The Smithy works the tools until he's finished what is made
By sapients and fools and all purveyors of the trade
Hammering what's been heated until it's finally wrought
Into what has been crafted into finely finished thought
The sweat that gathers on the brow of crafty and of clueless
Will only come to light somehow when posted for the viewless
In hope someone will stumble into this thoughtful snare
Arresting thoughtful moments from all who wander there
This day
in the deep country, the sky it is high, blue, and vertical,
with no hand holds, nor anything for the eye to cling to.
In the city we don't get 'big sky, we get pencil thin rays
to sweep our dusty ledges, we have elevations
where the sky fades to gray on viewless windows.
Far below, down on the hemmed-in streets
a few trees, stretch, reach like mountain climbers,
In the ghetto, doors clutch at pidgin cluttered roofs.
Mostly
we give no thought to the sheer narrowness of it all;
how the city closes in on itself.
it's no wonder some choose to leap,
rather than foot-slog up an ever-descending
staircase.
The sky has climbed over
its usual low cloud cover,
today it is high, blue and vertical
with no hand holds,
those places for the eye to cling to.
In the city we don't get 'big sky'
we get pencil thin shafts
that sweep the dust off ledges,
we have foot-slogging
staircases and elevations.
where the sky cannot rise beyond
one last viewless window.
Far below
upon those hemmed-in streets
some seem forced to grow
into hybrid creatures
that must suck upon
each other's fears.
There are trees, a few stretch and reach
like mountain climbers,
yet all that high air above us is not reassuring,
it creates a feeling of smallness,
our arms too paltry to grasp the infinite.
Mostly we give no thought
to the sheer narrowness of it all,
and so with only these
manmade clifftops to jump from
it's no wonder some choose to leap.
BEYOND THE MILK OF HERA PAST THE HEAVEN'S VERTEBRAE
THE STARS BLINK GLEAMING SAGAS, IN THE DAWN THEY FADE AWAY
MY SHIP MAKES AN INCISION IN EVERY THING THEY SAY
THE SEA WEARS LIKE A SILKY DRESS THE BEAUTY OF THE NIGHT
AND NEVER DOES THE MOON APPEAR SO BEAUTIFUL IN WHITE
MY SAILS, IMPATIENT WITH THE WIND, REFLECT CELESTIAL LIGHT
OLD TRITON'S SHELL IS SOUNDLESS IN POSEIDON'S CALMING DEEP
IF PROTEUS WOULD CHANGE HIS SHAPE, WHAT FORM WOULD HE NOW KEEP
THE COMPASS NEEDLES'S IGNORANT OF FAIR AURORA'S SLEEP
LIKE ORPHEUS I SEEK TO CATCH A GLIMPSE OF MY LOVE THERE
AS IF EURYDICE COULD BE ALIVE IN VIEWLESS AIR
MY MAP OF MAL DU SIECLE IS A CHART OF MAL DE MER
BENEATH THE WINGS OF HALCYON I WAIT CALYPSO'S WHIM
A GENTLE ZYPHYR CAN'T INSURE MY EQUALIBRIUM
MY NAVIGATION LIGHTS GLOW BRIGHT AND THEN THEY SEEM TO DIM
DO HEAVEN'S ANGELS SALT THE SEAS WITH TEARS OF JOY OR PAIN
ARE ALL MY PATHS AIMED AT DEATH OR DO THEY LEAD ME HOME AGAIN
THE AUTOPILOT SQUEAKS AND THERE'S A LUFFING IN THE MAIN.
Man's eyes see what is visible,
not the things that are viewless;
Alluring lakes and rivers
overflow with water of gladness.
Tired eyes though don't enjoy
the beauty and wonder in sight;
Amazing scene in front
fades into the shadow of the night.
Quest for the most elegant place,
Using not the sense of sight;
Ever beautiful promised land
offers undying delight.
MOONSTRUCK
Her bright face perfect here floating
Always thru the window darkling
Face to face like true friend would
My troubles by her understood
Around me constantly, unchanging.
Sometimes lost in daylight loud
Or soft light dimmed with viewless cloud
Companion with me as I move
Never did her love remove
Strength in my dark, never bowed.
O Dear Lord! I`m real bushed
to bear my shabby cross.
It is so hard an` I`m collapsed,
legs sinking under loss.
I close my eyes and have a scene:
a flock of men on a road.
By viewless power it is set,
in its strict limit hold.
And one by one they move along
the way in single file,
marking a day with a white stone,
bearing crosses the while.
As well I drag mine on the ground
with might and main forlorn.
To me their crosses are just found
not to be very long.
Being very tired, drop my log
and saw a little part,
for me to carry, furthermore,
for it just to be short.
I keep on going, soon I see
a point of destination.
There`s an abyss in front of me,
I cannot reach the nation.
Those people, without any buzz,
to join the parts together,
put heavy crosses over abyss,
of two evils the lesser.
I stand alone. It is my fault.
My easy cross fell down.
I cannot pass, alas,... that part...
a lump felt in my throat.
I open eyes and have a scene:
here lies my shabby cross.
By viewless power it is set,
I have to take it, Gosh!
(from a Christian parable)
What a region to inhabit for a lifelong.
Language of numbers in the distance of superior,
And just a little lower than Viewless Pasadise.
Numbering stars of measureless,
With symbol majuscule side by side.
Mankind,
Reach is no more than wasteful dreaming.
Suddenly from the birth,
Unforseen by the naked eye,
Breaking through the darken horizon of university's restricted teaching.
Brought forth the riddle genius of calculation impossiblility,
Mathematical Poet-
Mindset on commanding the numbers and alphabets to dances into geometry
form,
Algebra realm,
Theory mansfesting into reality.
In a time place as his where hopelessness seem to mastered,
Hidden God.
Yet shown in one unsurpassed living creation,
Shattering the mind of man.
How both are long forgotten in the hearts of many of the now world.
Yet,
It took Thee Creative Hands of the Beyond Yonder,
A man settled in seasons of never-ending battles,
And from the yesteryears,
Technology of the good life of today.
(Tribute to Albert Einstein)
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