[x]

UnspokenHow pure, your being.
Misfortunes like drifting snow,
And still you are warm.

When grey packs of misery
hound me, I picture your smile.

My familiar,
silence. A shadow dancer,
the partner for me.

Why bother questioning?
He dances flawlessly.

CadenzaSuppose each one of us older than the stars,
suppose that we are other than the ragged beggars we seem,
suppose that our engulfing slumber, our inner darkness,
is constantly erupting with the vanity of dreams.

Consider those uncounted aeons swallowed in the oceans
of that virtuality, where we, the ever drowning mariners,
must cling to the absurd shapes we call reality.

Will we, unknowing captives, ever be free?
Has liberty become our cage of captivity?
Oh yes, we writhe, our nakedness become despair.
as our frenzied touching reveals that nothing's there.

Mirror

Motionless, the pool
has trapped the vault of heaven,
spread before my feet.

On The PodiumThe art of conductivity
as the maestro explained,
is that the man with the baton

serves as a lightning rod,
earthing intuitions from god.

ChantryListen, child, listen
to the love that the bird sings

mellifluous, monotonous, it chants
the changeless song of its being

that love, that ancient syncopation,
that emptiness of the overflowing heart.

ArachnidDeath sunbathes
in the afternoon,
Its web of shiny
filaments spread wide
to entrap the unwary
blunderer.

Suspended in its trance
of desire, it's fixed
in motionless anticipation.
It awaits the moment
when a careless hope
will enter into oblivion.

The Ladder Of JacobJacob dreamed. Though we may know nothing about what kind of man this father of patriarchs was, the record of his dream has been preserved. We have no way of knowing if this was indeed ever a dream that a man experienced. The story has him traveling alone, so artists have portrayed him. In the ancient text he settles for the night, resting his head on a stone.
As he sleeps the vision unfolds, he sees a ladder that reaches toward heaven from the earth, a ladder by which angels are ascending and descending.

He hears the voice of god, so he believes. The god tells him how remarkable he is. We might understand this vision as an allegory of his

Storyville, Bordello Sketches1

Girls, pale skinned and nubile,
who by candle light might pass,

women who lend a joint a little class,
a suggestion of sass in the swing of the ass,

these were the gems the madams looked out for,
girls who could turn sad guys into would-be Casanovas.

Still the punters knew that the dollar was always king,
their dollars could buy them any pretty thing

in the room. They also knew that black girls
had learned what they had to do for a necklace of pearls

and stockings of silk. So the guys played make believe.
In the first light of dawn nobody was deceived.

2

The Storyville madams
hired piano players, even bands
to help the gir

AfterwordFunerary goods
always include coin to pay
the ferry man's fee.

What if we had always been wrong,
If none waited by the river?

The end of the line
had ever seemed likely
to leave the traveler

abandoned in empty space,
no hope of resolution.

Hypnopompic

A key too rusted
to turn, a door once solid,
now rotting away.

As sentience stirs again,
the dream's images decay.

Stranded 2

The end of the line
had ever seemed likely
to leave the traveller

abandoned in empty space,
no hope of resolution.

Willing FleshFlesh the means, spirit the end,
yet still the unintended. While deep
embedded in the pulsing rhythms
of the body's routine life, it transcends
physicality, flourishing in realities
never imagined before. Spirit is the key
to unlock the heavy door, to make
the great discovery of joy.

Air Force Revisited.

Flying fortresses,
dense enough to deflect light
yet insubstantial

Water drops suspended in
the high, thin air, wind sculpted.

(Originally:

Flying fortresses,
solid enough to impede light
yet made of nothing.

Water drops suspended in
the high, thin air, wind sculpted.)

Mutations

Existence in flux,
on the edge of becoming
or ceasing to be.

Solipsist

Spirit torments flesh.
The sharp goad of emptiness,
of solitude, stings.

Touch, soothing or harsh,
might redeem isolation.

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RemembranceLet’s drink to absent friends
- the spirit’s sharp bite reminds
us of our sorrow,

as our tear ducts overflow.
Will we embrace them again?

InconsequentialSuch an irony, to be so close to you,
so accidentally intimate. So sad those costumes
we had borrowed, disguises for those who
otherwise might have recognised our shades.

If only the moment had supported
the depths of our hidden agenda, if only
our potentiality had exploded around us.

As I departed you proffered your hand,
I felt your transcendent smile. You
turned your back, for your next assignment
was closing in on you. I walked away
as the door was closing behind me.

Sleepy

small town buildings
cluster around empty streets,
smouldering all day.

they seem to rehearse moments
from a movie still unmade.

Urbex

Nobody stirring.
Maybe the city is groaning,
haunted in its blind trance.

Signs of disintegration,
blossoms of chronic neglect.

Transcendence

Transcendence

Virtual no more,
she invades our reality,
rising from the Id.

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Finale 3

by *AlecBell, Jul 27, 2012, 2:02:30 AM
Literature / Poetry / Nature / Haiku & Eastern

The heavens ablaze,
Massings of vapours kindled
by reflected light.

The distant cosmic furnace
sinks from sight, consumed by night.

Finale 3by *AlecBell

Literature / Poetry / Nature / Haiku & Eastern

A commentary on The Palace Of Exile by *locoland

You can see the deviation at full size here: [link]

love 2 2

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*Metal-Bender Jul 31, 2012 Photographer

Wonderful Alec!

*AlecBell Jul 31, 2012

Thanks very much, Peggy

*Metal-Bender Aug 1, 2012 Photographer

You're very welcome Alec!

*AlecBell Aug 2, 2012

*MeFlyingFree Jul 30, 2012 Professional Artisan Crafter

Beautiful words Alec, to accompany a beautiful image

How were you able to chose from the many wonderful skyscapes
he has in his gallery?

*AlecBell Jul 31, 2012

I've written commentaries on a number of Jason's images. I discover that the words begin to fall into place as I study the image.

*MeFlyingFree Jul 31, 2012 Professional Artisan Crafter

I so enjoy his images, although sometimes his
words or links are very dark and brooding.
Most often, though, they do suit my moods

I was thrilled when he started photographing other
subjects too, like flowers and such.
I sometimes get lost in his skyscapes, especially
when he provides a Jim Morrison link

I will have to make a foray into your gallery to read your
commentaries on them

*AlecBell Aug 1, 2012

I tend not to follow up on musical links, Holly, I maybe feel that music might be a distraction?

These are the other images by Jason that I've commented on:

Reversal [link]
For Jason [link]
Air Force: [link]
Denial: [link]

*MeFlyingFree Aug 1, 2012 Professional Artisan Crafter

Probably for a writer, it would be.
I do find myself wandering with the music.
I sometimes just click on random videos,
once I have followed the first link

*AlecBell Aug 2, 2012

I think that's right! I need inner listening (but I'm pleased that others can appreciate the connection).

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Finale 3

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