a planet of eternal reruns
a sphere of spectacular misfortunes
enforced by the pulse of greed
ill-advised goals
inhabiting where the dead refuse to be buried,
where vanity
remains the cruelest chant of heavenly disdain ...
i watch lions in the zoo pacing in the wind
while inhaling the constraint of dreamers
i am subjected to an artificial garden
created by the keepers of howling thoughts
everyone is running nowhere in circles in and out
arriving even quicker to here
being above is now below
but i am around everything inside
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We can see where we are going, but it seems that we are unable to stop the machine. Interesting philosophical look at a multifaceted world in motion, with your effective sense of words and concision.
Axilea
Regis
Ron
but i am around everything inside
... a stunning wrap-around to a poem of two halves, it seems to me. As always, the clarity of your creative vision seems at its height when you have invested time with your "head in a puffy white cloud", like Elijah and his mountain-top experience. Those things in life that are just too big to really get a hold of and express head-on are most powerful when talked about obliquely, as, to me, you do here.
I shall never forget the eeriness of circumnavigating the perimeter walkways of Ground Zero early on a Sunday morning on my first trip to New York in February 2008. The white-noise in my head was a total surprise to me: pain of the event, of course, but, more than that, the swirling mixed emotions of cynical attitude and enterprise that seemed also somehow caught up in the hole of it. I left the site with a dumbstruck horror and grief that was not altogether soley to do with the tragic events of that one Black Day. I can't quite put my finger on it, but the first "abstract" 12 lines of this poem captures it somehow.
But I love, too, the strong visuals of the last 8 lines. Those pacing, hungry lions are the ones to watch, their sharpened appetite and rumbling insides picking up on the scent of the subversive dreamers whose ideas and aspirations slip between the bars, speaking of hitherto unknown freedoms that, as yet, exist only within the minds' eye. The currently unseen inner solar whirlwinds and storms of fresh thinking will surely have their day, then won't those lions roar! :))
Quite a Jonah write here, Jude, from the belly of the beast. But there are those such as yourself who will yet be spewed up to prophesy, I'm sure. My thoughts are with all of you this weekend. Love and prayers always. Kortlandtstreet Kate xx
Take care,
Sherry
John
"being above is now below"...gyrfalcon of both the Old and New World awaits the ferryman to pull up the dredge of the oyster beds where the bęte noire, one that is particularly disliked resides...shelter animates the psyche and fulfills metaphor in timeless burials throughout cosmic obituaries of akashic record...
s
Cool poetry.
Ciao,
Ragno Donna
Bob Dylan says it all!
’Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood
When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud
I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form
“Come in,” she said, “I’ll give you shelter from the storm”
Your poem made me think of this song for some reason... We all need shelter from our storms..
I send you healing vibes and peace, light and love
Amber
Cheers,
Dan
in circles in and out,
arriving even quicker to here
Quite thought provoking, and quite a sad commentary on our world, today.
fee
but i am around everything inside
This blew me away, Robert, the crux of the problem/solution.
Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen