The Vision Grand

A single cycle of seasons.

The Vision Grand

The pattern floating cloudlike on moments of sharp focus
For ever permeating dreamily throughout moods and climates
With every port or pier abandoned still distant vistas ever-viewing
As hope ignores the pattern in its desperate whirlings

So Spring brings its illusions, Summer its sultry pleasures momentary,
Autumn its chill foreshadowing, and Winter its destruction of all before it
It is appointed unto All one single cycle of seasons
Indifferent, inexorable, in progress even now speaking

The dream gives power to longing, longing to the dream
As human blood begins its journey anew, lovers joining constant
Into birth, into false hope, into future joinings, blind and striving
For this world presents no dilemmas except to those
Crazed by hope

Drips of Oil

We see our each reality
Through lenses of desire
That frame eventuality
And lead us far-from-higher

It’s all an aberration, though:
Just drips of oil, pooling,
We try to light, although they be
Just fantasy and fooling

So every day, the cycle goes,
And there’s no breaking free:
The wasted lost desire world
Of ugly men

Like me

Where She Got Lost…

Where she got lost, she couldn’t say
She only knows, she’s there –
A thousand million miles away
From almost everywhere

Now, those who’ve never been its pawn –
Depression hasn’t scarred –
Think: rouse yourself, and just move on;
It shouldn’t be that hard

But like a hood over her head
She cannot see to walk;
Well-meaning friends, full-sighted, fed,
Aren’t really ones to talk

Although, she’s grateful that they’re there
Wherever that might be –
She’ll just keep going, breathing air
In hopeless
Expiry

Sic Transit Gloria Nihil

(or “Old Poem, Written Age 18”)

We live in a world full of false attribution,
Where people smear filth and then call it ablution;
Where lies are the most common type of pollution,
And all that gets over are cheaters and cons —

We breathe in the air of congenital aping,
Our souls full of holes that are growing and gaping
While no word of truth from our lips is escaping,
Misleading our brothers and sisters, our pawns —

We die in this place of eternal damnation
Without ever knowing we’re needing salvation;
And wait till the last to feel our consternation,
And only then claiming our crimes to forswear —

We’re buried with all that is totally rotten,
And sooner than later, we’re all but forgotten,
And wrapped in our silks or our nylon or cotton
We still try to speak, but we don’t have a prayer

another great wall

in disrepair, neglected,
emptied out of much of value,
a part of town where you and i
don’t go

in corners made for sitting,
and in windows stark and glaring,
a couple of chip wrappers and
some blow

in kindergarten, once, there were
some gold stars and a ribbon,
a child disremembered
and abjured

in disrepair, neglected,
emptied out of much of value,
beside a wall where nothing is
assured

except that minutes
have to be

endured

Made of Life

The ache that is we couldn’t know
Our eyes could not foresee
It’s everywhere we look it’s part
Of our humanity

Anxiety and panic
Futility and strife
For life is made of failure
And we are made of life

We reach out to the lonely ones
We cast our vision wide
As others too reach out to us
Though left or cast aside

Cacophony and discord
The gun the noose the knife
For life is made of sorrow
And we are made of life

The heartbeat borne in stillness
The pleasure dead and gone
The memory of wonder
That all this still goes on

In secrecy or public
And withal we are rife
The journey each alike is on

What must be made

Of life