31

Of Fudging Hardware

Well, we return to the window appointed.

I try to not notice what I am sensing.

Would I could live so, its very anointed.

But I wait midst circumstances, that fencing:

I've said that I love you, yet know not just who,

Although I've spent my life investigating that.

I once dreamt at the tip of my tongue the clue

That would put lucid answer beneath my hat

To all the mysteries of this existence.

I keep knocking lightly here with insistence.

Do I make difficulties that needn't be?

I'm both someone special, yet not – you've shown that.

Have I greatly blundered or found true escape?

To answer all one, all the other, is pat.

How then not err and yet to freedom give shape?

I know not else but wealth that can purchase that,

'Less I take Christ at his word and grace accept.

Though desperation escaped 'neath trucker's hat,

And my father's honor the best I could kept,

At eighty miles an hour I yet turtle forth,

More I thrust south the greater gravity north.

Is but that the measure of the sea that's me?

32

Ideology

What know I of Godheads? What revealed to me?

Of greater powers I know. But God? How's that?

It's likely hierarchies of powers be.

But God? Closer than are my ribs to their fat,

If not distant impossible to know.

What does science grasp at scales so small, scales so

Vast? Yet seems as well that powers great bestow

Their attentions less to science than who sew

Other means of welcome, with other needs to

Address: more than math by which to get a clue.

No concoctions do I here presume to mix.

I only know that forces greater are “here.”

And those who see such not? They've not lit the wicks.

Nor does one see a lot where one doesn't peer.

Yet what to make of such small notion have I.

Seems they leave that up to me to decide:

What I find acceptable, what I deny,

What I choose to reveal, what I choose to hide.

Why they should care with what I identify

I know not. I'm but a bug, can't even fly.

Well, is this it, or does a world come anew?

33

Unto Festival

So, what honor in this poetry might be?

None. Poems are but noise not meriting to mouth.

There's one reason to write. That's the royalty.

All the poems I've read have left me but drouth.

All the thinking that I've done? Thinking wasted.

Talk, talk, talk, which chimpanzees do as apely.

If you seek fruit, not here will such be tasted,

Nor, though mysteries within, no form shapely.

Not the powers within this will you sample.

Thus of neither of those is this example.

Take my advice: seek not here the secret wine.

Why do you read? Entertainment, kill some time.

You may think learning is in books. But it's not.

Read all you care if wish to die not worth a dime.

Yet go to college. There is much there to be taught.

But stay away from arts and humanities.

You'll graduate a moron, more fake than brain,

To an ego world of puff urbanities

Where more than a pose is too much the pain.

The first page I wrote I'd scribbled overmuch.

I'd thought to educate myself via such.

Well, it brought me genius, the guardian mine.

I later thought God might teach me in this way.

I studied psyche and psyche is what came.

Calling such not God, though that its acts could say,

It needs not patience, though I be slow and dumb

Midst a world of faulty logic, psychoses,

Puppets of evil and undisciplined tongues.

Insofar as they are true, those diagnoses,

What's the blessing to Earth that humans have lungs?

Better they had gills, fed the sharks 'stead of seals.

That we're handicapped, retarded, much conceals

What greater psyche needs not faith to perform.

So, how do I finish this, Intelligence?

Spoiled and wealthy in my palace I prefer.

Does your genius have to that no relevance?

When shall living smart, right and easy occur?

I can't deny you, so need you more agree.

A millionaire can do much more than a peasant.

One needn't be poor your mastery to see.

Nor does poverty aid, so damned unpleasant.

What good its rending fangs chase me round and round?

What good a brain to hate and prevention bound?

Mind no doubt you are, but your math needs reform.

34

Assumption

She might have been diff'rent in various ways.

Who knows how changed, having done this, not done that.

How altered by but one phrase that stays or strays?

How judge, one raised an angel, one trained a brat?

Her world would have been elsewise but for one gene,

Her universe otherwise but for one prayer.

This further, that less, if not for some bad scene,

She'd have shrugged a burden, another to bear.

Yet just as we must wear flesh s'long as on Earth,

Some wonders shall be though abort before birth.

Avoid as one might, they will gradually draw.

Such the mysteries at the Core which men dread,

Which they discipline, from which they rebel

With bestial nobility, preferring war.

As for she, making climates by what poems tell,

Prophesying futures, though not knowing how,

She accepted the gifts of greater Presence,

Its light aglow in the third eye in her brow.

Walking thus lightly, vessel of the Essence,

She feared not, even opened her heart to love.

Become wise, of the Intelligence a glove,

She pleased the Genius, in her Mind that the law.

35

Vintage Be Gathered

I be your instrument. With you that I can.

Should you say so, no power can prevent it.

I worry not. What can thwart any your plan?

I thus enjoy all but what you've not meant it.

What you don't reveal to me I needn't know.

My boss is nature. But you are its master.

No fabric I'll weave, nor less seed shall I sow,

But as you reason perfect to your vaster,

Deeper and higher consciousness – well I dream.

I smile, then, a thread, as you will, in the seam

Of the garment of existence that you wear.

Upright shall I be, one way and otherwise,

And blessed neither less nor more than you decide.

That you teach me at all I utterly prize,

Though as a pupil I may be one to hide.

Though I sound like a damned poet to say so,

My thought's are the coal, your heat Inspiration.

Nor my mem'ry alone records as I go,

But you remember this page's hydration,

Being crossed by a snake, this trail yet its tongue.

On the knowledge tree another leaf now sprung,

We wind to the garden, where your snake's my fare.

Back    Presence    Next