“Now overlap the sundials
with your shadows”
- Rainer Maria Rilke
Morning
There are no answers.
The river is too busy reflecting
trees on the far bank and healing
its mirror after being gashed
by a passing boat.
The whole morning with its clear,
crisp air and sunlit space is simply
getting on with what it has to do -
letting the day's story unfold
in time.
And so it is with me,
unfolding into my own space,
trying to heal the things
that do not reflect
what is truly real.
Evening
Like a gnomon on a sundial,
the Newport power station's
tall chimney casts its long shadow
across the river. It seems
to herald a sense of hurry
as evening approaches.
Soon, starlings will begin to loudly
bustle for roosting positions
in the nearby plane trees
and fruit bats will take flight
lifting a dark ominous cloud
into the night sky before
splintering into countless wings.
They are like messengers
from another world.
But who will hear them?
I walk home, my thoughts
seeking shelter in the familiar,
deep in my own denial
A brightly feathered crooner
daffodils along a hidden creek.
The bombs mimicking raindrops, cracking the halo of good dreams.
Assassins are ever commonplace.
The human race is in constant critical condition.
Following faint scents of rosaries misplaced.
God never seemed so far-far-far away.
The freshest plague is long since dead.
Something is still raging in their heads.
Funhouse faces of the modern man.
Stroking of the flesh-his only task.
The four horsemen are encroaching fast.
Upon the blistered sundials of wayward lambs.
Futile to hoard or take cover from the blast.
Our manna, God knows where our souls are at.
A coffee over the buzzing watches
Did once urge me feelings of grace.
Then they ticked and tocked away;
And was dumped down with all the
Documents and filed signatures in
Unnoticable pile.
Only the sundials non-stop on a frozen
Lake, and I internally ache.
Maybe twas a neuronal longing
For un single pause -
Then watch the unmoving objects on the ice,
And with scrutiny, the glint of one smiling
Droplet…and the next… until a smooth and
Tranquil blanket encompasses you,
Then resume.
Swiftly
On a rainbow
Rode the moonlight
Surfing on the river’s drifting leaves
Afloat upon the hopes
Of spinning dandelions
Creeping through the gray
Of tombstone chill
Shadowing the sundials darker side.
Mingling amid the stoic lovers
Teasing the silent Owl’s sight
Haunting the silhouettes of cities
This forever artist paints its endless night
At first we heard a timekeeper was broken
But how do you break a person?
Or was a timekeeper something else in this world?
I looked around for evidence of time.
I found no clocks, watches or sundials.
This is a strange planet, I admitted to my captain.
Maybe because all of the time dials have been stolen or broken.
That would explain the lack of structure.
People were running amok, as if they did not know whether to come or go.
Broken timekeepers are no joke.
In the clock the man is Red.
Play on Deadly Sands for years...
Tick-tock: bloody bleak son's!
Tick-tock: Humanity is DEAD.
Wading into time’s
Tide, wiping off the grime
In the days of the black flood...
In seasons of deep crimson thunder...
Heads full of blue white fire burn...
The iron chrome that covers glass rocks
Cracks crazy fractures run!
Dirty clock's with broken chimes
Hides in dim memories of faded grimes
Jaded memories…
something plays.
Little lies are buried in violet crimes.
Sundials are jagged
Realities blood spilled
It washes from dry years
While souls
...wander through tick-tocks
...of ancient grandfather clocks!
sometimes times solid;
by minute or hour hands;
measurements of time;
hour glass broken;
sundials don’t work in the rain;
sometimes times misses;
measurements of time;
by minute or hour hands;
times solid sometimes;
6/27/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2021©
Green Oasis in the midst of burning sands.
Milk ed Maidens in garb of headdress band.
Soaked in milk and butters cream.
Supple like the grass, taught like the reed.
Come back to me, fall back to your
Leige.
The dry hollowed Papyrus unlocks
the Sundials mystery.
Tells not the tale of my voyaged seventh sea.
Sarcophagus be damned.
I will procure the scarab from the Genie,
the Cyclops, Jason,
or whomever holds the Goldening,
that was fleeced from me.
I will take my birthright
from their blooding hands.
As the Nile bleeds
onto the fertile crescent lands.
See it in your Astronomy.
Canopic jar it with your gland.
The Sphinx's eyes gleam and Sirius,
it shines for me.
By God's own hand.
I've spent sundials of time feeding ghosts,
teaspoons of fear
dollops of regret
pecks of what-ifs.
Just to keep them pacified
'til I could grow some balls and climb
the cold cliffs of courage.
but the truth is...
I'll never climb to higher realms
-don't have the gift.
though it took some time
I've accepted all of it.
I'm a creature born of the ground
made my nest in the good earth
I don't breathe stars
but I do inhale dirt...
I've grown up(somewhat) and tossed the ghosts
into a pit called self-forgiveness.
I still feed them scraps from time to time
but they'll never get what they desire,
the main dish with all the trimmings
silver-wonderful -shimmering.
The beauty of nature follows us
Wherever we go... here, there, high and low
Through sundials of time, places and circumstances
As changes sweep through our intricate lives,
The gift of nature trails behind and with us
Wherever we go or whatever we are faced with,
Remember, this gift of nature is with us, always!
Look, watch, breathe, live ..!!
Heidi Sands
9/19/19
Autumn Day
by Rainer Maria Rilke
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Lord, it is time. Let the immense summer go.
Lay your long shadows over the sundials
and over the meadows, let the free winds blow.
Command the late fruits to fatten and shine;
O, grant them another Mediterranean hour!
Urge them to completion, and with power
convey final sweetness to the heavy wine.
Who has no house now, never will build one.
Who's alone now, shall continue alone;
he'll wake, read, write long letters to friends,
and pace the tree-lined pathways up and down,
restlessly, as autumn leaves drift and descend.
Originally published by Measure
I only tell of sunny hours ...
Although dark shadows cast their gloom.
My prototype in ancient times
Stood guard outside a Pharaoh's tomb.
*
From Egypt's Valley of the Kings
To dreaming spires of Oxford town,
My heritage of solar time
From east to west has earned renown.
I only tell of pleasant times
Although dark moments leave their trace,
But I prefer to spread the light
And show the world a sunny face.
13.02.19
Sundial Wisdom Poetry Contest : sponsored by Julia Ward
*note: A sundial dating to the 13th century B.C. and considered one of the oldest Egyptian sundials, was discovered in Egypt's Valley of the Kings, the burial place of rulers from Egypt's New Kingdom period (around 1550 B.C. to 1070 B.C.).
* various sundials dot the university town of Oxford, the most famous of which can be found in Corpus Christi College.
Obscured sundials lie
Our garden desecrated
Stray towards calm waters
Sunlit curly blond hair, icy blue eyes
Horse shoe crabs, sundials, cloudless skies
Rolling Stones, Dean Koontz and Mathematics
treasure hunting, pizza nights, schematics
fossils, meteors, tulips, strawberries
complex creation physics and theories
Sea breezes, ponies, quiet dreams
Plotting and planning your life schemes
Memories linked to the songs you hum
Trapped in your heart to beat like a drum
Chatting fingers, friends, long wavy hair
Sharing time and space with those who care
Mountain drives, lakes, snowless nights, roaming hands
Your mind and your world constantly expands
The hopes and dreams that you still wish
A boyish dork some call bookish
Midnight loving, long pillow talks
James Bond watching, languorous walks
Tim Tams, wine and fire light
Eyes that gleam as souls ignite
Whisper white sands shifting beneath your feet
You live your life to a different beat
Bonsai trees, stargazing and jars of treasures
just some of your many intriguing pleasures
Surfer boy who daydreams but loves me true
The gift is the joy in you simply being You
It is ceaseless and silent and governs all—
Everything on earth and what is in space.
It orders the seasons and leaves that fall
And it etches furrows on the human face.
Of what occurs in its domain it is aloof,
Though masses in a disaster meet death.
It is ever with us, constant change is proof.
But we cannot alter it, even for one breath.
We have made ways to count its advance
Inventing clocks, and sundials, and watches.
They help us gauge the end of life’s dance
Marking mortality in time-driven swatches.
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