Sunday, April 11, 2021

A Poem Draft

The Poetry Workshop

The spirits came, my soul to steal,
so I put my soul in a spinning wheel
and kept it safe, as I ever will
when I walk in the shadow-realms.

and we will sing in darknesss
for a city we never knew

the silent stairway up my mind
to attic sunlight-filtered room

the Lord rides the willows
the clouds of glory are under Him

He is the Word
I am a word in letters

the brain
is a hurricane
swift with wind
thick with rain

when all our sins rise upward
we take their tally and their tale
with those who came before us
to fight the rod and flail
they march with us
they march in us
they march and will prevail

the highest form of military art
is to win battles before they start

gota del mar
like two drops of water, the mother and son
cool drops of grace
a little drop from the divine ocean
teacher of the sea of human souls
the exalted light of grace
the sea-fire
the sea-bitterness of the Passion
and there will be no sea in New Jerusalem

O maiden, maiden, I will die
unless you in my arms will sigh

in Soria Moria castle
I met my dream
it was foolish
I was foolish
but oh!
it glittered and gleamed

laughter touches lightly on the moon
the wishful whispers of the soul
time is twisted, death is near

the angels play like children
their puddles are the lakes
virtue is their singing
stars their sugar-cakes
their care-free happy laughing
is in the nova's fire
they run only by loving
and never tire

to be a Mine, not cattle,
a man might kill or die

from plain to plane it rises high
a flame as vast as endless sky
upon a golden-laden pyre
it rises high and ever higher
with rubicund and orangey hues
the burning all the world imbues
and tinctures with a boundless blaze
embroidery of golden rays

The shadows hunted in a time of pox,
so I put my skin in a strong oak box
and they were defeated by its silver locks
as I walked in the shadow-realms.

the meaning of a mime
the myth of mummery

the ruler in his castle
the canmore on his throne
however great and mighty
they all will die alone

where the hallways of the soul
become the highways of the realm
the roads of the philosopher-kings

like gold slimed over
human souls
shine out obscurely
the world grows darker,
ash on eye

we always die sideways
orthogonal spin
and fall out of living
we children of men

the iron wheels of history will crush us underneath
and we will dwell in little graves long days beneath the heath

above the sea of clouds the moon
in argent glow its wings extends
a path it races through the wisps
on far horizon lies a single star

the future blooms with flower
silent stars
sing with cantillation
as in the showers
here and there are falling
spring-time warm
the ghosts are in the hallway
and don't exist
like shining rain
or wafts of evening mist

Emerentiana near the Via Romentana
sought by holy union to have union with her friend

water-laden clouds on high
whisper wisps of lullaby

joyful are my feet on the mountain
although the trail is steep
good news is the fountain
from which my heart drinks deep

outlawed and outcast it moved
from pale to gold, and beyond the pale
it met its sunrise dawn

I was afraid when they sought my heart
but I placed it in stone by a powerful art
though I was wounded by a mistletoe-dart
as I walked in the shadow-realms.

the wishes ripple through the mind
with God all things are possible
sometimes they just stay possible

I almost love you sometimes
I guess it's a flaw in me
a shadow and a flicker
of a warm inconstancy

the candle lights the darkening room
in which the bride glides swiftly to the groom
the night is deep but holds no gloom
a child is woven on the loom

when all in heaven spake your name in awe
and I was captive by the chains of law
tired of face
weary of feet
standing in the saintless sleet
as icy-shower heavens fall

but angels die upwards
in splendor and grace
to wear greater joy
the life of their race

the beaver is building his dam in the stream
half of gnawed wood and half of gnawed dream
the breeze is now blowing perfume from the West
my head is now nodding in time on my chest

listening to words
we sit in chairs and yawn
thinking of lunch or dinner
wondering why that prig
sitting in the second row
just keeps talking
when no one cares what he says

I almost think about you
as I walk upon the way
maybe in the black of night
maybe in the day

my heart is halfway broken
burning like bright fires
a captive caught in tangles
born of deep desires

the power of a kiss to enchant and disenchant
there is a madness sprung from God
the sheen of rain on slate at night

the sea-wave rises up
falls down
foams 
and subsides

when stars are singing, full of flame
the canticles of sacred name
crafting great devices, swarthy elves
rule in halls of diamond

my pen I take to write a verse
and subtle sundry themes rehearse

the candle sheds its silent tears
it weeps for time, which burns away
in minutes stretched as long as years
the memories of yesterday

the softest words are heavy on the mind

entangled with Christ on His Cross

poetry is the most human thing
I guess
so nobody reads poetry
too busy growing the materials

I am pent with passion; its penalty is pain
misfortune made of misery beyond the lot of men

the spatters of the thunderstorm in sputters swiftly fall

a dialogue of afternoons
my heart is carved like marzipan
a phony jack-o-lantern smashed to smithereens

when the archangels of Zion
bring out their trumpets,
their trumpets blaring,
and the lambs lie down with the lion,
the asp its haven with child sharing

teak, teak ataki wheat
wheat eat teeth eat
teak, teak ataki sweet

the cat is leaping
nightly creeping
never sleeping save in day

all who love to read
bring to the task a mind
crowned with joy of deed
drawn from depths of time

the drooping boughs of trees are dripping droplets from the rain
rivulets of reason run through little rills again

the scrolling curve of time with gliding stroke moves on

who wills the end must will the means
or else a field of nothing gleans

followable way is not equal to stable way
to follow what can be followed is not changeless following
doctrines that can be spoken are not enduring doctrines

to speak the thing that can't be said
but buzzes still inside the head

On a dark, moonless night, they came for my eye
and then I was sure that I would soon die
'till I placed it safe on a mountain high
when I walked in the shadow-realms.

for the dead, weep not,
nor for him moan
for the exile weep
for he goes away
no more shall he return
nor see his native land

we are born at all adventure
in the happenstance of days
short our life, and soon our death
and tedious our ways
but we are made immortal
by a God who in our hearts
has placed eternal glory
and a thirst for higher parts
in the choir of the ages
where the angels sing His praise
in the music of the heavens
like stars we may yet raise
the envy of the devil
brought death unto our race
and death they find who turn away
from God's most holy face

you are the ark on trouble's flood

the sun is bitter in my eyes

far from the shallows, the pillars of shell
spiral like currents in byssal-deep sea
the maidens are moving and swaying in dance
lotus-dressed beauties pearl-crowned in the deep

without forgiveness, death prevails,
endless devils, endless hells

the world is worn like mummy-rags
I feel buried and sore
as if I had from broken crags
just fallen and failed to soar

all things fall and all things die
the world is but a gusting sigh

and I am sorrow-laden with the past,
moonlight-cloaked and burdened with a task

I wish, though I know it is a wish in vain,
that I could be a whole man again,
but then I know that I would be slain
as I walk in the shadow-realms.

diverse ways to one road leads
one road to diverse ways

standing there, soaking, dripping with doom
wreathed by the silence of flawless perfume

perhaps some day the gilding thins
upon my smile; perhaps some day
the sanctity is hidden under sins
the substance shadowed by its style

tell all among the nations
the Lord reigns from the wood

somehow folly whispers in my ear
a dash of hope with a pinch of fear
when the sight or hint of you draws near
the world becomes unsure, unclear

there is a world inside me
to Luthany I fly

the analogical angels, like anagrams
combine and ever combine in holy choir

and high in the sky
I see stars shining bright
but the moon hides its face
from our wickedness tonight

I know not why
your burning eye
upon my eye does rest
but if it cry
I surely die
for I do love you best

I quaff the dawn at sunrise
and drink the quiddity of life
the flagon of the heavens pours
the beverage into my mug

there is a god inside me
to Luthany I flee

the background angelic murmur of thought
music of the spheres
circles of the different and the same
the sempiternal conversation
the colloquium of minds

up to Limbo with its balance,
which the Buddhists call nibbana
the Cross upon the Lotus
adorned with God's salvation

in the heart is a star with a light that endures

The stones are made of wishing,
the goblets made of gold,
and winter winds come swishing
through hallways grand and old.

our words are wanton, written on air,
pollinating ready ear,
then all gone and never there
but words are written in the heart
deeper than the heart can hold
you are of God's plan a part
so be bold

Words of wonder, white as bone,
drifting through the world alone,
wraiths of music, subtle tunes,
wander lost beneath the moons;
magic made of heart's despair,
thunder-brutal, forest-fair.

I keep my words in a leathern pouch,
safe from the creeping beasts that crouch,
that follow me with hunting slouch
as I walk through the shadow-realms.

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