Bring me back, boatman
to the golden dream that I escaped;
place me back, back in the amber clear I watch slip between my fingers each morning, clenched fist pushing away the memories from where I was before.
The angels sang to me of salvation,
Gentle harp’s familiar gilded string toned as lyres; celebrating the carress I long fought against, before they claimed the gift of argus and mounted his eyes on their wings.
Bring me back, boatman
That I might visit those you’ve taken.
You’ve gobbled your share and left us to mourn. Betrayed our love for your duty and now they sing in the sweet memories of Elysium that I’m pining for.
Perhaps we can strike a deal,
Nectar or honey – I’ve heard you like coins?
But even more I’ve heard you’re as much at their mercy as us, clawing on Charon’s walls unable to accept the cruelty that no place is so far away as yesterday.
Bring me back, boatman
take me through the ghostly waters;
refresh my memory that I might understand, where I came from and what’s held in my hands. Was I a hero? tell me what did I lose when I climbed from the Styx?
Was this the baptist’s price?
The gate toll to enter the kingdom of clouds.
Washing away the unclean with the rest of me, the Jordan left behind something pure as rain that felt a lie all the same.
So bring me back, boatman.
From Eden to Heaven and the odyssey in between;
There is a hint of fiction that’s stranger than life,
And something in this paradise that’s not in mine.
Tag: experimental poetry
Ashes and Flax
The dust in my rear view is ashes and flax
Remains of fire wood and totems
Flowers with seed I never turned to oil
Emergingly the brakes feel firm while the gas is soft
The only things that keep sole anchored to the right
Knowing that letting go will lead us nowhere fast
and that fuel and opportunity are rarely both priced well at the pump
I find myself questioning what you taught me of safe journeys
Like locking the doors when I drive too slow or not worrying of flashing light
My fault for mistaking the high school parking lot for a classroom
and the assuredness in your voice for some sign of wisdom
It’s hard to know so much of what I’ve been taught is the reason I like to drive toward walls
Tantalized by the cracks in the brick as if a sign that at proper speed I could break through
Without worry of bodily consequence or the weight of falling stone
Equally it was hard to have noticed how quickly you built new walls around me
You know I’ve grown to hate having your eyes
They make me look tired
They make me look like someone who stays up at night writing poems to calm down
Mostly though they make me look like sad
At least the path of overcoming the flaws in my roots causes me to bear some fruit
Like knowing when it’s time to keep my foot on the gas
Or the determination to gaze past the glamour of silver and gold
In favor of cherishing the sight that is ashes and flax
King of the World (a buncha couplets)
Our world seeing now some troubling things
Reminds us to look for hope in our kings
Master of strength; show off your brawn
Move the sun forward to dawn
The light of the moon shines often dim
A hopeful reminder of your whim
But your people lie suffered in the dark
Grasping for the song of meadow lark
Though the record of the sun goes strong
The presence of night grows long
Won’t you use your might to correct the mistake?
Or will you watch as your people break?
Sovereign of mercy, enforce your desire
Clear us a path away from this fire
Friends in the south suffer and choke
Watch it all burn and go up in smoke
More still east inherit fear of the west
Ravaged but still comes yet another test
An iron bird’s wail is a troubling sound
Engines breed tensions wherever they’re found
Will you prove name’s promise to the world below?
Or will we our fears bloom as part of your show?
Ruler of music; play us a song
Make it go down a little less strong
Drinks are swallowed with much more ease
When drowned out is the sound of the least of these
Averted eyes can find new opportunity
Fresh songs are best heard with less scrutiny
That distraction can grant new insight
In sorrow we forget to turn on the light
Is the love of your fruit a blessing in kind?
Or yet another attempt to deafen and blind?
Lord of wisdom inspire your voice
Remind the masses we have a choice
King of the world, where lies your crown?
Is this your will, and must I take it lying down?
The Wick
I feel like a candle
Lit from within the wick
You’ll find my fire reaching out
Clawing against a waxy shell
Looking for room to breathe
And to dance upon a timely day
I often envy those whom quickly burn
From their heads and their feet
Both ends is a pretty effective way
If you’re hoping for people to see
But for all candles it ends the same;
The curse of fire will never fail
However bright we’ll just fall.
One puddle, made of wax
And just before that you find
As it breaks through its casing
That these flickers were practice
Learning to burn what I’m facing
You’ll behold grandiose performance
Built with fire, intrigue and woe
Maybe you’ll figure out why I did it
Or maybe I’m telling you now
Through that wax you can’t hear much
But -I- hear the flickers, all at once
And sometimes – they find voice
I feel like a candle
lit from within the wick
Until you come find me melting
You wouldn’t even know I’m sick
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This one is intended to be somewhat experimental from me because as anyone who’s read the rest of these posts so far know, I really like rhyming conventions – so I tried to break away from that, not completely divorce myself from it as can be seen, but just try to structure the rhythm a little differently.
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