Monday, May 24, 2010

Following a Path of Poetry

(to the memory of Bill Manchester)
Tune in to the din.
There is no shadow
In the dim of the rush
In the hush,
Of the rain.

Is the gloom of sin
In a cowl of cloud.
We wallow in the splash,
In the lash
Of the rain.

Drips of spirit had gurgled down some drain,
Or slid in slow droplets from the window
Of my eyes to puddle upon my hands,
Writhing together in an empty pain
Like the weeping limbs of some willow
Who in summer-flooded fields sways, but stands.

Within this twilight in the middle day
Of later life, I hear the patter and ping,
The roar and crash and splatter. I listen
To the rain in its musings and its fury,
To its whisper, its shout and each tingling
Change of mood, when I catch the puddles glisten

There is no thrashing.
Only bright silence
And the breaking quiet scream
Of the beam
Of the sun.

Comes the refreshing
Salvation of soul
That says today I don’t die.
In the sky
Shines the Son.

(a double acrostic)
Silence filled both hill and hollow
Perpetual emptiness enticed I
Icy winter seemed a yearlong season
Repeating dully throughout all my mind
It was the slate colored cloud that was I
Then through this valley blew a reason
It was a mystery stirring my spirit
Not just the breeze that chilled me through
This was deeper, something seeped inside me
Held my heart tight within its angel fists
Eased the flame I stoked under the deep
Wicked furies against past hurts that I
Imagined caused my agony and fear
Now forgiving all who punished me, I
Danced away under God on lighter feet.

A stroll after the rain of a humid day,
On this path I toddled since naissance.
I knew it well.

It curved and twisted throughout my mind.
And in the heat a mist began to dance.
It had a smell

Moist and pungent. Primordial this perfume.
Miasma shallow, pretending romance.
I knew it well.

Just an ambiance of earthly delight,
An enticing wisp come to entrance,
Like Pavlov’s bell.

It would reward my imagination
If I traveled after its promised chance.
I knew it well.

But a vapor is never grasped and held.
Now a murkiness started its advance,
It began to swell.

I know this twisted path so picturesque.
I won’t get lost but for a moment glance.
I know it well.

But my path of good intent is but smog
and this pleasurable road the entrance
Straight down to Hell.
I know this well. 

Cain & Abel & Ishmael & Isaac & Esau & Jacob & Today

Acrid vestige
Smoke cloaked carnage
Hell’s residue remarks the ruins
Eyes blink open to reality
Souls burned, broken, buried, blown to acuity

Ages’ cinders
Never blow clean
Death-soaked soil germinates its filthy seed

Divided from the first jealousy
Until the final trump
Shocked streets in a
Time without pity.

Listen to the voices,
So still upon the hill,
Whisper in the grasses
And sigh across the leaves.

Look upon the faces
That form across the clouds
In a moment sudden
When the rain tears and grieves.

Find the past aside you
As you stand among stones
That speak in muted tones.

Looks for
It is hid in nature’s number
On the petals of the stalk; distance of eyes to chin
In the spirals of our bodily coding this intelligence of eternity
Is the trinity of the designer and the mind, body and spirit of existence into the continuation of infinity...


I know what they’d have me write.
No rhyme; no sunshine bright days,
Clothes white upon my lines.

This woman not old, not young
Hasty in her labor, exuberant,
Should be bent and bellicose.

I should find murkiness
In the attic, not an owl,
Stuffed, who never blinked.

My fright should be daily fed
Not by my imagination,
But the reality they’d have me have.

Why must my memories,
As dusty, creaky events now,
Be unmercifully mordant as well?

It wasn’t always gleeful, true,
But why only moments miserable?
Is that the past all poets embrace?

Who are these arbiters of the craft
Insisting on cluttered dim alleyways
Littered with our trashcan lives

Instead of with the beauty of words
And the Grace of God?


nutuba said...

Wow Larry!

"Moist and pungent. Primordial this perfume. Miasma shallow, pretending romance. I knew it well."

This is amazing poetry. You've got a great gift for finding just the right word.

Thanks for sharing this.

Greg said...

Blub.... blub.... glechhh.... blub....

I'm drowing here, amid the flurry of new posts! 8O

I like the double-acrostig poem. I had never heard that term, until I came home from work one day and heard my 7-year-old son talking about "acrostic poems"! I thought I was in the wrong house! We homeschool, and they had just studied that in the English book.

Leon Basin said...

That was great

Tamela's Place said...

Hello Larry,

Your poems are very profound and full of thought. I had to read them slowly to grasp their meanings. SOOO deep!

We have not had a very good day. Our house got broken into and most of our christmas presents were taken and our t.v as well as all my son and husbands guns and bows. We are doing better but we truly hope the police find these guys. It is just stuff and it all can be replaced, we are thankful that our daughter wasn't home because she is normally home at the time our house was broken into. My husband and I left at 9:35 this morning and our daughter got back home at 10:45 so they got all that in that short span of time. Our neighbor had his house broken into about a month ago (same day and same time)He was just gone longer so they took more, they took everything from them except for the big bulky furniture. They took all their clothes and food and everything.

Pray that these people get caught!