Is Heaven Horizontal?
by Frank Daub
Is Heaven horizontal, Up, AWAY?
Or in the sky?
How ?
Will I find that place on the second when I Die?
Time seems most essential
for the journey that must be.
Preparation? Consequential.
It is ETERNITY.
Is there someone who can say?
Is Heaven a STATE – Of mind?
A condition of the – SOUL?
What will I find?
The mystery of a never-ending role?
A Condition that after journey, Becomes fruition,
based upon the pleasure of the Guide.
And if a Guide, the mission?
To start -- I died.
Is Heaven UP, horizontal, AWAY,
Or in the sky?
Amy Lowell 'TAXI'
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The art of creating a visual response to a piece of writing is known as a reverse ekphrasis ie the inverse of the centuries old poetic form of ekphrasis.
The most well known example being Charles Demuth 'Figure 5' based upon a W C Williams Poem.(see link in notes above)
EMAGI is a recent (fun) variation of a reverse ekphrasis derived by the advent of the widespread use of hand held digital communication devices -where words in digital symbols /letters can be represented as a shape
and uses a poet's poem to inspire the digitised 'drawing'
Edward Thomas 'HAYMAKING'
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I made myself the light to guide you through,
But the one who was lost was never even you.
I drained my glow to save you,
left to fade in the dark,
I pray fate never lets you steal someone's spark.
Don't ask me if I'm doing fine,
I won't let myself cross that line.
Back to that place again,
Where there was only pain.
The art of creating a visual response to a piece of writing is known as a reverse ekphrasis ie the inverse of the centuries old poetic form of ekphrasis.
The most well known example being Charles Demuth 'Figure 5' based upon a W C Williams Poem.(see link in notes above)
EMAGI is a recent (fun) variation of a reverse ekphrasis derived by the advent of the widespread use of hand held digital communication devices -where words in digital symbols /letters can be represented as a shape
and uses a poet's poem to inspire the digitised 'drawing'
and an EMAGI as entered Sep 14 in this weeks VISUAL POETRY STUDIO
Wallace Stevens Valley Candle
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My father was my Idol, Philosopher and Guide.
But he was a dominant person always to Control -
I had regular fight with him on inevitable Clash !
Imprisoned in childhood owing to daily Clash
Tired on conflict ! Developed personality yer he was Guide.
No way, I revolted to escape from his over -all Control !
I had to choose my own way getting rid of his Control
I had to struggle but I was just fed up on continued Clash.
Yet alll along I paid due respect to Dad as my Guide.
Dad was my Guide but I went out of his Control avoiding Clash !
The art of creating a visual response to a piece of writing is known as a reverse ekphrasis ie the inverse of the centuries old poetic form of ekphrasis.
The most well known example being Charles Demuth 'Figure 5' based upon a W C Williams Poem.(see link in notes above)
EMAGI is a recent (fun) variation of a reverse ekphrasis derived by the advent of the widespread use of hand held digital communication devices -where words in digital symbols /letters can be represented as a shape
and uses a poet's poem to inspire the digitised 'drawing'
and an EMAGI as entered Sep 7 in this weeks VISUAL POETRY STUDIO
Wallace Stevens'ICE CREAM' a 99
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'A Guide to a Bonfire Win'
Good food and good cheer with your kin.
Some beer and grilled meat,
a special sweet treat,
and wash it all down with some gin!
I am a man that cannot see,
I have to trust in what I feel,
Because I feel you next to me.
I am a man that cannot see,
I have to trust those who guide me,
So I trust you won't leave me lost at sea.
I am a man that cannot see,
I value your voice more than your words to me,
So I trust you when I hear say you love me.
I am a man that cannot see,
I am not blind, I lived in a fantasy.
Now you have left me for him-
That is all I see.
O, Muse divine! guide thou my soul and pen,
inspire me to divine song and rhythm,
to sing tales of Greek gods and thewy men,
now carved in ancient, history-bending prism.
Grant me Apollo's sky-searing chariot,
so like a scorching sun that sears the earth,
I may ascend to heights of poet's fame,
in Mount Parnassus's sacred, watery hearth.
But if divine impulse thou must withhold,
then may my measure's rhyme not be forsaken,
and instead may thy grace for me unfold,
so words of gold and gems be not untaken.
O Muse! Let me drink from the Pierian springs,
so thy sweet strains might move both gods and kings.
An
airy successful glow is
always filled with
hay road springy
goof balls prior to
green gang-
resurgence to con-
trol pesty
in-crap greedheads.
A tall white tower in stones I stretch high,
Towards the expanse or the starry sky;
I stay awake through all hours of the night,
Shining afar my steady, sparkling light.
Pitched at edge of land and sea crashing white,
It is my humble duty and delight
To guide sailors sail safely past the shore
And dread the squally stormy seas no more.
Even If storms should turn the sky to lead,
My beam ever remains where sailors tread;
Even when thunder shakes the hollow ground
I direct them to the shore, safe and sound.
Beyond the reach of warmth and far from home
Sailors trust my tower through mist and foam;
They track the trail of my bright rhythmic glow
Despite the whirling waves and tides below.
My years flit by in midst of salt and spray,
My paints from my walls are peeling away,
Yet still I hold darkness of night at bay
Until the safe and soft return of day.
The sea has never promised calm,
Nor spared the strong from wind or rain;
It only asks that those who sail
Rise up and try the waves again.
The lighthouse doesn't chase the ships,
Or calm the clouds that gather near;
It simply keeps its lantern lit,
A quiet answer year by year.
I've known a few like that in life,
The ones who never sought applause;
They stood like hope with steady hands,
And loved without a cause.
Long after words were swept away,
Their faithful light remained with me;
A kindness given long ago
Still reached across a restless sea.
Perhaps the brightest lights we find
Were never built for praise or fame;
They simply shine through darkest nights,
And help us do the very same.
May we be blessed those times we’re lost…
confused…dealing with sorrow, struggles and strife…
to allow our hearts to be our compass
that guides us through such moments in our life.
Mental illness slithers like floss.
Hurts like stabbing lip gloss.
Runs around like trash with feet.
But that’s not the cause of retreat.
It’s globs of smiling overflowing.
And patterns of unknowing.
He walked up one day, like a dried up jellyfish.
Asked what kind of coat I wish.
But I’d rather be chilled than endure a soft jacket.
Which stings like a loud racket.
Mental illness isn’t like just any wish in a well.
And it’s more than being unwell.
It’s junk piled in a corner shed.
And fangs appeared on me instead.
An apparition or a voice in the trash can?
That’s when I tossed my clothes and ran.
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