I Up the escarpment where the wind has stripped the trees of their leaves I saw Truth hiding in her threadbare clothes, starved and hollowed A pale, grey feeble smile flashed and disappeared She will not die She will not die despite the universal claim For Truth is central to life even if few will …

The imbecile is at work in world busy about its activities Giving opinions, acting without thought, Obdurate in pursuit of gimcrack distractions and automatic as machine. The imbecile stews in soups of inactivity Natural as wind, bubbling to the surface tireless banalities The imbecile passes through unnoticed Like the quotidian affairs of your neighbor. The …

No more inspirational stories I can’t take it The indomitable spirit The missing limbs Cancer's consumed child Smiling, bald and brave There under studio lights are The clicking teeth of the poignancy thieves Selling misery's might in HD pain until Nothing is felt Where are the stories of broken spirits? Destroyed by tragedy The ones …

You hide your crazy in deep places Until circumstances come and dig it out like badgers looking for prairie dogs And as you have aged Your strolls down memory lane Became athletic events Dodging the bad memories Look You still want affection Everyone knows that They’re just too busy Seeking their own. The nurse will …

Change by design, design by chance Chance testifying against the lies of vanity Here below The clear causal cascade like steel ball bearings striking chords from predictable songs Here above The cosmic all The massive turning, boiling thoughts and actions are drifting toward a hidden day, Blind by diurnal desires Deaf in the colourless clanging …

cloud of the unknowing false harmony unwinding the separation of body, soul, consciousness 3 degrees distance Tumult Feelings fade There's God There's man the one does not join to the other the One is incommensurable and the other flawed a sick soul drawn to ugliness and self loathing but selfhood cannot be lost, denied, unwound …

Does the conscience exist? You know the answer It is a shimmering wave of heat that disappears as you approach A social construct Varying culture to culture Arbitrary without authority A control mechanism for the superstitious Then if there is no conscience, there is no duty? Duty to what? Yourself? Your culture? Your fellow man? …

Poetry Sleeps in the Summer

As the days shorten I've noticed that many of the poets (not all) who were quiet throughout late summer have started to write more.  The decline in light perhaps triggers a creative urge?  Ineluctable I would bet.

Walking back from the shadow Takes half the distance to eternity The eyes, black plates of fatigue Can see but no longer focus Ears like steel platters Will vibrate from sound waves But not listen Movement continues The purpose long forgotten Not a soulless corpse But human life Unique to this time Chained to this …

Update to On Writing Poetry

My experiment with writing more lyrical poetry including sonnets and more themes focused on love has been a mixed success.  I posted everything I wrote, the good, the bad and the ugly.  Some of it was enjoyed by the small audience who stops by and some ignored.  With Sonnet 4 which was Petrarchan I took …