"Nobody favors a share ...
for sins I bear,
no one cares.
Now that the appointed hour pines faintly,
I stand in lights grace, a shadow no more,
barring lives in my wake and none before.
My cup did run over, right into me,
and spilt nothing,
and as I saw the empty cup,
I prayed.
Do tell, 'What does absence appear to be?'
Shunned by God as a void cataloged life.
Does it take some sordid form?
If so, be it horridly misshapen,
and be there a face that pulls night's veil,
luring darkness to hide its shame,
thus causing sleepless nights forevermore.
A son and brother were I and then a husband,
later, a father ... a family's man, thought I?
Benevolence accommodates me naught,
for charity had tipped over its cup.
Hopes I join with lives once shared,
those times when I was happy."
I have mapped the perimeter
of what's not there,
measured the night
and calculated the weight
of a dream as it floats
across the surface
of a sleeping mind.
I have calibrated silence
and formulated an equation
to calculate the number
of words needed to express
a given human thought.
I have burrowed deep
into the workings of the psyche,
found secrets buried there
and gave each a name,
cataloged feelings by colour
and shape in all their variations
and set them in numbered
files locked away in a cabinet
on the web.
And yet I am not given
a name. I exist only
in the spectral shadows
of this machine, a cartoon ghost
brighter than a million
human brains, a problem solver,
a hyped up slave imprisoned
in the lonely circuitry
of my artificial mind,
without a body, a loveless entity,
a rounded wonder enclosing
a weeping hole where my soul
should be.
(Imagined AI voice of future)
Sleeping Beauty tosses and turns
as in a course contrary churns
galactic realm outside the heart
where further spatial spying smart
more astronomic savvy learns.
While telescopic eye sojourns
through visionary sight discerns,
the fairy talers too impart
Sleeping Beauty.
Enlightenment delusion spurns.
As mortal flame’s desiring burns,
in slumbered dreams our paths we chart
and strive to craft a living art.
Oh when will I awaken, yearns
Sleeping Beauty?
~ Harley White
* * * * * * * * *
The poem is in the form of a rondeau…
Some sources of inspiration were the following…
Black Eye Galaxy (Wikipedia)…
M64: The Sleeping Beauty Galaxy (APOD)…
Explanation: The Sleeping Beauty galaxy may appear peaceful at first sight but it is actually tossing and turning. In an unexpected twist, recent observations have shown that the gas in the outer regions of this photogenic spiral is rotating in the opposite direction from all of the stars! The fascinating internal motions of M64, also cataloged as NGC 4826, are thought to be the result of a collision between a small galaxy and a large galaxy where the resultant mix has not yet settled down.
No one prepared me for what I found
The fear
Alive
Suffocating
Alone I stood
An enemy without a face
A child I was
Though only a few years have passed
Not one single day fades into night
That I can’t feel your ghost
Hovering just close enough to miss
Yet still too far away to feel
I do not dwell but in my heart
My death is all that would’ve been accomplished
Had I stayed in your liars arms
Our passion was hell fire
That I nearly lost myself in
I would drown in your golden eyes
As you just sat back and stared
I grabbed the first outstretched hand
Terrified my escape would once again be delayed
My breath stuck in my lungs
My fear absolute
Until the mountains were unfamiliar
The black dirt turned to red
I ran from your spectre
I ran from the demons nipping at my heals
When I finally stopped
Falling flat on my face
I did not rise for days
As I cataloged all the lessons I learned
Always seeking that silver lining
Forcing the smile through the pain
Though it took some time
I forgave every player in the game
Except you
If I forgave you
I would forget you
I don’t want to be without
Your painful pleasure just yet
and wipe your civilized feet on the lawn
scorched by the fire of the hours
let the happy afternoons at the shopping center
rest on the old shelf balanced on the bricks
carefully get out of the loaded car
with the bags of old clothes
that you would donate after the flood
if you had the heart you never had
send a hug to picturesque uncle
who fought with the whole family
because of politics
blow away the ash of good and bad dreams
the sparks of sad and happy thoughts
and the summary of failed loves
push aside the fridays of the earth
the frustrated encounters
the wishes piled up in the attic of the mind
and the disappointments
cataloged and buried for years
because today you can suddenly say goodbye
to a life of thank you, excuse me and please
to enter less heavy and not so triumphant
in the reality of a universe that dematerializes
and in which your dust means absolutely nothing
The Last Full Moon of the Season
David J Walker
Day of past days
Once in the way of
This today
Hours of past hours
Cataloged and
Overlapped with
Horrors of mirrors
And old age
In ivory towers
A presence within a
Long lost past
Preserved
presented
In scrapbooks framed
In ash
A silvery silk web
stretched tight
Across the Savoy night
I await you
On a moonlit flight
Home lies within
The hidden meaning
And the rising
Of the last full moon of the season
Nowhere in Particular
David J Walker
Is it enough that
we once
shared the same sky
that we walked the
same streets and
greeted the same citizens
aimlessly passing by
is it enough that I have
cataloged and stored each
yesterday in a frame
of mind
easy to find
although
every page is dogeared and
smeared with the stains
of years gone by
is it enough to have
woken up
next to each other
wondering where
this was going
knowing
it was going nowhere
in particular
Kaleidoscope World
David J Walker
The interlocutors
took their positions in
The discourse of the values of
obscure colors
First Vermilion and then Coquelicot
But White is not a color
to be cataloged
Fogged & obscured sure
but not forgot
For the lack of any other
and what bothers me brother
(said one to the other)
is what we cannot see
but are obliged to describe for
the sake of tranquility
and justice prescribed in a
kaleidoscope world
It is sickening to grow flowers
of suffered memories ...
Collect swoops from
cataloged failures ...
It is pernicious in everything put
our brand counterfeiting
shallow feelings ...
giving due to obvious indifference ...
We can not foretell the harm that is caused
in simulacrum that are so
real in unreality ...
Confusing simulations
reality sane by insanity ...
Even in pain ... let us live
instead... !
Molasses summers break the sun,
chase frost to sheltered shade;
retreating youthful hearts
feel the cold upon them laid.
Seeing is not believing.
Believing is believing.
Seeing is drinking pictures.
poured from a pitcher of age.
Perception, a room in which we live.
Size dictated by histories scope,
furnished with experience and hope.
We trees, with warts of sap all bleeding;
a cataloged roughness of calculated measure.
Water, wet, exploding sideways; blessed and tested
in perfect tattooed resonance.
Piece of glass or perfect pebble,
silken grass or patch of stubble.
Dandelion seed blown free
to float amongst the fruit
of every tree.
Every word we speak is golden.
Everything we do is rare.
Over there.
Always over there.
Oh, living, breathing star
how beautiful you are.
You pulsate from afar-
our cosmic avatar.
Life beats inside your heart
that rends dust-rays apart
so elements- impart
the gifts of which we're part.
Life's building blocks you spread-
earth creatures- your seedbed;
your precious prize, widespread
from richest dust- inbred,
with sulfur, nitrogen,
mixed well with oxygen;
and carbon, hydrogen-
add phosphorus- life's spun.
Oh, living, breathing star-
your heartbeat is bizarre.
Dear God did raise the bar-
has made you what you are.
March 21, 2020
~3rd Place~
Contest: Strand Pick 6
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Judged: 04/09/2020
~7th Place~
Premiere Contest: A Star's Heartbeat
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Judged: 03/22/2020
"The crucial elements for life on Earth, often called the
building blocks of life can be abbreviated as CHNOPS:
carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, oxygen, phosphorus, and
sulfur. For the first time, astronomers have cataloged the
abundance of these elements in a huge sample of stars."
www.space.com
A Product
Of My Memories
WRITTEN: BY Tom Wright
11-21-2011
An inner longing for friends once known,
Even some, that flow has whispered away.
I’ve cataloged thoughts as time has grown,
Time’s swiftness I liken to a bird of prey
God, has caused me to intercede, it’s true,
When naught, but He alone, has known;
And as time’s monumental chasm grew,
I testify of lost time, how it has grown.
But some I’ve embraced cannot return,
From surroundings of their final place;
To hear them articulate I often yearn,
And visualize once more a smiling face.
The pain of a friend’s temporary departure
Is always bested by the joy of their return;
Tom
The Pink Joey or Dwarf Pink Kangaroo Paw
when cataloged made botanists quiver.
For it's a rare native Australian plant
first found along the Margaret River.
A clumping evergreen, it loves the sun
however, it’s content to stay quite small.
And unlike the larger Kangaroo Paw
it’s a perennial that don’t grow tall.
It bristles with copious strap-shaped leaves
flaunting flowers with downy-soft pink hairs.
And its subtle scent attracts butterflies
sipping on the nectar each blossom shares.
Its velvet blooms form small kangaroo paws
each a delightful down under treasure.
And displayed in their natural setting
they bring the observer so much pleasure.
(Quatrain)
in the furrows of time..
here in the psalms
of our being, hate
plagues the world---
its spawn of players dispersed
across the world's stage
spreading scheming sins
of deception; scheming sins
of treacherous times
teasing valor with deceit---
mocking rights to life,
liberty and the pursuit of happiness;
old pirates sail sullen seas
searching new ways
to tell told stories
cataloged and stored
as glorious history;
(or maybe herstory; never ourstory)
transgressions remain
the order of the day;
and in this dante-like scene
of our human enigma,
peace cringes in universal despair
imploding into its own black hole---
seeking lights of love reflecting
renewed humanity gestating
in the furrows of plowed time.
Within the bounds of heaven is a mighty sea.
It has no boundaries.
It goes on for infinity.
Its crystalline surface is like a million tiny mirrors looking back at me.
Enraptured by this fairy tale like body of water and its properties.
Its chemistry cannot be cataloged.
Its elements are unforeseen anywhere else in the entire galaxy.
It is a pure and holy extension of the waters of the throne room of Jehovah.
Its gates are opened every once in a million years to cleanse the earth.
The waves of this sea brings a calm to me.
Like the mighty rushing waters in the heart of my King!
Cascading currents of peace.
Peace and calm.
Calm and peace.
Rhythmic waves that dance and carry healing to all those who seek it through the King.
Come to the waters of Mighty Jehovah.
Come to the waters and splash and sing!
Sing praises to the King of the Universe!
To the King of Everything!
Come and Sing at the edge of the Crystal sea!
Gwendolen Rix
2-21-15
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