Literature is dead
so say talking heads
Done in by new technology
with an assist from eschatology
Whoa, Nellie! Hold your horses here
Illiteracy’s been wiped out
More folks read than ever before
~ it’s literature that’s burnt out
The aging street mourns its faded splendor.
It remembers having red tulips and roses
in manicured, fertilized, emerald lawns
in community yards lining its borders.
But neighborhoods gradually decayed,
and nobody’s planted flowers in years.
The asphalt’s once-black fresh-tar patina
is now gray and chockfull of countless cracks.
In those rifts grow rows of feral weeds
that no person planted or wanted.
Rooted in forgotten fissures of the world,
weeds lift their hearts and heads toward the sky.
Survivors of severe environments,
baked by blazing sun, infrequently watered,
deprived of easy access to nourishing soil,
and squashed by droves of mutilating tires.
Yet, still the stalwart weeds survive,
paragons of beautiful resilience.
Glamorous, fragile flowers are transient.
Plain, ordinary weeds are forever.
For humans who feel our messy lives
are more like run-over weeds than roses,
weeds’ wild fortitude foreshadows
an unexpected, untamed eternity.
Unbelievable, unthinkable, unimaginable,
have lost everything, all gone, now homeless...
are you willing to risk it all, are you strong enough to lead,
running out of food whom will feed you, in shock, now hopeless
stranded, how then will you send for a rescue one day
have you a bag of tricks, skills to hold your own, stable
while you wait in hope, for word a rescue is underway
stressed, unsuspecting what will happen, unpredictable
good physical condition, is pure psychological
strong enough to rebuild, my world eschatology
yet still you have mustard skills to survive all,
you find a safe place, waiting, is leading you blind
finding your way there, where is safe now
finding your way back...
all is up in dah air, this just is'nt fair some how...
History will record, as a matter of fact
that you did at last reach out to your Church..
for a hand-up with your heart a smart place to search
write a little Poem book from your heart
to make MONEY this is where you start
It's time for a serious poem
So I can truly show 'em
That I've mastered metaphor
simile, prosaic petit fours ...
I'll pull out all the stops
rhyme and meter, extra hops
Brew up such a batch of phraseology
as befits an epic of eschatology ...
My vocabulary will absolutely astound you
as to the heights it soars and leaps-'n'-bounds you
And as for opaque literary allusions
why, there will be multitudinous profusions ...
But if all this still does not pass critical muster
~ I'll hire AI to adjust her
eschatology --
suspend its final decree
~ immediately
"A" for Alpha, Aloha, Anaya, Annihilation
The letter "a" for me, the same as in Greece
Alpha! Education must discuss theory
As they do with Evolution. Avoid not, nor hurry
Without TAUGHT respect for Earth-lings, no E,
No peace, No Eireene, no shalom, no shanthi
"O" for Omega, Om, omnipotent, omnibenevolence
Omega is the Z of all things, Eschatology, Ends
We must share about death and dying
And Jesus spoke of His own as SOWING
AND GROWING, as in John 12: 24 though v.25
Is better known (saving your life may end it!);
Jesus humbly said: as a kernel of wheat
He, too, must die, to avoid being just a seed.
For many are His seed, billions (@nd outside the Milky Way)
May be other lives He created, may also save
So begin education with Alpha, end final grade in Omega
A Silent Musical in One Act
Premiered at The Shipwreck Marina,
New Orleans, LA – 11/06/2012
COWBOY PSYCHIATRY
REPUTATION RUMBA
DEPRESSION BABY
ORNAMENTAL LAUGHTER
INTERNET DATING PROFILE
PROPHECY
LOOSE LEAF DIARY
BORDERLINE DISORDER
ESCHATOLOGY
TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN
THE DARK
EVERY PICTURE TELLS A STORY
HINDU VOODOO
COMMINIQUÉ FROM GETHSEMENE
"Eschaton"
This romance
is mine is yours
I walk on water
towards you
rebirth
is a small freedom
so that your
war weary mind
may finally feel
your own resurrection touching
connection
alight a light
firm heart divine
on my territorial shores
in mists of rapturous eschaton blue
dove-winged choirs herald you home
o'er my endless sands of time
I speak in proverbs
your lips whisper poetry
listening always,
I Am
to you
(LadyLabyrinth/ 2021)
EASTER
“Eschaton” / Tony Anderson
https://youtu.be/7OsE-E4bpZc
“The poet is the priest of the invisible.”
Wallace Stevens
Theology,
eschaton. n.
John 16:25 kjv.
John 16 kjv.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eschatology
eschatology
never to be confused with
scatology oops
When the cosmic horn blows
Enchanting soul and spirit, miles
Apart.. Draw closer, it says and
Reach for glory... With one mind,
Egged by the mysterious eschatology
Of the end... Together, we shall all
Name one destiny, with one voice,
Exclaiming, "WE ARE ONE!!!"
It's the end of the world.
Brisk air
ssighhhs,
Silence abounds.
As the sky
E R U P T S
A bloody red-violet.
Seagulls cry
for
one
last
time.
Ships take harbor.
The sun retreats,
goodbye.
woe,
our day is defeated,
the world spins
to a
blurrrrrringgg
STOP.
In November limbs are still
Thin against the dying light
From sylvan vale to hill
Poised in forms for us, contrite
Pergola bare with thorn
The knuckles of the hemlock worn
Expansive loomed leaf arbor's torn
Preparing for winters blight
in hibernation
To discover the divination
of dendrology, their eschatology and escape
Mystic trees as old as hills they nest
Did they raise the earth abreast
and create
Hill and dale, with leaves and root's end-trail
These trees beyond date
and chronology
Ever older, wiser growing,
love, loss and dying things
they who see all and knowing
of all things past that chronos sings
If I could hear, what would they tell?
Of all history's, fair and fell?
And all the tails of old recreate
Dare I impel, and test,
The gods with such haughty inquests
Demanding a divination of truth?
No, never will I know their tale
And happier be, beneath the arbor vale
in summers sweet
or bit by winter's tooth
Seek thou? No!
There is no sooth.
Finishing Line Press. Book FAREWELL TO THE DUST, by C. S. Leaf avalible March 2008
www.FinishingLinePress.com