Casual Cost

Into the ancient woodland stand
Comes the woodman, axe in hand.
Trunks around him, bold and still,
Felling one, his certain will.
His work is long, his labour vast,
His practised muscles tire at last.
The slow relentless deepening vee
Takes its toll on man and tree.
And at length the forest quakes
As the axe, the falling makes.
The man sits down with tired content,
The battle won, the lumber rent.

In a forest far away
A mark is left - "fell today."
The chainsaw roars, the chips fly out
'Beware, another tree', they shout.
Each man moves on to fell one more
His blood is stirred by bonus score.
He harvests profit-bearing tops,
Dollars rise and timber drops.

 --------------------------
 John S. worked in a gardening business and loved the labour saving chainsaw. It made me think how we lose touch with certain kinds of knowledge as we place machines between our muscles and the action they perform. Neither right nor wrong - simply is. People have interpreted this poem as anti-modernization or pro-green. It is neither (or both if that is the way you read it): it is simply a reflection on actions having consequences - some desired and intentional, some unintentional, some undesired. It is a 'systems theory' poem, so to speak.

Dogma's Catastrophe (Senryu)

Ancients' word storms spew
Pillaging dictionaries
And burning wisdom.

 -----------------------------------------------------
(The destruction of the library of Alexandria). In 391CE one of the greatest store-houses of knowledge of the ancient world, the Library at Alexandria was largely destroyed at the behest of Bishop Theophilus for fear of the knowledge it contained. (This was not the first disaster to befall the library, but was the most deliberate act of vandalism). Dogma was at the root of the next 1000 years of superstition, persecution and fear - a time when, for want of libraries, 'heretics' were burned instead.

Two Senryu

[Senryu has the syllabic form of a Haiku but its content is not a pithy response to a observation from nature as a strict Haiku should be] Senryu/Haiku seem to be an ideal form of poetry for texting Senryu 1 - Stiletto Hope brought by ring tone To disappointment fast changed "No": the lonely text Senryu 2 - Bond-age Car stuck in traffic Thus message read, concluding From Rush Hour with Love.

Plagiarists - an acrostic poem

People wanting to impress
Liking scores, but not the mess,
Achievements not by merit earned,
Grades, ratings, so devoutly yearned.
Insincerely claim as own
All the while the lie is known.
Reaping praise for other's work,
Inwardly pleased by growth they shirk. So they record in review logs
Thoughts returned by pedagogues.
Sloathful oafs these larcenous dogs.

 [This was originally written for another site on which reviews were submitted for poetry - hence the reference to 'review logs' - and involves the rather paranoid fancy of someone stealing poetry from that site, submitting it elsewhere, and then submitting the review of a third party back to the original site, thus becoming a double plagiarist.]

The Ages of Man

The official form asks for my age, Demands I write it on the page. I puzzle long to brain engage. Is that my age? Fifty winters past, emerged From womb by strong contractions purged And midwives encouraging, urged. Is that my age? Proteins form and cells decay Some last a week, some fade today. Their passing causes no dismay. Is that my age? My present "I" became just now, And vanished 'ere it wrinkled brow. My "I" has changed you must allow. Is that my age? Within my living frame and cell Are metals from star's fiery hell, Some billion years have past as well. Is that my age? The being that thinks this thought By many teachers it is taught Has earlier lives within it, caught. Is that my age? As adolescence moves me on From child to adult I become, The father now formed from the son. Is that my age? And "I" am just a blank abstraction, Drawn to be by mental traction Existing not for merest fraction. Is that my age?

Marks and words.

Observe me well – for I am you.
Until you read me, nought I’ll do.
As cryptic as a Zebra’s pattern,
Lifeless and remote as Saturn.
 Dark and closed lie I, all hidden
Until to life, by eye I’m bidden.
And though I blow your mind asunder
The energy is yours – what wonder!
 My nature’s like a catalyst.
My power, alone, does not exist.
I cannot even hunt my prey:
With endless patience here I lay.
 People say I’m witty, slick,
But I’m no brighter than a brick.
When left alone without your aid
I’m duller than a shadow’s shade.
 Rejoice – you’ve opened up my tomb,
I’ve used your mind to be my womb.
‘Tis true my parents thoughtful were,
But I’ve been trapped where no thoughts stir.
 Perhaps you fear what you’ve aroused
Unready for the daemon housed.
No vampire I, to fear and curse
But simply lines of cunning verse.

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This poem does not really apply to cathartic verses, but for all the remainder that want to share an idea, feeling, thought, vision, story etc, it takes two to tango.

Expressions - if only I could live up to the aspiration

To say what's on my mind - I write. Some say this self expression's right. But say, do I the right possess To conjure feelings which distress? To hurt the body is unkind. Do we resist to hurt the mind? A word's intangible attack Leaves pain and scar without a smack. Words cunning crafted by skilled wright Convert mere thought to magic rite, And if they're framed with dark intent What right have I these thoughts to vent? Phrases woven, spells and charms, Rendering comfort and dire harms, Entrusted with a calming power Or to crush ones inner flower. With bitter words, distress we make, Trailing tangles, hearts we break. In what way is pain of mind Than fleshly torment less unkind? The words that I so glibly write Are wrapped in thunderclouds of might. In form, quite empty, vacuous, soft But dealing lightning from aloft. And so I wish that from my pen No poisons ever flow again. But even as these lines I write With bitter barbed riposte I fight.

Reflection

From long before your birth was fact, A true companion, match exact Other half of your conception Shun his face through self deception. Wrought from fabric of your being Wholly spend your life in fleeing This your shadow - needs no sun - Blind panic'd race that can't be won. Are you so ashamed of your mate To catch their eye, you truely hate? At ebbing moment of last breath You must accept your brother - death. ---------------------------------------- ["All component things are subject to decay and dissolution"]

Knowing

[listen to poem]
 The taste of a lover's lips,
A smile across a pillow,
Deeply inhaled fresh coffee.
These are things we know,
Vibrantly alive.

 A Christmas morning's wild excitement,
Heart skipping first kiss,
The first best-friend of childhood.
These are things we knew,

Once so alive.
Recollections of long past passion
Retelling of a might-have-been
Recalling happenings gone forever.
Stored husks, erstwhile known,
Shades of the dead.
 Rumors, gossip, whispering voices,
Stories passed down fragile chains,
Twisted hints and innuendo.
Counterfeits of what is known,
Golems wandering in the mind.
 Dogma, doctrine, forms of words,
Things we learn to chant and say,
Ornate formal speculation.
Few indeed their substance know,
Stoney forts on roots of clouds.
 Shades of knowing
Murky waters
Fictions Factions Lost in fog.

Afterlife (or after life)

We are the afterlife
Of that which came before.
We dwell in the now
Of that which builds our store.
We are the pre-birth
Of beings ever more.
 Each life a spark
Showered from bonfire heap.
Each life a wave
Cast up from ocean deep.
Each life a head
Cut down in harvest reap.
 One life a bead strung,
Eternity's pearl-string.
One life a dust mote,
Universe's world-ring.
One life a ghost haunt,
Existence's being.
 Look up to heavens
See your fragment-space.
Look across time's scope
Life step in cosmic race.
Look into your heart
Of diamond, facet-face.
 Don't dwell in a vale
With small views, selective.
Climb to a high place
Afterlife's perspective.

Life Sentience

Shimmering opalescence ... Indwelling presence ... Immaterial zephyr Stroking life ... Immanency manifest ... Insubstantial, Stirring worlds ... Field of dreams. All that I am, And more. Entire vault Of Being.

The Goal and the Path

Rush on forward 

Goal in mind. 

Seek the end 

Never look behind. 

 

Present moment 

Dead as dust 

Rush hell bent 

Terminal lust 

 

Meteroic 

Pausing never 

Mad, euphoric 

Surge on, ever 

 

Until at last 

The goal is gained 

All pleasures passed 

No joys retained.

Holy War

These desert bands With mission clear Right to our walls Bring threat and fear. They would not speak, They would not bend. Our death they seek, Our world, they'd end. Their act, God's will Their claims appal. Gives me a chill Fanatics all. For seven days Our lives they knew Family ways The same as you. A deed of shame This day they did. By act they're marked No rite can rid. Our high towers Destroyed and crushed By crafty powers Brought down to dust. Our ruined heaps, Their killing blow. For us, who weeps? Poor Jericho. [Joshua ch6]

Oral Passion

Lingering, lust-laden, bitter bite,
Sumptuous, sensual, strong delight.
The need for more sets soul afire
Propriety consumed by dark desire.

Consuming passion of true gourmand
Perfected answer to all that's bland
Strong noir essence to smell and sight
Deep rich cloying tongue's delight.

Reverencing the taste of passion
With lips besmirched in casual fashion
Savouring its immoral lure
Destroys the hope of any cure.

 
Fulfilment coming to your mouth
From the tropics of the south.
An appetite one cannot sate
For darkest, purest chocolate.

The Disease - dedicated to all sufferers

One sip, it takes no more. 

One taste, it forces wide the door. 

One contact, feel your heart to soar. 

One more, and recklessly adore. 

 

Each wild moment, bold deceit. 

Each euphoric high, a cheat. 

Each fresh shot you'll take it neat. 

Each loose passion, filled with heat. 

 

It's the meaning to your life. 

It's a blade, serated knife. 

It's the fire of joy and strife. 

It's more dear than man to wife. 

This madness is a daemon cursed. 

This obsession, raging thirst. 

This shattered dam, with deluge burst. 

This love, of evils is the worst.

Lightning Coming

Up came lightning, rippling, crackling, And the tender tension grew, All the air was moistly heavy, Racked and writhing, tightly tense. Deep the distant rumbles raged on, Deep the moans and purring passion. Lightning lit the wraith-edged skyline, Waiting, wanting, gasping breath drawn. Static crackled from the tree tops, Shivering shudders shook her frame. On the gusts the storm came closer Driven by each stroke it came. Riven by the lightning striking, Lifted, pulsing, passion-claimed.

Merry Go Round [Samsara]

Born into this life. Why? To live, to sense, to love, But in the end, to die. Vow: never again. Withdrawal's sad pain. Cry, Acid tears. What gain? Ecstatic sweet sensual delights! Fruitless. Nigh insane. Yearning taste and touch of sultry nights. Craving the tender touch of human skin Sweet caress of form, desire alights. Thirsting abyss opens up within. Choose! Now! Drawn down or new dawn? On the roulette wheel of life, one more spin. Another fix - delusion borne. Such pain, agony and rejection By which a fresh life is torn Just the sweet price of resurrection. Swallowed up within the dark From shuddering pleasure's perfection Leaps forth life's sublime spark. Created by the pleasures of the night, Rage strikes ground in ivory arc. Lo, here am I. Behold, the parasite. My world orbiting my life, I come first. All exists subservient to my plight, Let none frustrate my slightest whim or thirst. Now bow before my self-made carbon throne. Chaos and formless void by me reversed, Meaning and shape depend on me alone. Heavenly bliss to evermore endure, Weightless warm dark suffused with mantric drone, Dreaming phantasies of pure rapture. Involution's urgent shove, Bright shaft guides from the yawning aperture, Extruded painfully above. Born into this life. Why? To live, to sense, to love, But in the end - to die.

Nightmare for a long journey

I stood and viewed with horror, Before me, carnage clear. Eternally I'll be haunted By the death cries oh so near. It will stay with me forever That human desperate sound The screams and fatal panic As all that finery was drowned. I watched with rising tears, Relief, escape from slaughter, I stood and watch in horror The grey enclosing water. Brothers, lovers, sons and friends All swept away like dross Now the tears that arose in me Were for massacre and loss. How could I doubt our leader? He was guided by the One. But doubts I had on seeing this, Those doubts would ne'er be gone. He is the One, the power of all The ultimate monarch high And yet in all his wisdom, Dealt out slaughter from the sky. To escape from Egypt's thrall Our cause was right and just. But my heart goes out to an enemy Who was doing what they must. On that day of our relief We saw an awful sight. The mass making of widows By theocratic might.

Alamogordo

The wizened wizards working
On potent powers dismal
To summon forces lurking
Deeply hidden, dark, abysmal.
 Their mysterious enchantments
Unleash a daemon foul.
What calculated conjuring prevents
Its pestilential prowl?
Spinning spells of might
They struggle night and day
To quell its burning bite,
To return its heart to clay.
 From deep down delvings,
Strove the fearsome fiend arisen
And in its wake came hellish things
Let loose from timeless prison.
 The formless fiend with wake of maim
Destroys all love and life.
But the muttering magicians claim
They did not cause the strife.
 “The fiend was not by us formed
We merely let it loose.
It feeds on human greed and hate
These are its nutrient juice.”

 “You wish us to release its power
And curse us when we do.
We laboured long to grant your wish.
The guilt rests equally with you.”

 The commoners and overlords
Point each one to the other.
Grasping all on innocent swords,
Quick each one blames another.
 And so the daemon grows in strength,
A feast around it laid.
Their craft reduced it not one tenth,
By love alone unmade.

In the beginning

Some folks believe they praise the Lord, By telling all in words quite awed, Of how he made the world, pre-packed, Ready-made and instant fact. Now when I look around in awe The things that really drop my jaw Are not what's mummified, unchanging But all the miracle rearranging. Improve, progress and better grow. In that's the wonder that I know. In seeing seed to blossom sprout: Here creation's victory shout. A mind that can all worlds expand From singularity small as hand. Now there's true source of majesty Endowed with cosmic liberty. To shrink down gods to size of man Is blasphemy deserving ban. To credit gods with tiny vision Is to treat them with derision. This cunning snare of the deceiver, There to trap naive believer. When creation's tale was written Already fruit forbidden bitten. But this, like all, is just some verse. To treat as fact, that's the curse. Its simply fuel for the mind. To feed on as own truth you find