Aim dead center, O aeon!
Era, this is now.
Ergo, O my stern scion;
Come to anyhow!
Looking-glasses are like wind.
Reality grinned.
Terror, tiger, tamarind!
Sacred til he sinned...
Gaunt the gambrel goblin?
No smile a-face today.
Whirling dervish, loud the din!
War, be on thy way!
Grey of the nebula pond;
Why is waiting good?
Yellow-speckled viper yawned!
Gone but understood!
Kingdoms are like prophecies?
Yes, in this context:
Rife, roil, rampant, rare! Disease!
Hell and Heaven, hexed...
Sort it out, O sordid sigh...
Do not ask us why?
Sylvan silver, art thou shy?
Bargain basement buy?
Syllable, unleash thy wrath!
Letters, break the chain!
Poems, place us on the path!
Language, take the lane!
Young is this old harpsichord?
Harpy, use a sword?
Bull, matador. Which gets gored?
Folly gets you floored.
Holly. Mistletoe, thy doom.
Poison, flow like wine.
Ivy, rune, ice, ancient tomb.
Cyanide strychnine.
This time extends beyond the hours limiting
and by a seconds measure
adds the tempo reverberating
echos
listening to the beating heart of stars
Universal out breathing
seems slow motion in eternity
boundless by it’s velocity
blurs in my vision
the invisible wings of a bumble bee
Time to its end is beginning
becoming
time by it’s confines of minutes
makes this senseless
echo
eventually I am told
the timeless
will end
So there above me
in the silence of infinity
hangs there a ticking clock
and from moment to moment in an instant
remains unchanged
Time by any other standard
remains nonexistent
if this great galactic wheel
should judge life by its own pulse
and still in its echo
count the hours
And so by each days separation
each years numerical definition
tally the Aeon
in the calendar of counting stars
Do you know where you are
It asks me
Or by the steady flow of gears and springs
and yesterdays urgency in this mornings alarms
find yourself calculating years
does eternity whisper into your ears
can I soothe and comfort all your fears
tactile property reach me gently
I am waiting
I am here
I still find beautiful pictures of you
Painted on my frail heart.
One, two, maybe three but not few,
Hanging beneath its wounded parts
Daily blurred further by nostalgic tears.
Your voice re-echoes
Like fired cannons,
It haunts worse than geckos
Peeping through dark shadows from aeon.
Adieu lost love,once again.
Old man looking back in time
He remembers it well when the Mediterranean was
rich grassland had many lakes and the people
living there never starved.
A mountain ridge between Spain and Africa kept
the Atlantic Ocean away, but a seer had been on top
of the ridge and seen the mighty ocean, and felt the strain
of the mountain and took to warning people to move
upland; only a few listened and moved to Cadiz.
Earthquake, big fissure in the mountain keeping the ocean
at bay; it took forty days and forty nights, only a few people
with their chattel escaped.
The new ocean was now called: “Between Land Sea.” and people took up sailing,
trading and warring, later tourists came who
had no interest in the passing of time, and that is ok, I understand
that most goats ended up in Spain and the donkeys in Tripoli.
the age of our creation blooms
bursting from the solid earth
let it be our masters' doom
and true life begin to birth
from hollow shells that live and die
seeking only selfish things
thru existence multiply
the good of life and what it brings
let our task be speaking truth
seeing with 3 open eyes
bringing in a troubled youth
enbracing them with joyful crys
let us learn from our creator
how we too make paradice
spread from poles to the equator
lest we fall from men to mice