01/28
Once in a great while the heart is simply struck
And rings out like a tuning fork to the nearby heart that struck it.
The two ring out together in discordant harmony
At first the noise is nothing but a brilliant symphony.
In time the notes come clearer, but this is when you hear
The sharps and flats and missed half-steps which at first endeared
How I wish that I could sing a song you would believe
But I’d not disguise the cracking sound of notes I can’t sustain.
The songs we sing into the world are bright and clear and true,
But you are right, I am afraid, I cannot sing like you.
How I hope that I might somehow match
The soaring high soprano that will surely be your path.
I must be a tenor, not that either is the lesser,
You’ve said the difference means that parting might be better.
I would miss you and I will mourn if no arrangement can be made,
But I think you’ll always strike me from your side of the stage.
Beauty is conceived in
Uncreated light. *
This earth which a paradise makes;
However skied bright.
Ugliness but he creates
Forms of it, touching.
Every corruptive influence
Behind, whose hand is.
The devil. Defiles her, I kiss.
Dulls life, crowned in spring.
* the mind of God
I’m fully out of my slumber,
now knowing poems aren’t born in dreams,
but from a mind dipped deep in ink,
a brain awash with quiet resilience.
Yet in its silent agony, the paper stares blank—
befuddled by the jargon the nib dares spill,
deepening laughter in the sponsor’s folly,
rejoicing with the writer’s block
still unperturbed within my brain.
But there’ll be no excuse for defeat’s glare to scare;
so long as my mind stays sane and sound,
my “impossibility” shall be read as “it’s my possibility.”
Just give me time—and my fears will flee.
So fill again the pen that refused to write for glory.
Where is that page that once denied my excellence?
Within its belly, a masterpiece lies full-term,
ready—aching—to be born.
Take strength, my weary muscles.
Flee away, all stubborn sleeps—
for your absence shall birth my excellence.
** What’s Torn **
What’s been torn off or away may be
a recurring theme — of dreams or memory —
that nags, popping up unexpectedly
to recall or, for dear losses, again grieve…
The things thieved
from life — as divinely conceied,
like the Amazon forest’s trees —
don’t leave, but remain in a spectral reality…
What’s been torn away
may similarly refuse to leave —
like my calve, cut from my body, will scream,
sending phantom pain in suffered agonies…
What was seized from me on that mournful day,
— sculpted by dancing ballet for a decade,
stayed as I went from anestesized to awake
into a daytime nightmare without any escape…
When life sends us to dire places,
where hopelessness would subjugate us,
God will guard our souls and grace us
with a strength: resounding to the soul…
Left ragged, like having my health fail
in reaching goals, I will feel my heart wail
near breaking, but I refuse to let my faith pale
…believing the prayers of heaven will entail
blessings to help all God’s children prevail.
—————————
((c) s.y..eslinger 3/2024
**an addition to “On Phantom Pain” poem still in progress at this time
("Conceived in Light", 2017, original encaustic)
Conceived in Light
On this wheel of life
The man of constant sorrow
Plays illusion's game
(11/4/23)
three senses
visual voice & sound
read to recite to hear -
intuitive cadence birthed
breathed in the ear
Most confining and to the decencies,
Feebled feelings and enslaved alternates,
Oddly detached, from them degradations,
Of whimpered whines and conceived illusions.
The reliance on the diminished decisiveness,
The age past then that's best in stewardship,
Oddly detached from the practice in manship,
The dependence on them downed possessions,
Of untimely prowess, times of emancipations,
But conceitedly troubled with fantasized them,
The perceived attachments to concise illusions.
#Aug_2022
The sudden feeling of getting torn inside, it's revealing,
fears of the past scaling the walls of time.
It's starting to get warm inside his breathing,
is getting soft, and tired of playing hide and seek with time.
Those perplexing griefs of the past,
Realizing, to smile when he's lonely, is in-vain.
It turned out that those good-byes were the last,
yet will get conceived in the feeling of love, again.
Searching for a reason to smile, getting more away from relief,
Talking to those droplets of rain is healing the grief.
Letters are skinned
in the memory
by whose hands
they work with them...
even versions
from the folds of the soul....
tear the physical body
through the portals of feelings
housed in the recondite...
So they practice all the time
to give birth to life poem... !
Through the bedroom window
in my Grandmother’s house,
shone three lights—far off and red
Vertically stacked,
representing the distance,
to a young boy fast in bed
A distance that I
was born to travel,
my hopes as then conceived
A distance that called my dreams
to wander
—whose voice would never leave
(Dreamsleep- May, 2020)
children were conceived
when they all had been received
in God we believed.
Jim Horn
character
language
episodes
of
reminicences
of
imaginative
validity,
a new
dimension
envisioned
things
not ideas-
knowable
world,
things in
the particular
that
flutter
into life..
..awhile
inspired by WC W epic Paterson
conceived faculty
surreal improbable
image of perfection
created within a land
of fantasy
placed you
up atop a
high pedestal
were you would
loom over
the land irrational
demands
casting down
the lay of the
land
condemning
all that were
quilty of breaking
the pet-peeve-laws
Yes I'm proud, happy, ecstatic I'm blown, I was conceived to Barry White.
For S1's best one liner contest
Dimensions of the poetic,playful
posies,once absurb come into
perspective the upside down unlocked
its potential perceived,evidence now
orientated and then expressed.
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