Long Antiquity Poems
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My lifetime dream hasn't been realized yet;
I like to travel to Europe where History was made.
I will start with the glorious city of Rome
with its ancient monuments which still fascinate!
I like to see one of the gems of ancient architecture:
the Colosseum, hear the roars of the gladiators
and the screams of the crowds applauding the winner;
I will stroll down Via Veneto find an uncrowded café,'
and sip a cappuccino in the tepid Roman sun!
My next step is to go to Paris and admire its wonders
by the Senna; I will sit and dream of long ago as Victor
Hugo did at Notre-Dame, the gothic Cathedral of antiquity,
then on to Versailles where Napoleon Bonaparte resided.
London can't be missed on my travel list, this magnificent city
which was built two millennia ago, has its own English charm:
the imposing Tower Bridge overlooking the Thames River;
ah, Liverpool is a must: once home of the enigmatic Beatles!
Madrid is every artist's dream, a beautiful city built on water;
very impressive is the Almudena Cathedral with priceless art works,
it's the dynamic city of bullfighters, watch the matadors do magic;
at night, it's all music and splendor inside the wide Plaza Mayor!
Written on 2/19/ 2016
......The loss of Alexandria,
the burning of Ashburnham House,
the Grand Library of Baghdad
which the Mongolians tore down,
the countless Aztec codices
that the conquistadors all burned...
just thinking of the knowledge lost
sometimes can make my stomach churn.
Even Shakespeare claims a ‘lost play,’
this is not bound to antiquity,
Scott Joplin’s opera Guest of Honor
has been swallowed by history.
Even some tales by Hemmingway
disappeared in a lost suitcase,
happens still in our modern age,
a quite avoidable disgrace.
Only God knows just what we’ve lost,
and isn’t keen on sharing it,
what we still have is half the tale,
we’ve lost so much wisdom and wit.
It can fill a curious mind
with a sense of tired despair,
paper rots and the stone erodes
until it all just goes nowhere…
Perhaps, these days, the bits and bites
will keep all of our knowledge better,
after all, don’t the people say
the Internet is forever?
Isn’t it?
….on an unrelated note, I’m gonna go post this on every poetry forum I can find…
Our soul is singular
Particular and
without doubt
ridiculous in
splendid antiquity.
Unified specificity
quite specific inside the
terrific chemistry of
selective attachment.
Written parchment
on the evolution of
Love. I heard as rain
came from above...
It is.True.
"My Love Please..."
and pleases Me too.
Inspiration shared in
a singular motion.
Hear we dared and
rain became Ocean.
Moving slow waters
flow in a sea of
passion. Excitations
elevate elation and
cries from the X t'see
inside...
Holding each other
in vulnerable and
open strides love
replaces pride and
inhibition is no more.
We surrender body
as Soul explores...
"Meu amor Por favor....
Come Inside..."
Form:
The primate, loves to show himself off very much,
brags about his accomplishments as to being the most intelligent living being
on the earth; he is overly proud about himself for his achieved material abundance through inventing Money and development of convenient and comfortable living habitats with it. In so doing, man has become Money’s slave.
Although Money does all kinds of indecent things; mounts high
on this most intelligent but cowardly creature’s back fluttering
a banner of arrogance, Money even lashes the creature;
the creature swallows an insult adding zeroes to the note
each time Money lashes him.
I wonder why the creature submitted to Money, abandoning his pride and dignity. His ancestor hundreds of thousands of ages ago who crossed the water in very remote antiquity, rowing a boat in the heavy mist to arrive here has carried more zeros then the note he held. He keeps adding more to his note accepting lash after lash of humiliation.
Although it’s about time to stop adding zeroes to the note
the creature overly attracted to Money begins to recite a spell
no one would understand, offering a bribe and bowing to an idol
made of gold.
Bribery is an added function of Money and is invisible; no one sees who offers
or who receives it. The certified check: with many more zeros printed on it
than the notes offered to the idol; will be awarded to the spell-chanter’s hand
as a reward for the number of incantations he uttered and bowed to the idol.
The idol: that is able to conceive the meaning of the spell is smiling
because the bribe is a windfall; income to one who sits in the chair
comes with power, and is like a never-drying well in the wilderness.
Above all, it’s sweeter then honey. That’s why the idol eats gluttonously.
A swarm of flies comes and lick the undigested food, mixed with Money and
the many zeroes he vomits.
Just some kind words of appreciation
A thoughtful moment to understand,
Recommend the difference in a person
That changes the ambiance and beyond.
Deeds of kindness and gentle thoughts,
Send the vestiges of virtues down here,
Deity finds elusive paths to our hearts,
Retrieve the messages we long to hear.
Show someone that you care about them
Our deeds will last, pass through the ages,
And cross over timely generations to learn
All the folklore, stored in the gallery of stories.
Antiquity, share deeds of life in an oracle,
Kind words held out by hearts and hand,
Count them one by one, up to the pinnacle
And they become a mighty force in the land.
Kind to even those living with wretched vanity,
Kind words offered to those despised and scorn,
Hope the deed will help make our world happy,
Put a smile where the haunting suspicion frown.
But the actions of virtue are a humble choice,
A kind word is a sweet world inside our being,
The unseen force of visions, dreams, and device,
Planting beautiful seeds of duty in our realm.
AMID THE LUXURY OF NOW
It is prelude to spring
The honey and I are basking
On sun deck, in mid March warm breeze
He's reading King James, 'Genesis to Revelation'
I sit reading, 'Trick of The Eye' it's captivating.
Pine trees rustles in the wind
Squirrels I see frolicking
I pause for birds singing
The innocent voice of a child across fences is welcoming
In this military town of revolving doors
Even the sound of a barking dog, too, is welcoming.
I think to myself, how sad those years I lived half blind
I could now bask on veranda, overlooking calm Caribbean waters
Or dwell in cemented home on top floor, with panoramic view
Overlooking city of antiquity, now tourist town
Or own many mansions, furnished, surrounded by trees and sea.
Then just like that; warm breeze, with rustling pine
Dished nostalgia back to me, I heard:
'Amidst the luxury of now, to by gone buried years you'd bow?'
*
Ocean mind
Consider the mind like an ocean kind,
the depth and other side are invisible to the lights of mind.
The ocean creates, sustains and recycles,
accumulates and provides fresh water as natural miracles.
Thoughts are like this water, we need to survive,
in the body of water feeling alive.
The curios mind wonders about the depth of sea,
it might brings some treasures to adore for all to agree.
Pearls of wisdom or knowledge of antiquity,
resources of nourishing values of certainty.
Rational stability with great effort enforced,
food for thoughts need to be endorsed.
The shores of new worlds still to explore,
the mind wants to know what is beyond for more.
Facing the storms and elements to endure,
giving faith the ultimate test for sure.
Taken that courage to brave the unknown,
making possibilities the richness to know.
If love is the living water unfathomable and sweet high,
it will touch the impossibility to amplify.
Magnanimous thoughts should be applied even in vain,
then motions are constant in the ocean of the brain.
The living waters is the soul’s adaptability,
giving the body all its rejuvenating possibility.
Hart Crane tribute
forsake our eyes
in a lovers cry
&sigh
shadows sweep decends
that
doubtful day:
a lie revealed
now proved
first seen
in its fall
on a cloud
beyond desire
a tide of voices
sleeves
of sound
wash away
slowly distills
clustering
then
sleeps
out of sight
singing low
of long ago
times rcalled
I used to see:
timeless
now torn
on wayward plight
silently
below
into the dan
rhythm
drew a crash of leaves
like
a tide of destiny
change
began
consummate&
free
dream no more
with
barren trees
without a rein
remember&
atone
its not too late
sands
are running
the hushed lands
home
to our own
we all
in thrall
while
time clears
in endless space
it
smiles
as in a cloud
of
infinity ahead
abandoned pastures
mumurless
blind ecstasy
& mutual glee
unvanquished space
&
chiselled heights
with
sleeping havens
none escapes
the vision
in our hands
now
let go
now more alone
one by one
to
grieve
the backward vision
through
the smoke
tinselled hands
through windowed panes
of
seasons
fleeting
palatial white
in a show
survey
not
heard before
in antiquity or
parentage
the heart is wrung
forsees
the end
with easy sight
on&on
for evermore
one
after
one
breath
made cry's
surpassing call
beyond
time
Sunset depends on whether one
is looking up or down, angle changes
perspective – at the horizon it is all
sort of the same anyway. Day and
night a circular contraption, the mechanics
of stars and planets. Our sun the center
of existence for us most would agree,
the hub of light and shadows, how we
mostly live in the shades, where things
meet and crisscross. Transitions our
greatest mysteries, topics morphing
often without warning. Weather, surf
and sea, glaciers on the move, the
human relationships most confounding of all!
Found a book with some rose petals
pressed between the pages...God knows
how long they have been there, a volume
of great antiquity. Someone carefully placed them
long gone – perhaps promises made; I hope they
yet carry? History badly repeats itself! Wishing
love goes on as well...set aside a fond dimension,
safe from both heaven and hell.
Those directions that lead to the opposite of end,
riding those chosen ways just around the bend.
The deja vu of unsolved issue in mystery,
the rooting out in quest of truth, to please destiny.
Seeming different scenarios to please the image,
the shades of the mental eye and ego’s damage.
The self of self not aware and its references,
true responsibilities and its consequences.
The season of the chasing tail and many stories ride,
the moon in many phases adding to that tide.
Maiden fares with balloons on jolly noisy carousel,
excitements of dreams in a coming though spell.
Wondrous mental agonies from the same pigeon-hole,
while Pegasus law of love is a different scroll.
The extension of divine love gravity - to take off,
the intuitive flow by virtues law, all thereof.
Foaled out of Medusa head upon her death as told,
the immortal Horse and bearer of thunderbolt.
Compelling mythological antiquity and metaphor,
subtle light revealing room, opening that door.
The hero in the self by taming restless desire,
the language of inferior conquest and glow of fire.
Pegasus senses fragile tensions,
when faith is lost in small dark dimensions.