to close my eyes, and bathe in the myths of my age, walk through the rows, the pillars of truth that hold, arise this sweet tent, with pinholes to the sky, pathways to stories, just a passer by am I, or through, I will not know until destination met, how confident and prideful we are, the content of common knowledge, the hubris of assumption, ten or twenty or one hundred million pass, and where is the meaning written, species reigned for millions, the remains of king’s of various ages, just vestiges, baubles, curiosities, collectibles, will our mass be the same, bones in the mass grave that is this land, the fairest arbiter of all, to produce all life and then swallow said whole, to endure another run, I wonder what is worth more, a recipe for perfect chicken soup or the entire lexicon of the english language.
Month: September 2022
a coruscant dawn
coruscant
kə-rŭs′kənt
once we are untethered from this land, this earth, this gentle crust that has so cradled us, bound not by laws of man and nature, released from the bonds of gravity, perhaps only privy to the forces that guide energy, there is only the all night, daunting, no, the canvas on which, for there is no sunset there, out there, beyond our protective dome, in the complete dead calm sea of everything, space, space unto space into never ending expansion, and we shall go, maybe there are shepherds there as well, certainly paths to go, but no, there are no sun sets there, and no true to us eyes to see them, there is only dawns, perpetual on different spectrums, distance means nothing when time means nothing, and there we will be, drifting in a sparkling sea, a divine conjuring of a coruscant dawn
the inner circle
:pause, even here,
in one of my openly secret places I come
the cliffs of calvert
tower above the bay
as always I remember them
except window dressing
now and then, the light, the waves
or a plate of near glass
but in either way, a welcome hearth
I could go a whole universe
and not feel so loved by the earth
in just a coordinate, a spot on a map,
here;
so I pause,
watching the smallest of waves curl in from afar
like a sweeping hand, over and over arcs
a consistent caress under our single star, warming late summer
I see and hear the clamor of the bits of broken shells
for the whole ones stay calmly together, for now
I pick a piece up, for no other reason
no impetus, but for the random chance
and see the lines, the stark colors
the circles and invisible lines, and I think of the sky
the planets
how even saturn, or jupiter or
the other less famous suitors of fame
the hue’s house of colors,
the patterns, the swirls, the same
all right here, like little broken dull mirrors
lying about on this gentle shore
for me to find, and realize
I need not travel far to this wonder far
and feel the rush and thrust of creation
in all the broken pieces, out about my feet
as they are wound down to once more become
again recreated,
perhaps stardust for another beginning,
here, in my hand, all of history from death to birth.
Notes… although I had a terrible sinus infection most of the week I still came back from my annual trip to the cliffs a newly charged battery, perhaps a little wiser, smarter, calmer… until the grinder chews me up again, and then I will be due for my yearly appointment to those shores… a calling.
Shades of My Garden 