I'm i not to know? Must wonder aimlessly amongst emersed possibility's?
Do the answers you hide even remember the reasons why they are occulted, or do they stand in defiance from a questions lack of understanding? Are these riddles that escape me? Am I a troll that can't cross his own bridge? Or am I the cleaver traveler that chooses a different way avoiding the troll altogether? Is there a god? If so is he defected like me in all his glory? Or was I the last to be cast in an unclean mold, sold to the world for the same price? Is there balance we should all find? Or do we as imperfect individuals form the scale on witch we are all measured? If so how is it calibrated in a world that refuses to carry its own weight?
Categories:
occulted, deep, extended metaphor, i
Form: Free verse
Tick-tock, tick-tock, the dance of the clock’s
invisible to the naked eye; occulted.
We see what we do with spirit’s eye;
it sees beyond walls.
When my clock dances a jig, the physical eye,
uninvited to the party, sleeps deep.
Categories:
occulted, deep, dream, imagery, imagination,
Form: Free verse
The Strid
Get rid of the Strid with its seething torrent trapped amid the caves
In downward spiral coursing through a web of underwater stone
Oh that the river would have carved a safer way away from occulted potholes
Shame on its dogged passage that prefers the dangerous route
It could have chosen a placid path amid a tranquil retreat
Where solace is found amongst much safer depths
But retain the bowing trees that stand around and cast a shade
With hanging boughs for birds to alight and sing their song
Strange river that aspires to stream again to squeeze into the narrow
A tempting bubbling brook that bluffs its onlooker
Mere stride to other side in gleeful daring
That tests the balance on slippery verge and rock
And Strid becomes the stride to play the waiting game
Thus claim ill fated darers that slip into its frothy forbode
With smothering aqueous wings dragged into caverns
Where infinite to remain and forever retained
In a murky swathe of peaty chambers yet to be discovered
Where amongst its conquests a would be king
Rules amid the Strid’s palatial watery kingdom
Categories:
occulted, river,
Form: Blank verse
Humble moon
hid sun
from view;
earthlings
forsaken
shaken.
Saw eclipse at dusk,
when sun set,
then rose
at night.
Saw eclipse at dawn
when sun rose, twice
in morn.
Sun
forlorn,
occulted.
Categories:
occulted, moon, sun,
Form: Free verse
"If in the first act you have hung a pistol on the wall, then in the following one it should be fired." -- Anton Chekhov
Chekhov declared that it's clearly imperative
That a gun given billing must duly be fired.
The bullet obligingly cinches the narrative,
Sating the thirst that the gun first inspired.
Yet the world is awash in objects inutile,
Which clog our disorderly narrative streams.
So why should a playwright adhere to so futile
A diktat pertaining to props in a scene?
Myself for example, habitually arming
The darkness that swaddles me, inkily deep,
My mind so occulted its doubly alarming
To grasp the black Kimber, now sprung from its keep.
The prop having found its way on to the stage,
My untethered demons start chorally keening,
Quite certain they know what the gun must presage:
That this is the moment that holds all the meaning.
Categories:
occulted, depression,
Form: Verse
Feature the nature a darkness
And us like blind wights yet flawless;
We go about in normal ways.
Things are akin magnetic sways;
Atoms, quarks are real blank, shapeless.
Invisible shield, things pieces,
Brightened? turned hovering arrays.
You seat and lean as if in space;
Also, your body only is
Occulted from optic notice.
Back, you bore on easily my
Core to fathom this dreamy try
In gloom which frights the brightness.
Black paint on things sires a likeness.
If light drifts random your climate,
And eyes not shy- wide radiate;
Thus, you perceive, as you conceive this,
Colored things- sole light and forces.
Categories:
occulted, imagination, nature, science, science
Form: I do not know?