Counting blessings,
slowly
re
thinking this
or that is mine to enjoy, take joy
make joy, from… and then
re thinking
what if I think where does this joy
rise from, for it is in me, at the sight
of that seeming right,
the leaves shining, seen, shining green
in front of me, a bumper to absorb
reality and leave me just a bit
to see in foveal clarity for the briefest
time.
Once, upon a time, there was a child
who read a thousand stories of heroes,
by the time he was ten, then
he became an old man, root, branch and
fruit from those sown dragon teeth and dual
whirlpools passed through,
diva sirens and mushroom clouds
from hookah handed down, with golden
crown,
crown of creation,
did we dance to another's music,
or did we all sing one song, some one
heard it first,
what a cost, wiseman saves civilization
and no man knows was he wombed or un.
Do we evolve to sit as caterpillar,
in Dodgson, artful resistor, deacon
with a daemonical twinkle to lucify
nonsense so well it fits his wordswork fine
Jabberwocky, high church, like Rupert,
the ever ringing church bell, do tell,
can we think peace is made up
one mind stretch touch at a time?
I'm apt to say certainly, and think nothing
of knowing if I am certain, I am not the quest.
And you are not the ion, so we sense
nonsense as a mass, message in the mindspace
wave-ishly lapping at the edges of life,
the pearling years of contemplation,
temple time taken as granted, by no diligence
done with more than easy entreatment
being the effect I sought in prayer,
I wished to know the truth that makes free,
no sorrow added, no **** taken,
no fame or riches earned, but accepted
as inevitable as thanos -- our cultural ethos
RIP Stan Lee, what a legacy you left.
We have convergence of all the globes mythic
resources, fitting in fiveside symmetries
too close to images of some life form
to be hidden in truth hiding liturgical ritual
walk the walk,
read the rule, know the story before
you go off half-cocked… multiplexities of
pearling for sheen, see we intend to shine,
by reason of some promises in the first ten
chapters of Solomon's collection inherited
by readers in the American Southwest,
where I was reared, near the Hualapai
and their near cousins along the river,
the dammed river, by then,
when the order of the world was being
agreed to in Geneva, I think I heard,
and fought for in Korea, and Viet Nam,
dams were being bumped by billy goats,
in a song sung by Sammy Davis,
nosense seemed saved by Ben Hur
quite the crazy time to be ten, and literate.
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3345144/when-we-met-in-the-funny-papers-i-took-notes/
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3121608/worth-the-debt/
