Confabulation
My precious reminiscences
that open the magic doors,
you are sweet-speaking witches,
who hold bell-lamps with a tricky smile.
The spring comes back
when you chant with your crimson lips.
My charming prince is waking up
when you do rituals with your wand.
Your spells change my drops of sweat
into fragrant flowers!
Influence of your mystic witch-ball
making my buried hopes of love to re-germinate
with golden sprouts!
Your enchanting pentacle makes
my withered petals to reform into a beautiful garland
to welcome my charismatic prince.
What will you give me to fill the goblet to entice him?
How long these magic doors are opened for our tête-à-tête?
Will the power of your cryptic amulet
give us endless marvelous moments?
Or will the sharpness of your athame
put an end to my confabulation?
my brain has its own life,
its own conversations,
never-ending circumlocutions
this confabulation of memory
leaves me unsure of
the reality of my thoughts
is this a chemical misstep,
a minuscule of glutamate
misplaced or missing
or is it a mistake in my
biological majuscules,
an A or a G gone awry,
leaving mental havoc in its wake
or perhaps just a wiring mishap,
a failing to bridge synapses to
the branched flourishes of dendrites,
leaving me thirsty for truth,
a truth now conflated with errata
can the brain heal itself,
restore effaced letters
to historiated initials
or will it descend into darkness,
gradually ceasing its conversations,
forgetting all spelling,
and become a silent grey cage
His point-blank, most promising laurel lost
Long, long his e'er-lasting longing lingers
His muse becomes bedridden under freezy frost
Yet his nikhedonic mindscape ne'er malingers
Surging from mood's winters and merging its splinters
Ramrodding illusion-edified effulgences into his emulous edacity
Without knowing whether with reluctance or with alacrity
Intrigued by the beauty of bewildering sorrow
Never far away from their own contradictions
Nebulous ghosts sound a fog horn of doubt
Encased in confabulation the truth lies raw
Revered by transgressions and translucent pain
Nirvana beckons at the core of sunken Atlantis
Equates archetypal enigmas plying for due fare
Mother Gaia unveils blindfolds of honesty
Essential tears dissolve trances of transience
Serenity shouts for decision virtue and love
Intimate foes take the battle to interior shores
Sisyphus ties his buoy to an anchour of hope
02 February 2020
here came cummings at thirteen
an iconoclast when ikons (in a
russian sense) for me only
could stimulate edward estlin with his
speakeasy disdain at a time when
cash and cosby still swayed liberated
my captive sensibility but wait
there
was
more…
williams with his wheel barrow
red rain and white chickens
so much depended on joyces
confabulation of language modern
once along with living by
green stein and anderson and
papa plain faulkner southern
strange pounds petals recall
basho dragonfly cuckoo cicada
in
no
time
symmetry matters
© 2014 by Michael Jones
Gossip
Generally harmless
Great confabulation
Gab extravaganza
Grapevine rumor makers
Genesis of slander ...
Goodbye reputation...
Graveyard no escape from
G Pleiades Contest
November 30, 2016
I have taken so far a long walk,
I have listened and let them talk.
They think it is simple as scattering a flock
Or like eating food with a folk.
Yet! They forget this is a marathon,
It's not a Bolt's kind of champion.
It's keeping going on, and on and on
Letting the critics and so pundits into confabulation.
Desire keeps me going,
Vision keeps me dreaming,
Hope keeps me toiling,
Faith keeps me not whining.
I will not grumble,
I will not bellow,
Yahweh is taking the lead,
I will reach the Promised Land.
Edson Mwebesa (2013)
You repeat and post the same letter,
Again and again and again,
As if reinforcement renders things better,
And the litany melts away pain.
You reiterate, as though amnesia,
Distorts all the temporal thought,
As if restatement invokes analgesia
And offers some means of retort.
You replicate, chapter and verses,
Retreading the same weary road,
As if recurrence lifts self-imposed curses,
Confabulation lightens the load.
You recap photocopies of sleight,
In loops of a cyclic encore,
No meaning, just boredom and blight
We’ve all seen and heard it before.
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