Long Preternatural Poems
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The Selfish Knight and His Lady
Sixteen pieces for me
Allotted the same for you
But, it always begins with Me first
Unless the 'me' is you...
Whereupon, like Alice in her checkerboard world,
It's up to me to find our way.
It's up to you
To find my way...
I have been both pawn and knight
(never bishop nor king)
And our Queen moves so many ways
She never fails to make me spin.
"Capture the Queen,
Capture the Queen..."
I hear the forever cry
Emanating from the bishops
Holed up in their towers...
Chanting fealty and Romance
Singing of lady-love and noble favors
As I plod forward, a foot-soldier,
Or jump in frenzied el
The maniacal knight
An endless quest...
For her turn
(Your turn, that is, my Lady)
Comportment and Courtly manners
To match Courtly silks and tresses
Follow you in saffron mornings
All through glades of twayblade and cocksfeet;
Ever gathering, ever in the light
While light be present...
'Til evening's soft glow
Guides you home.
Took long years for one mortal
To build a pointed arch.
Arms extended
Through other arms
And tokens and chivalry pristine,
To your lofty heart.
But you removed the keystone
And that house of worship fell.
Unlike Samson in Gaza
Yours was no righteous strength
But some preternatural power
Summoned forth from within.
Sui generis
An altogether different vacuum-genesis
As lightning came from a dark, deconsecrated space
Not creation, but Her black twin.
As it was, so I deserved.
So here we are
Moveable pieces of glass cliché,
Infidels to the universe of Good
Imprisoned on a board
Within a game
Of skill, a game
within mirrors, a game
Within infinite possibility and paradox
Moved by, after all, an unknown hand.
And still, after all that, it is my fault.
We all learn that
Glass pieces, when struck,
By light, or love, or luck
Make fine parade of color
But cast no shadow.
Well, not
The hollow ones fashioned like you,
The one imprisoned my soul,
Turned prism opaque,
Forced the flight of radiant light...
But, fine pieces they do chip,
Or splinter,
Or break.
That's why they move
When someone shouts,
"Off with her head!"
So it is, after all
This fear which motivates ...
And dispatches all.
3.
Or down yet another city street,
This Way down that grand Hiway,
That Third Eye opened:
Random patches of dandelion manifest,
Climbing the overgrown commons by the road;
Disappearing out of sight -
By the cracked, sun-blanched sidewalk;
Golden and deep emerald green dandelion
Over the smog-choked horizon.
Humanity on the brink,
Sliding down that proverbial 'slippery slope" -
To the proverbial abyss of our insouciance, to
Our bourgeois folly, infernal cruelty fed by witless greed,
The more mundane, mere surface of all things, as they may be.
But again, surely, this can't be all that is: So mean, so toxic.
Refreshed, one looks again, looks with eyes wide open with
New Saving Knowledge.
Now the patches of dandelion seem even more startlingly
Alive and vibrant.
They seem, somehow, almost "more real than real".
Illumined, they appear hyper-real, dazzlingly brilliant,
Appear preternatural, mesmerisingly coronal, and
Opulent, yet as though man-made, like ethereal origami,
Like the sun itself, another Saving "Point of Navigation" to
the Hidden Infinite Divine Source behind all things mundane.
*****
"Jesus said [to Judas Iscariot], 'Come and I will teach you ...
about a great realm and a boundlessness whose measure no angelic
race has comprehended. In it is the great Invisible Spirit ...'"
--- The Gospel of Judas 10: 1 - 5
"God is one's very 'own'. It is the eternal relationship. One realizes Him in
direct proportion to the intensity of one's feelings for Him. Don't be afraid.
Always remember that somebody is protecting you."
"He who is really anxious to cross the ocean of the material world will somehow break his bonds. No one can entangle him."
--- The Holy Mother, Sri Saradamani Devi, the divine consort of
Sri Ramakrishna
"Mary [Magdalene] said [to Jesus Christ], 'Lord, is there a place which [lacks truth]? The Lord said, "The place where I am not!'"
--- From the Dialogue of the Savior
"God is a dyer. As the good dyes, which are called 'true', dissolve with
the things dyed in them, so it is with those whom God has dyed. Since his dyes are immortal, they are immortal by means of his colors."
--- From the Gospel of Philip
Polypaths
lead neuro-systemically back
to Mother/Child original wombed attachment
A remarkably warm
and wet counterpoint
to a sterile anthrosupremacist theory
of Original Separating Sin.
Instead,
in this organic preternatural
panentheistic
spiritual experience
of win/win healthy wealth,
co-attachment overrides win/lose
zero-sum compromised
competitive relationships
Patriarchal
and capitalist self creationships
come later
as post-partum polarizing issues
aggravated by contemporary
climate pandemic anxious
post-millennial expectations
Not supporting child-conceiving,
child-weaving,
child-rearing maternal
maturing ecofeminist instincts
Substituting win/lose separation anxieties
EarthMother apartness
sacrilegious loneliness
autistic detachment
relentless aching solitude
absence of warm humane touch
and transcendently divine revision
Moving toward lose/lose claustrophobic
degeneration of a healthy
maternally wealthy
root secure resilient attachment
AND
devoid of a wealth-feeling child
securely unwounded, emerging
from EarthMother's green womb
of co-enlightenment
spiritually opening
and then naturally closing
then co-empathic redisclosing
remembering tombs of ancient co-intelligence
multigenerational
interdependent webs
integrating EarthTribe enlightened
empowerment.
Original Sin
implies our Creator of Integrity
made us
an anthropomorphic mistake
Inadequately assumes
that humanity's spirituality
is dualistically severed
from divinity's naturality;
that Yintegral deep Flow
is not also Yang widely polycultural Strength
of polypathic cooperation
This, in turn,
confuses a LeftBrain monotheistic dominant
either/or unmindful anthrosupremacist way
of ZeroSum calibrating
win/win regenerative
analogical health/wealth
Child/EarthMother care
Which could not support
Lose/Lose Original Sin
of degenerative genocide
inspiring evangelical red terrorist
desperate,
Seize the AnthroSupremacist Day,
ecocide.
When a tree is felled....!
When a tree is felled, a sad ring of deathknell,
With it goes for many - their tiny places to dwell!
How much of Earth will man's greed consume ?
Very many forms discovered by him to subsume;
Bottomless appetite you expect to satiate,
And his thoughts so contrive only to ingratiate!
Every stroke of the axe and gnaw of the saw,
Spells doom at the hands of that ominous paw!
Aren't trees - balancing poles protecting this rock,
From heat and for rains during this tightrope walk!
Uses varied and very many by their sheer presence,
Must stop felling them under all and any pretense!
Trees exhale precious oxygen that built many a life,
Inhaling noxious gases produced by man, 'oh' in rife!
Varieties of food they provide on which we live on,
Yet, Ungrateful as ever, we cut now to later bemoan.
Self will of a man cull them, falsely claiming strife,
It is his own string of life that he cuts with a knife.
Takes decades for them to grow in size and stature;
Only a few minutes for us to dismiss and forfeiture!
What right and authority is human vested with?
When superiority he claims is only a blind eye myth!
Inter-woven life is obfuscated to meet his own end,
Obliterating efforts of good men, yet many refusing to mend.
Trees are the source for basics - food, water and shelter;
Man strikes at the root, leaving no room in time to alter!
Enough has been done in the last twenty odd decades,
Showing man's true colours against visible facades.
If it is an event where man is pitted against another man,
Spares nothing - hook or crook, for his way alone to span!
Preternatural tendency of man alone to strive,
Killing, 'spirit of co-existence' in which all life jive!
Warp and weft in whole in which trees are essentials,
Warp and woof - why man ignores their credentials!
Claiming to be highly evolved, will just not suffice,
Spirit of 'live and let live' - make this heaven's orifice!
As I arise and fresh aspire
to seek that which, in men, inspire,
with each new light, of each new day,
I still by will and night's display,
again, have lost my way.
I claim that all is lost within
infinity's infinity;
a vacant space of cold uncertainty.
For were I not this man I see,
reflected, in the dimness of the glass
and had the features of a creature I
might choose; a bear, a snail, a peacock's tail,
or mighty tiger's jungle muse,
then surely I would take the form
of one - and from the human run -
away from daily reasoned doubt
which shares man's vain and selfish shelf,
and so become engaged within my preternatural self.
The morning light still reaches not the black
and vast eternal void: where man is cast
at last, in vain, to claim by reason's bane,
a purpose stated, never named,
dissected from such flimsy source
as Freud or Joyce or God, of course!
If I as creature be too dumb
and distant from great wisdom's thumb,
then creature yes, I choose to be,
rejecting realms where reason dwells;
as reason fails, not partially,
while posing most suspiciously,
but totally becomes consumed
as fuel that feeds the furtive needs
of man's malignant vanity.
It serves confusion's mischief muse,
imbued as food and fodder for the fuse
that shines no truth upon the night,
nor does it bring a guiding light
to man - brother to the creatures given
treasured gifts of insight rare. Deflecting
guile's deceit reveals the mind of man's profound conceit,
in things that sing of new philosophy;
and brings devolving degradation to the clueless mind of man.
Conversion of dogmatic divinations
made by few, to regulated absolutes,
without review, reveals what tyranny
conceals: seduction of a population
utilizing truth manipulation.
The truth is new each time it's found
and what we bind as truth today
we find no future truth is bound.
I had gone looking for trouble.
I found it.
I had awoke in a sour mood. Very unlike myself at all. I am usually, always in good
cheer.
Almost, always.
I was spoiling for a fight.
The need radiated from me.
Even Crystal could sense the difference in my demeanor.
The flea bitten, sweet, craven coward.
After donning my new Peacock blue cloak, with the black pipping and carrying my gold
tipped, lions head walking stick. I left straight away.
I walked for miles. Ending up in the seediest part of the city. The Docks.
I aimlessly wandered the filth strewn, cobbled streets.
Passing many an Ale House.
Finally, my preternatural hearing found the sounds of a fight.
Why, it was an all out riot.
Off I flew to join in.
Fists flying. Daggers plunging. Walking stick cracking skulls. (that would be me)
What fun!
I held back from using my immortal strength. I wanted to feel each time my fist met
flesh. To have to Pick teeth out of my knuckles.
One chap actually caught me a rather right smart jab to my chiseled chin.
Exhausted, the men crumpled to a heap.
Only I remained standing....and the fifteen or so Policemen watching the fray from a
respectable distance.
I have always prided myself on being a law abiding, upstanding citizen. As it were.
So, when they started gathering up everyone and loading them into the Jail Wagon. I
went along, as a lark.
What a buffet!
By the time we reached Central Station, I had sipped upon many a fine blood.
When the Police opened the rear doors of the wagon, I jumped down to the ground,
tipped my hat to them and simply (to his eyes) vanished.
Preternatural speed can be so amusing, when used correctly.
By now, my description will be bandied about. A well dressed gentleman ghost. A
polite wraith. A handsome demon.
I like that. A Handsome Demon...very apt.
I am in a much better spirit now.
~Lord Kellington
Methinks resurgence of wakefulness
after bewitching hour i.e. midnight
quickly dissipating before dawn
quasi baptism regarding
preternatural soulful immersion
amidst spiritus mundi
foretaste awaiting expiration
regarding corporeal being
yours truly approaching mortality,
despite atheistic predilections
mine consciousness anointed
amist pantheon renown authors
analogous to dead poet society
ephemerally, fleetingly, gloriously
rejuvenated injecting inspiration
channeling, kindling, tindering
divine ethereal effervescence
allowing, enabling, proffering
exquisite jubilant outlook,
albeit phenomenal, quintessential, surreal
flash dancing unbelievable arabesque
spellbinding one garden variety
no name brand mortal
with dizzying evocative
silent springing summer
re: August gifted wordsmiths
avast swath of diverse
literary creative minds
amalgamation spanning
representative creeds, ethnicities,
genders, nationalities, religions...
disembodied spirits
peacefully commingling
immortal legendary outsize resplendent
universally vaunted writers
inaccessible to communicate
become linkedin while
this body (me) electrified
with sensory awareness
merely sneak preview
after life coming attractions,
nonetheless spark zealousness
to hone poetic craftsmanship
never approaching supreme
talent these masters endowed
yet also aspiring
to tamp down intimidation
beholding gold standard
benchmarked excellence
no matter mine deft
flourishes with English language
never earns raves
still enjoyment arises
enamored with kickstarting
indulging reverence expressing
emotions, thoughts, yearnings...
thru milieu courtesy
twenty six symbols,
where dictionary equals Bible
said tome in tandem with thesaurus
treasure trove of untold delight
and affinity since boyhood
until...corporeal flesh
attains posthumous summons.
Just like Helen of Troy
your face could launch
a thousand ships.
Your preternatural beauty,
arrests the air I breathe.
At first glance,
time freezes to a standstill.
So enviable is the symmetry of your face.
Your facial features, perfectly chiseled.
Your captivating face,
a feast for the eyes
Tantamount to fireflies
swarming the charcoal sky;
even Aphrodite would bow her head
in shame before you.
Just like Helen of Troy
your face could launch
a thousand ships.
That nose, beautifully centered
on your heart-shaped face.
Those lips, a rounded cupid's bow.
Those amber puppy-dog eyes,
brim with love
and devastating innocence.
Oh, how your face comes alive
when you smile at me!
Your aura, nothing short of magnetic!
The power of your radiant smile
could make iceberg explode
like dynamite!
Just like Helen of Troy
your face could launch
a thousand ships.
Free Verse Only- Pick a Theme Poetry Contest/Winner(2nd Place)
Sponsored by: Laura Loo
Theme: Your face could launch a thousand ships
Date written and posted: 05/29/2018
She crept in silence down to the swamp
And saw the dark cave where nobody goes,
This whole place shrouded in eldritch trees
Primordial feeling of preternatural bewitching,
The swamps felt alive yet was as green as the trees
Lily pads sat upon it and things below the surface were moving,
As dragonflies hovered above with fireflies
There was a hum and an eerie kind of dim light
And as she crept around to the cave via a ledge
Within she saw two large yellow eyes and smelt its sulphur breath,
Then as she entered feeling brave and yet scared
She saw the dragon laying right there,
It stared at her as she studied its scaled skin
And the fact she was standing here started sinking in,
Then she pulled out a game called Huffle - Winks
And waited to see what this great beast would think,
She explained she believed it would do her no harm
That she believed the dragon relished a life that was peaceful and calm,
The dragon nodded its head in accent
And lit up the braziers on the walls in its den
And she saw the whole place was Luminescent and golden
And floor made of soft loamy moss on which to sit in relative comfort
And the pair then settled down to play this game of Huffle Winks
And in this moment they spent together nothing else existed
And the dragonflies and fireflies fluttered in and out of this place,
They played until she knew the day was soon to fade away
Then on leaving she asked if she could visit again,
The dragon nodded it's head in slow but a deliberate way
And she could have been mistaken but she was sure that it smiled
And she vowed being the dragons friend would now define her lifestyle.
13/5/18
I.
O Bacchanalia! O wild Mania,
be this crazed ecstasy the touch of God!?
To be transported bodes Arcadia:
but this sense—this awareness!—is too odd.
O manic shape! Touched attitude of thought!
This sudden, unlooked-for, deranged climax
of the mind inspires with enraptured thrill.
Calliope! thou hast me overwrought:
whence springs this manic grammar and syntax,
this wondrous expression which melts gloom's chill?
II.
Thou rhapsody! Thou monumental bliss!
What euphoria overwhelms the brain?
With eloquent Calliope's moist kiss,
thrilled ravishment uplifts the head's domain.
O Joy! Great, great Joy! Intense happiness,
with rapture mingled, revives the psyche
with grandiose delusion of the mind;
then glee that transcends efforts to express,
like preternatural Being whose frenzy
all at once overpowers, strikes me blind!
III.
Erelong is the psyche sorely distress'd,
as slowly is ruined the one diseased
by dire imbalance of the brain! Oppress'd,
and finding Mania now none appeased,
I wane with her then fading servitude;
for in her wake she leaves a deadly unrest
(that will perforce require the mortician).
For wretchedness of mind damns the unblest:
but o'er souls where with angels devils feud,
God can heal as the Divine Physician.