[x]

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.

Speaking In TonguesIt's true that the poet must ever struggle
with the dead weight of words, must shape
the beginnings of meaning from all the contingencies,
the accidents that blur the smooth edges of spirit's form.

It's true that every beginning will falter
long before the moment is discovered
clothed in simple perfection. Though I must fail,
I still can glory in a wealth of harmonics
that a greater soul might one day resolve.

Finale 3

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

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

Alone

Lost for the moment
in a reverie, maybe
past, maybe future

forms before his inner eye.
His person, the empty sky.

RecitativeYou're right. I have chosen the uniform of mourning,
At first it seemed that I had made my choice pragmatically.

I thought the dark mode would enhance my performing,
nothing in my appearance would distract from my words.

Then I realised that I was mourning indeed. Each poem
experience once lived avidly, now but a wordy husk.

Hypnopompic

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

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

Fatality

Does he deny hope,
fearing lest the contagion
be greater than he?

How will the plague doctor
survive, surrounded by death?

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.

Decadent, MetallicAbandoned metal
dreams of disintegration,
blacktop forgotten.

Functional no more,
decay imposes its own
brilliant display.

Wasted YouthHe was a lost man, trapped in a web
of expectation spun by family and priests.
His youthful energy sapped, he marinated in his misery.

His heavy shirt of denial clung to him
What if others might see the ailing man
trapped within this garment of fear?
He believed their eyes looked right through him,
that they could see the shadow of his shameful secrecy.

Mythic

Mythic

Nobody can see
those airy psychic beings.
They preserve the trees.

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.

Past1

In youth alluring,
they remember cameras
and their flattery.

2

A shadow, a shade
lingers, an after image
In the inner eye.

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.

Denial

We look for faces
everywhere, for a gaze
of recognition.

To stare directly into
the void is too unsettling.

Browse More Like This

Download File
HTML, 245 bytes more ▶

More from *AlecBell

SpiderSpider.

miniscule creature
suspended invisibly
within the void.

a tiny intelligence
extinguished in a moment.

Finale

The sculptor's vision
has stopped imagined motion,
a moment too late.

Aboriginal Elegy1
They fought, my brave, implacable forefathers,
outnumbered and outgunned, swept aside
as the lethal tide of conquest overwhelmed them.

Those who survived were crushed, humiliated,
driven to the infertile margins of their former domain.
My people were driven from the Great Plains,
condemned to bitter memories, to the company of ghosts.

Their shame oozed from
their spirits’ festering wounds.

Each returning day I must mourn
for a world lost long before I was born,

I weep for those who died, I feel their spirits
as they sleep, tormented by an anguish of dreams.

2
Red Indians, redskins, native Americans,
-these names are b

Multi-Dimensional

The plate glass distorts
as it mirrors. The figures
reflected appear

to belong in dimensions
forever beyond our reach.

Drone1
The mercies of light had already
been denied to the helpless city

The few who remained sheltered
in basements and cellars, their fear

cavorting in the flickers
of candle flames.

Far above them the dark sheltered
marauding packs of mechanised murder

So numerous the air, the very ground,
pulsated with intimations of approaching death.

My grandparents must have been among those
who cowered. Their dismembered

flesh was never recovered.

2
Targeting efficiency approaches maximum,
risk to the vehicle almost non existent

The bad old days of massive collateral
have gone. A solitary vehicle airborne,

the onboard processor locked already
on

Nightfall

Light hangs by a thread,
sharp focus softening as
vivid colours fade.

View Gallery

Featured in Groups:

Not currently featured in any groups.

Details

Submitted: December 17, 2012
File Size: 245 bytes

Link

Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 21
Favourites: 101 [who?]
Views: 948 (1 today)
Downloads: 28 (0 today)

[x]

Heavenly Fire

by *AlecBell, Dec 17, 2012, 12:20:36 AM
Literature / Poetry / Nature / Haiku & Eastern

The sky, consumed by
a spectral conflagration;
embers glow briefly

before the night's rising tide
completely quenches the fire.

Heavenly Fireby *AlecBell

Literature / Poetry / Nature / Haiku & Eastern

A commentary on Dangerous Straits Of The Between by *locoland

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

Some deviants seem to imagine, in spite of my disclaimer, that I am taking credit for the photograph. I'll make it clear again, the image was created by :devlocoland.: Please fave him via the link above if you are as impressed by his image as I am.