Sunday, July 18, 2010

dark poet storm

"dark poet storm, the calm has come"

dear dark poet friend
                     let me
draw up the night shade for you
and paint the tale of eternal light---
i have been with you as you in the
                     seem of
perpetual shadow, in the cold grip
of the rain that storms, with friends
who speak and do not listen well,
with a lie that observes no bound
                     but slithers
round the neck and feels thick
to the life pulse, and have asked
where is that giddy up i had yesterday
when the day was long and the eye sharp
and all to feel was right and sound
and all to know fit right in place
with the next brick lying in wait
and the next breath dying for taste---
                     my dear dark friend
stay on board a moment longer and spare
me the sound of your awful splash,
i know the world with whom you clash,
i know the way the world holds you back
and the fear you feel when turning black---
just stay a moment longer and be silent still,
let me mend you by my quill, for indeed
there is rain, but have you noticed in the mist
that falls wave on wave of rain and cloud
the symphonic bow section, that strings weave in
close and afar and clearly with a long view,
to play you chamber music in the open day---
close your eyes, hear the wave after wave
say that we are not what we seem---when light
does shine an empty beam, walk off stage
                     the audience is not brave,
they will stay sat in an upright chair
and wait till your bow flats them your brown hair
let them stare and do your work's end,
a bow at last, applause to send a thrill through
your crooked spine---this is promised every time.
when your sun has set, let your moonbeam shine
when your eyelids have met and in your long thoughts
darklings creep and emote you an ocean's wavy sleep
and in No Time the eye you dare not meet
by daylight people on day time street
comes as Peeping Pete and feels like iron wrought
tick tocking mock---feed that steep rock fear a sock
and rest your tangled muscles and your restless bones
                      let loose the tension
in your big toes, oh i know (i know!)
how the fear within you grows
how walking a mile wrong runs the heel hard and ruins
your twisting hip and grates your vertebrae
how the closed eye in pain sees blue light
how the silent voice inside you screams I AM RIGHT
and the echoes are louder than the shock felt
by the one you love most and how you know
your blank look Ex Press Ion writes
                       i, ghost, lovely host
                       i boast and i toast
                       but i do love the most
don't you know? of course you know---the eye
of Peeping Pete is your friend on the rise
when the sun is set in the west and your weary eyes close
the sun is high in the east and your sun friend,
with whom you share the long daring stare,
stands up and with care takes the walk along the wall
and the temples that surround the city of your brain
bubble with flame and burst wild a stain glass pain---
this is the poet's call, but you must know,
                       neither of you walks alone
for when in your wavy sleep
the blue light becomes the fire
when in your eternal rest your right angles
best the bishop's mitre, when you do walk by the stair
and see the arching torches below become blind
by what forces mystic shadow or look high
at the arching brilliance like a Luther
light bringer of light brighter and brighter
                       when you remember how
you can see the sound, how a wave is a wave is a wave
and at the center of the spin spinning round
how a cave is a cave is a cave where Time is but
a measure and Distance cannot be found but
the heart's beat is the treasure that sends
the fluid within and without you rushing in a trend
of sin and circumstance---this is not Chance,
nor his magic cloak Fate, this is not Chaos,
nor his bitch Order, this is not Colour
                       this is not Odor
this is not a handful of dust or air---
this is nothing, this is not there, so have no fear
have no care---have no fear my dark friend
                       ask only of this
What is that One there? in whom do i trust,
by whom do i fare? who's heart is beating now!
who's eye has no brow! who's smile can't be found.
                       who for a while has come down
to walk on the wall bridge of Why What When and How.
                       you are asleep now
your sleep walker is roused. your dream shadow lines
his foot-steeping beams and finds truth in each
cobble crack---what you have in your claw!
                       he does not lack.
but what time you keep will keep him back,
what friend ship prow that mermaids ride upon
that stream the curvature of the ocean skin
and crack on rock and break on sin and break
                        and break and break!
what force you cannot control, what precious oil
you have in your hold---what butterfly wing dust
is, on your wicked fingertip, sulfur's coal
what sludge you find to warm the hearth in your
winter's cold, what rape by Hobbe's Leviathan
you do not challenge, what malice you see and by
silence condone, what field of battle the North
army sends, in what spring of doom the South
army dies, by what stiff arms dead sons beg
the tears in your country mothering cries---
what peaceful sleep you crave when peace is but a
ceaseless wave and not material as diamond
nor a jewel that crusts your rusty crown!
                       i challenge you poet
in your dark sleep when your light walker planes
the light of the eastern day to scream his name
in the light to your warring west ward by day
                       and say This is Who i am
herr scientist, dear needle man, do not presume
to scan my brain, do not send your policeman
to ask my name, do not give your ambulance driver
a pink slip to give your doctor friend a pass
to skip the simplest game of ask, listen, learn---
do not yearn to know my mind if my words while
turning fast seem to burn in a wild way,
for i am the being amok, yes, but i am being still,
sit there quiet if you can and practice being just.
ask me questions if you must, ask again if you miss
my point, my words do not rust, words are just noise
and wax in your ear should not become
                       lithium in my vein!
                       your leeching me is insane.
we will be destroyers before we bear shame---
humiliate me as a king feeds tulip petals to his knave,
your queen hates you. your prince usurps you.
your people loath your prince. and your priest, ha! your priest,
when channeling powers to his dark lit chamber, bowers
with boys he finds along the way, is cancer on your skin,
though he claims, while he feigns, his book is complete
                       his testament is sound
                       his gospel is valid
                       his eyes are round
he has found the way, what proof has he and in what language
says it when he too turns from what he says
and by his actions rends it?
                       tempt me as a king to betray
my conscience and look away from the mystic eye
beaming at me through the glass of the window
without a shade---and command me to obey, sit down clown!
in the town of chains, warm on the backside
whipped and whipping a red burning fire
sipped and sipping by an alcoholics’ pyre
zipped, unzipping the term slave, un-asking why i came,
for Beowulf's fame? to think Washington-Achilles, same?
eagles eat serpents, fool king, neither know better,
we can eat eagles if we want to and do.
the great white bear will always stand over you
and suffer no moment of your blank what-stare---
for your momentary reign and sad torment of mind
and your eternal disgrace, i have but one care
                      that i remain as i am
                      the eye that watches you
the judgment of your day. the voice that is true.
do as you do, right just or not. i have come at last,
you know who i am and what comes next.
good night sweet princes, dark poets too,
dear father's rest, what is done does not come next.
and dear mother's do not cry, your boy will not suffer
                     this time---your boy
                     who carried afore
the light sword of truth, carries now the fruits of peace
and is walking in the west an apple, in the east a peach---
you can see your twin sons now if you rush to your beach
and take an ax to your un-mown field and become
to your unarmed boys a shield. your man will moan
when you stand in his way but feel no power
to point his sword to your sway---mother, sister,
you are the peace i claim---walk in advance of your coyote,
line the street of the mystic mist
the ocean tomb has sent floating
clear to the mystic cave where we will meet
our guru friend and have a chat that has no end---
                     avant garde ladies dear
                     clear your fear, arm in arm,
while the storm becomes the calm. and i will anoint you
each with a kiss between your eyes, each with the balm of cries,
each with the mist that shall never die. we are the guardians of grace---
                     and this is our place
                     this, the stronghold of peace.

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