortal hearts

and weighted thoughts,

so low, so low,

and break these chains that

bind me to this coil—

what life,

what prison

now is this?

Press the suit and

straighten up that tie,

you are a man, it says

but you are just a boy

playing at a world of

mysterium and drama that has

devoided itself of plot.

There is a key

to thee and thine and mine,

and nestled just behind that door

is freedom yet incarnate.

In a breath, breathe—

so few have ever tasted

the freshness of the air—

recycled reconfigurations of reality—

that will be your paycheck please—

and this feeling is not falsified,

unbound, unguarded it yearns

for the taking—just breathe—

and feel the air,

feels, felt, feeling

this momentary being—

all I want is to breathe

and to feel, yet to be,

to stretch beyond perception

and feel the days beyond

that calendar—no shifts scheduled here.

No vacancy,

sincerest apologies

this mind is mine and yet

one waits beyond, yet yours—

this mirror of a soul you grasp

what a reflection is it not?

There is the dawning,

the rain is falling down

and through the swirl of purple haze,

these diamonds dribble through the

emerald leaves, like tiny lovers—

in your caress, this breath unbidden

slithers through my chest

and down into my roots—

I am born again, stretching

for the clouds.

Air, give me air,

Prayer and dream and reverie

are forever in the field—

give me space to work.

My latest contribution to the wonderful One Shot Poetry Wednesdays! Once you’ve had a look, check out some of the other One Shot Poets as well– they’re a skilled bunch of poets, looking to form a community and support one another.  Enjoy!