Eclectic Observations

I pause ... because there is so much that could be said.
I hesitate, stumble
 mumble
  something incoherent
  nothing said that I wanted said

  words are prisons for the mind

2009 nov 16

And then I would speak to them of love for the devil
   sympathy for the sinners
        and defiant acceptance of the damned ...

  for what a wasted world
   without evil

Void then even of the slightest sensation
  that draws the body into blackness
  thoughts barren
  acts unclean

Why praise a single blossom
      lost amid a world of such-same blossom

      but--
        the one flower
         blooming in the desert
           How sweet each petal
                  to lucid eyes
                  to hardened hands
                   and to our own hearts
                                       ever-
                                          blooming
                                              hope.

Death is not my master
  but a friend
     that depresses me
     and wants to chat all the morning
       and after.

HOLY WAR
					October 91
Our ways are not the ways of war
   (steel and fire and screaming voices in the night)
but our fight is victorious still.
    Each mind we match,
     and strong words of our God echo in
       till each drop fills their vessel overflowing
        and war is forgot unto men.

					sept 30 '91
In one Law the universe bound
       though to thy seekers
       Derivatives
             measureless
                       do confound
Movement is matter
 and dark cessation the same--
but in other worlds
    (by the one law bound.)

					1:24AM 3-19-91

         The eye sees but does not perceive.
      the mouth emanates but with words hollow
all the world is beyond the mere touch of desperate flesh
imprisoned within the essence of finite self.
    Sing awhile longer gentle winds
        though false in your flowing enchantment
        thy soft music masks my mingled screams.

There are no words, but there are sounds.

Run away, run away, to the silent shores
             of the stillpoint we shall go
And in the forests and in the fields
          and burn them while the blind hand kills
men and mountain, God and whore
       the bloody swords we held high
           shall fall forever more
                  into the silence of the deep
        The mountains cry
           the winds will weep
       and we shall to the stillpoint flow
         and men shall laugh
                 and gods shall go . . .
             into the stillness of the night.

The iron star fell through the eastern sky
streaming with life and new born hope
into the waiting eyes
of an awakened few
(and the weary masses
                         writhing)
Let it fall
   Let it fall
    (with an everhurtling crash)
      For the gods have gone
            and  we alone
                    are men
            with only the mien of death.

In the cold September air
while tree trunks glistened fair
none did hear the autumn come
none did fear the winter -- none
but sweet children in their eyes
looked and were quite surprised
as the leaves blew through and round
laughing in the languid sun
and color pouring everywhere
whereso their eyes did gaze
where then their hands did touch
and trembled only in the midst of all
enamored, enraptured in the rending fall.

What Place Compassion?
[A POEM OF AN ANCIENT JEWISH JUDGE] 10-23-90

In whom I might conceive
with his very looks deceive
The pleasant, the proper lord
of outstretched land--to conceive
a paradise anew ... without wars?
waged for all widowed eye to see.
But to love!  oh, here comes he.

What, what? the wind is heavy in desert air.
Say, say? oh, no...nothing do I fear.
Do I feel compassion?  I feel no pain
basked in lights and raiment
proper Jesuit priests did ordain.
                    No.
Ask not again, question never more.
It would destroy me
                                or lessen my being
to stone
              and steel
                              and cold things in between.

Yes I love you, but leave behind.
What place compassion in the mighty father's din?
Far away, for eye to see
vastest hell prepared for thee,
who would love but would lie.
So go,--my love!  Ho, go not after.

My love, the faint taste of honey'd lips
the drowning after golden slips
But then and again I hear myself,
and leave the laughter far behind.
And yet at his counsel
men would pause
and wait for days and years and yet..
To come to, to hear...
Good god!  what do I fear?
To hear the opulent vision
is more than man should bare.
Ho, my love, now go not after--

He is dead he says but lives in me.
He is dead they say and I in thee.

What is happiness? to be as God.
What is misery? to know that you are not.

   Perhaps you hoped I was of other worlds
Perhaps you hoped I had been beyond the edge
      Or heard the cries of God
          Or laughed with him in pain.
              Perhaps I did –
It takes such a long time to be aware.
   To strive – to truly know.

    So I called them all,
       God or Demon,
       Spirit or man –
       but none would to me attend
             and with that implication
                  Should I know!

     So I wait.
     So I doubt,
     but I hope,
     and have yet a little faith.