symbol logic the poet's code
Posted: November 24th, 2012, 4:45 pm
poets speak or do they ... questions admired by their reasoning to state
the endless seeming oblivion of their thoughts and ideas ... or are those thoughts
impressions of an impressionable mind ... counting in the endless sublime
of words that others create ... imposing virtue onto the inanimate world
of thoughts and ideas like paintings that hang in the abstract ... viewpoints
to a nether world of subjectivity ...
poets speak or do they ... paint in the pastel soft blue and green ...
to orange your beginning of colour and the matrix of prejudice or is it
inclination or predilection ... we have fancy words
for fancy words ... peaks and losses of auditory bliss in the ears of faint
cries and whispers of a song sung ... passing in the balance ... an untoward
ending to the song of my song ...
poets speak only the objective ... as a course
to include the unspoken gender of their words ... in last but far and withdrawn
pictures of a landscape untravelled ... withering flowers of cold northern frontiers
on paleo lamposts in the frost and snow
climbing into fragrances of glaciers dipping into an ocean of hardened faces
wind burned and breath clouds of filtering through the epochal epiphanies
of history’s lost horizon and lost weekends of mountainous mouthfuls of top
heavy whiskey drowned in the sorrow of a pint of beer
poets speak of their demise as a sorrow’s song of having lived too long
in the regions of rectified rectangles relegated rumourously ranting roars
poets cannot die in the forbidden harmonies of minor chords and negative
pulsing accolades of an alleged altruistic ego ... as the duality of philosophy
impregnates the vision of star clouds and hunger for walls in the walling
wasteland of wonder and the disneyland of possibilities ... like walls of a
castled history that remind us of an afternoon and picnic to wonder
where has robin hood vanished to ... like stolen words from diary of a dialectic
discovery in the symbol of a logic ... the logic is not the symbol but becomes
a reminder that the sun languages the flower in the spring
and for what symbol does the spring relate the synthesis of protons or the
magnitude of a marvelous miracle called the love of and for life
the poet ask questions that are personal and to the point of an embarassing
realization that you are alive and pregnant with words to reply in the silence
that has now become you
the endless seeming oblivion of their thoughts and ideas ... or are those thoughts
impressions of an impressionable mind ... counting in the endless sublime
of words that others create ... imposing virtue onto the inanimate world
of thoughts and ideas like paintings that hang in the abstract ... viewpoints
to a nether world of subjectivity ...
poets speak or do they ... paint in the pastel soft blue and green ...
to orange your beginning of colour and the matrix of prejudice or is it
inclination or predilection ... we have fancy words
for fancy words ... peaks and losses of auditory bliss in the ears of faint
cries and whispers of a song sung ... passing in the balance ... an untoward
ending to the song of my song ...
poets speak only the objective ... as a course
to include the unspoken gender of their words ... in last but far and withdrawn
pictures of a landscape untravelled ... withering flowers of cold northern frontiers
on paleo lamposts in the frost and snow
climbing into fragrances of glaciers dipping into an ocean of hardened faces
wind burned and breath clouds of filtering through the epochal epiphanies
of history’s lost horizon and lost weekends of mountainous mouthfuls of top
heavy whiskey drowned in the sorrow of a pint of beer
poets speak of their demise as a sorrow’s song of having lived too long
in the regions of rectified rectangles relegated rumourously ranting roars
poets cannot die in the forbidden harmonies of minor chords and negative
pulsing accolades of an alleged altruistic ego ... as the duality of philosophy
impregnates the vision of star clouds and hunger for walls in the walling
wasteland of wonder and the disneyland of possibilities ... like walls of a
castled history that remind us of an afternoon and picnic to wonder
where has robin hood vanished to ... like stolen words from diary of a dialectic
discovery in the symbol of a logic ... the logic is not the symbol but becomes
a reminder that the sun languages the flower in the spring
and for what symbol does the spring relate the synthesis of protons or the
magnitude of a marvelous miracle called the love of and for life
the poet ask questions that are personal and to the point of an embarassing
realization that you are alive and pregnant with words to reply in the silence
that has now become you