Wednesday, April 8, 2020

Joy V. Sheridan & David Russell write

Quest Triste

Just as Meckelle observed all creatures on his quest, 
So they observed him, and as they followed his stormy path 
They seeped into his thoughts calling him back 
To that fair island, tugging him with Orpheus' temptation. 
Yet they sharpened his soul to the here and now. 
Another Orpheus mission, for through an arid waste 
He must now wend his path - for forty days and nights 
That he might know the total consequences of his being 
From Man's beginning unto its end, 
Full circle as the Sun, the Earth, the Moon. 
He saw the relics of all graven gods. 
Of wood and stone, of totem animals 
More than human in their abstract grace; 
And then profound suggestions in great voids, 
Sheer clefts and chasms. 
Scorpions and locusts, so close akin, 
As cousin-symbols of Man's powers, 
To maim, and spread small pools, 
All clustered with tenacious wreaths of flowers, 
Hanging for dear life beyond Man's grasp, 
The sand and rocks left after his ravagings.

He struggled on , until he found a thorny bush aflame 

Sighing as if to speak. On it Meckelle sustained his gaze, 
No ashes did ensue from its fair and constant flickering, 
Yet magically it did engender 
The spectre of a mirror, matching his own, 
His blossom, shell and plate in leather pouch,
Hanging so closely to him. He took them out, displayed them, 

And from their fair reflections great outlandish forms appeared, 
Akin to bird, to beast, to reptile, yet made of stone 
Or iron, brass and bronze; and strange but god-like fabrics, 
Earthen jewels. 
They poured out flames, clouds, floods, great oozing rivers 
Foaming, splitting, throwing up vast meadows, 
Forests, orchards - then razing them 
To make vile, ashen plains; building foul temples. 
Agglomerates of every mite of matter known. 
Then creatures like the birds, so fearsome, 
Emitting burning darts, for which massed infants cried 
As if for food and succour, only to be gratified 
With empty sockets, scarred skin. 
The sea-monsters that did the same,
More to each other: now Meckelle knew all! 
The emptiness holds no more treasures 
For mortal insight; now he must proceed. 
His walking in a straight line has drawn him into a circle. 
He counted up to forty and beyond: 
Was he now stranded, quite beyond his quest?

Ananya S Guha writes

Summer Annunciation

It is afternoon,
as slowly, the sun drifts
into a seamlessly
closed world, mine 
and yours,
and outside there is not
even a whimper,
dogs cease to talk 
men cease barking 
the ghoulish night will arrive
still, there will 
be no one to talk to;
as winter has departed.

Winter departs,
with no reminder as to
how it came, interlocked
in skies, and hills 
touch them; tears in my eyes
go to this winter;
this summer 
and eyes moist, mist.

Arlene Corwin writes

Still Needing Reminders

How long does it take to be a person
Who does not need reminders?
There have always been 
Those men and women fully mended
And full-ended
Who learned all one needs
To know about the, sum and substance
Of reality: its essence.

Incarnation, seer, saint, 
Completed men and women
Who know life for what it ‘ain’t,
And what it truly represents
Here and for all I know, beyond.

In that case, 
How long should it take, for me,
And probably for you,
To get to be that total human
One so much looks up to.

One works, one strives perhaps, for lives.
One thinks at times, one’s climbed the climb,
Attained its aim;
Achieved, accomplished… then one’s lame,
Where one must climb some more,
Renew the ‘brilliant’ store
Of insight that one thought one had,
Life’s underlying gladness passed
(or is it past?).

That’s when the books come down once more
From well-stocked shelf;
One is searching once again for self
Through words of those who saw the light;
Whose insights helped and help your night:
Your dark night of the soul*

Stage set,
Your sage is met.
You’ve been re-minded and re-souled;
Not far off from a whole again – 
Till then.

*Dark Night Of The Soul: A phrase from St John Of the Cross’ book, which narrates the journey of the soul from its bodily home to union with God. It happens during the "dark", which represents the hardships and difficulties met in detachment from the world and reaching the light of the union with the Creator. 
Christ of Saint John of the Cross.jpg 
Christ of Saint John of the Cross -- Salvador Dalí
 Crucifixion -- St. John of the Cross
 

Ian Copestick writes

Senile Ramblings
Someone once said
that April is the
cruellest month,
but not from
where I'm standing.
It's a mind blowingly
beautiful spring
evening. The kind
that makes you feel
alive after a long,
cold, miserable winter.
My big overcoat is
back in the wardrobe,
along with the thick,
heavy sweaters. It's
time for the T-shirts
to come out of
the metaphorical
mothballs. Actually,
I've never seen a
mothball in my
life. I'm not part of
the make do and
mend generation.
We throw things
away and go to
buy another. I feel
slightly ashamed of
this, my parents
tried to teach me to
be better than that.
But, never mind my
senile ramblings, it's
a gorgeous night
that says summer is
on the way, and I for
one am more than
ready for it.

Tohm Bakelas writes

Ryan Comments on My Divorce
somehow you find people.

somehow.

somehow they’re
drawn
to your sick
fucking
mind.

not me, not mine.

you’ll be fine
you’ll find
someone else.

you can have
your self-destructive
picnics, I got work
weekday mornings

you hang with a
buncha lunatics
who walk around
burning shit down
like they were human torches.

anyway man,
you’ll be fine.

Saturday, March 21, 2020

Marc Carver writes

ETERNAL

When some days you can do nothing else
Sit down clear your empty mind and write some words.
Any bloody thing that pops up there
Good.
Bad
Even if it is really nothing put it down and send it into the eternity of the spiral internet
because now it will live forever
















forever there


























even if no one ever reads it
































It will be eternal.

Marc Carver writes

DANGEROUS

There is something so masochistic in me that it never leaves me so determined am I that I must leave I am sure of it I am surprised I haven't done it already not that I could throw myself off a bridge I don't have the courage But if I don't care what still holds me back in life some invisible force a shield that keeps people safe from me am I really that dangerous maybe I am