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James Kennon Poem
Noonday,
The harvest keepers say there is none to be had,
That they wish there were, that they would be glad.
They take one step back and lightly smile,
head moves in a earthbound motion.
Seems a polite and subtle bow,
As they turn away they smile,
In a most peculiar style.
A stretching gash across the soul.
The eyes blink slow,
The flame mellow and low.
Strange people make mysterious motions
I cannot understand.
Each breathe I take
There is less to be had.
It's not a wonder
Poor souls go mad.
Light dawns through the window
My mind is clear, reborn.
Only to collect
New and more thorny thorns.
At last I hear the horn,
Beautiful free of scorn.
Images of glory are born.
They appear in the wind, and then are gone.
Ascend to the heights with the wisdom of the thorn,
But know it comes from the rose.
I try to remember,
I keep it pinned to my clothes.
Copyright © James Kennon | Year Posted 2015
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James Kennon Poem
Dropped down upon my head with
A withering drone
Like 747's passing through a small tube
In search of home
Absurdity perceived realistically
Things go soft and gooey
A descending drone of primary tones
Flashing beacons, misdirection
Conveyor belts of hardest bricks
Reciprocally pelts
Coming up for air
Perception
Lastly,
The drone crushes, crushing until their flatness
Matches
Like ancient Peruvian stones
The moment before flattening, suffocating
Sameness
Before release into
The true line
Bends
Is the line which bends
In timelessness
A circle which is complete
Yet never meets?
Copyright © James Kennon | Year Posted 2015
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James Kennon Poem
Gazing,
Greek letters display of curious origin.
Impregnation skin softly writhing aware letters
Sea
Alpha, Omicron, Tau, Psi, Mu, Rho, pass through all the rest and each other figure 8
Jangling in strange confronting orbits
Gossamer skin flays, the letters
Pulsing, transforming, letter of many letters, blur into the naked moment
Peeling, ghostly skins of finest rice paper move in snapshots.
Antique movie projectors of the future in gleaming metal dimensions provide the beam of data.
Clear butterfly wing skins, of most delicate light composition drift away on sighing notes.
Northerly pinned eyes of cartoon snakes circle round their primitive crayon bodies, snakes scattered, handfuls of straw.
Ivy sneaks, moving snakelike, twisting embrace of delicate moving entwining, tiniest crimson leaves wave and cavort.
I brush them with my hand, a sigh, a shudder.
Rippling passes, a pleasant tremor of metaphysical nostalgia, exhaling-inhaling, large-small eyes go in tremulous quark orbits of no time.
Letters-Snakes-Ivy,
Changing, blue hues pass into yellow moons of eclipsing black-hole pupils.
It is another,another, another, another-another, other, forgetting-remembering, passing, fading, rebounding, incoming, trailing away…
Exultation of indistinct revelation.
Looking, hidden information lurks in creeping shadows that run when thought over.
Forearm falling trapeze into screaming meters, Terror/Enthronement beep rapidly, hyper strobes paralyzed awe droning to absurd levels.
Genie teleporting snapshots poof like insane santas blasting through never-ending chimney floors.
Cessation, Self, Other, Break, Form, Mystery, Spin
Only can appear if vanished first, no first can be found, cannot appear to vanish. Not vanishing, so never appearing.
I am back to myself, gazing at the arm. The arm, the letters, the snakes, the ivy do not contain the thing to know, they are.
I can only follow and behold.
Copyright © James Kennon | Year Posted 2015
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James Kennon Poem
Yggdrasil is a home to hanging bones
As trees to singing birds
Yggdrasil
Beneath its hallowed branches
Thick wands of spring tree flesh
Twirl into the finest corkscrews
Suspended from the boughs, Us
Delicate spear leaves
Small and fine
Grow full as finest crops
Green brings life to eyes, that have not seen
The gods congregate there
Spin us round
As they converse
Cup in hand
We need only speak
Of a desire to
Come down
Put our feet upon
~The ground~
And wonder with the gods
Where do the roots
Drink forth from
Copyright © James Kennon | Year Posted 2015
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James Kennon Poem
Leaving a darkened space
Dumbfounded amazement at the scene
Feel the absorbing fabric of self and place
Brightness consumes, permeates
Mind becomes
Light is simultaneous thought, so ceasing
The eyes retire at the sight
Of seeing
Such motion and color
It moves clackety, yet undulating
Like slow motion fluid in a dream, a heartbeat pulses
Screaming, speed slows the mind
To turn in on itself
Liquid in space
On inner swirling orbits
Satellite beeping, beam spinning
Fine focus
Focus Absorbed into absorption
Passes through the hidden keyhole
Exiting into
Size-lessness
The unseen vision
Consumes itself
Into
The ever-expanded singularity
Which has never gone anyplace
Mystery and forgetting remembrance
Endless brilliant awakenings
Bring cascades of staggered youths
Hope and acceptance of awe
Brings those reliefs
Endless times can become apparent
In the course of time
Copyright © James Kennon | Year Posted 2015
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James Kennon Poem
Light moves, incessantly
Incessantly still, upon observation
Upon observation, the observer is drawn lightly upon the background
Who is the observer, or the observed
Its path is straight and narrow, but fills all
Dark space it does not penetrate, would not exist without it
Dark space it does not penetrate, will someday see its shafted faces, peering, through
The cracks of time
Pure potential
Lacking will, it achieves all
Achieving all, it needs no will
Man, the slow light
With a quick heartbeat
When light and man
Meet
It is the contrast of ourselves
Shines
Copyright © James Kennon | Year Posted 2015
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James Kennon Poem
Spurned faces muck in the dust
Raised by ceaseless motion
Of cyclical concerns
Waves settle in lapped sounds
Falling into synchronicity
On the line of the horizon
Plummet line sun draws tight things
Moon soothes caress, balm of the earthbound creatures
Clouds fly slow fast
Petrified in yawning quick glory of surprise
Breakthroughs
Drawn up and through
Splayed upon the dimensionless
Foreground
Copyright © James Kennon | Year Posted 2015
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James Kennon Poem
Rearranging, multiplying and transforming Greek alphabets are strewn across, under, and within the far field of my vision.
They are all bound up with cartoon snakes and quickly creeping ivy with small red leaves.
I brush them with my hand and they sigh.
They reveal different things, which obscure others, the obscurities reveal still more things to become obscured and revealed.
I cannot read them or understand them,
Only follow and behold.
Copyright © James Kennon | Year Posted 2015
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James Kennon Poem
Plunging latitudes and longitudes
Draw close
Bulging net of lines
Contain the world
Within the squirming mass of eyes
Peering out or in
Dead eyes look far
Cast no reflections of their own
Upon the gazed landscapes
The labyrinth of eyes
Is a looking-glass mirror of cloned selves
Looking back
Native desire to find edges
Drives the flapping motion away
In the midst of,
Constant confusion and belonging
Am I driving deeper,
It does not matter
The edge is all around
~I will pass, through the heart of mass~
Exit, frozen upon the event horizon
In twisting glory
As the passing Sun
Explodes upon my line
All across
Copyright © James Kennon | Year Posted 2015
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James Kennon Poem
1.
In defining something, we make it less, more, or different from what it actually is.
In making it less, more, or different from what it is actually is, we make it something else.
Making it something else, our definitions cannot be correct.
2.
If our definitions are not correct, our understanding of our perception is not correct.
If this is the case, we should suspend real judgement until we can see more of things.
Copyright © James Kennon | Year Posted 2015
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