Due North
Poems
as faces or religions
pamder as you wish
your
wish
this dull round removed.
Trees of light, the golden ones are given
summers
mute freedom to move asunder
Words stumblng around naked
like winos on a Saturday evening
hotels, the weigh station, the sacred rituals
Our candle burn summers of warm embracing
waiting waiting waiting
--
For whom does it have meaning?
We throw into nightshades the unthrown
--
There can be no others....
a journey
downward
leads you toward
the truth.
Fragments of solitude,
the pain
is proof enough
for the inqusitions
test of us --
All of you children of
love come forward
We are leadning the march
to the north,
This resolution a
flagrant flower
amid the chaos of
winter storm
Come with us now, we of the
rosary night
removed
are calling you
--
Tangled, black branches
meet and linger
in rare splendor,
A propaganda canvas sky
sinks to behold the
rising dream
This dream of words,
the new dream
has always been within us,
reaching through the
darkness of night,
Srange is this mute
tangled connectedness
which has captured infinity
An odd, beckoning gesture
unfolds to
touch the depth of our desires' brilliance
--
You who have known
sylvantine pleasures,
To you the capturing of souls
becomes the rythmic game,
In secret minds and beds
our sordid and tragic drama is sold again,
This ancient magic elduds to
an eternal consciousness,
the blood red ribbon unfolds
and the untold becomes the tale,
running gale force mystery,
A coventry of love and hates illusion...
The poet intrudes upon this warm
perfumed palace alone,
and without the rythmic grace of
sex magic
Alone, in question,
the theif stops and smiling at the
strange guards, recognizes the lords
of the life
procession beginning to fall.
--
There is no other....
What is this other within
or about me?
--
Where are the guilty gods
Stranded w/in the mute
Forest of assasination?
Show me the great northern cities again.
the hustling women
those well lit avenues shine into
neon nothing, light of noon trance,
the game or dance, a procession
of haunting love remembered
for the sake of everything
of and in all things. --
a city spire reaches true
sky of silverfish elegance
A woman screams
as we turn the
next corner....
--
I'd like a flowery summit
of harem knowledge
a blessing or gift-
And when it is with me, when the
wandering laughter sings
in my ear like a secret angel,
a thousand stars converge
into nova brilliance
staring white hot into the black
a rose
unfolds into
sanctimonious revenge
____________________________________________________
Come forward, we suspended,
come alone into the night try
--
Phone calls to broken hearts
the shadows of desire
turn in black pillars
of silent suffering,
love, my love is a fire brand,
White hot steel inside my
skull
My god where is the wisdom of the hours?
Black towers fall
bright orange,
burning illusion is
this intrusion of dark truth
upon a lonely Saturday evening
Lovers embrace around firelight
a mourning side of
confusion
follwed by the silent sky's
awakening
lovers and takers become
similar children
hovering between shadows
toward noon sun summer parade
--
Houses are burning
hopes and faces
turn toward the black sky
Yet there can be
no
providence
found
For the diguise has finally languished,
the war is over,
and each instant shakes beneath
this unbridled truth,
A golden proof of two faces ignited,
together they meet in the rampant sky,
Turn, turn and face the lie
--
Someone, a thing is feeding us
words or transgressions,
the altar w/ wine,
snatched photo glance,
in a trance you are revealed to me
--
Eyes of love's fire stare through
the Sunday vision
This meeting of intuition
a resurrection claimed
by green truth
We are proof of this exsisitence,
Winners and losers of this gambling chaos removed,
Sacred children of the hidden light turn again
and are redeemed on this night,
They cry and swoon through to the
Solstice dawn of blood tide,
Everything now dead and graceful,
All things converge into one instant of
languid space....
I touched the master's hand,
my hand,
shaking with intolerable sorrow,
I caressed the eaves of nothingness
Due North Poetry and Art Chapbook for Creative & Teaching Writing-Radford University with Professors E.A. Poe & A. Bromley Spring 1992/Autumn 1993
as faces or religions
pamder as you wish
your
wish
this dull round removed.
Trees of light, the golden ones are given
summers
mute freedom to move asunder
Words stumblng around naked
like winos on a Saturday evening
hotels, the weigh station, the sacred rituals
Our candle burn summers of warm embracing
waiting waiting waiting
--
For whom does it have meaning?
We throw into nightshades the unthrown
--
There can be no others....
a journey
downward
leads you toward
the truth.
Fragments of solitude,
the pain
is proof enough
for the inqusitions
test of us --
All of you children of
love come forward
We are leadning the march
to the north,
This resolution a
flagrant flower
amid the chaos of
winter storm
Come with us now, we of the
rosary night
removed
are calling you
--
Tangled, black branches
meet and linger
in rare splendor,
A propaganda canvas sky
sinks to behold the
rising dream
This dream of words,
the new dream
has always been within us,
reaching through the
darkness of night,
Srange is this mute
tangled connectedness
which has captured infinity
An odd, beckoning gesture
unfolds to
touch the depth of our desires' brilliance
--
You who have known
sylvantine pleasures,
To you the capturing of souls
becomes the rythmic game,
In secret minds and beds
our sordid and tragic drama is sold again,
This ancient magic elduds to
an eternal consciousness,
the blood red ribbon unfolds
and the untold becomes the tale,
running gale force mystery,
A coventry of love and hates illusion...
The poet intrudes upon this warm
perfumed palace alone,
and without the rythmic grace of
sex magic
Alone, in question,
the theif stops and smiling at the
strange guards, recognizes the lords
of the life
procession beginning to fall.
--
There is no other....
What is this other within
or about me?
--
Where are the guilty gods
Stranded w/in the mute
Forest of assasination?
Show me the great northern cities again.
the hustling women
those well lit avenues shine into
neon nothing, light of noon trance,
the game or dance, a procession
of haunting love remembered
for the sake of everything
of and in all things. --
a city spire reaches true
sky of silverfish elegance
A woman screams
as we turn the
next corner....
--
I'd like a flowery summit
of harem knowledge
a blessing or gift-
And when it is with me, when the
wandering laughter sings
in my ear like a secret angel,
a thousand stars converge
into nova brilliance
staring white hot into the black
a rose
unfolds into
sanctimonious revenge
____________________________________________________
Come forward, we suspended,
come alone into the night try
--
Phone calls to broken hearts
the shadows of desire
turn in black pillars
of silent suffering,
love, my love is a fire brand,
White hot steel inside my
skull
My god where is the wisdom of the hours?
Black towers fall
bright orange,
burning illusion is
this intrusion of dark truth
upon a lonely Saturday evening
Lovers embrace around firelight
a mourning side of
confusion
follwed by the silent sky's
awakening
lovers and takers become
similar children
hovering between shadows
toward noon sun summer parade
--
Houses are burning
hopes and faces
turn toward the black sky
Yet there can be
no
providence
found
For the diguise has finally languished,
the war is over,
and each instant shakes beneath
this unbridled truth,
A golden proof of two faces ignited,
together they meet in the rampant sky,
Turn, turn and face the lie
--
Someone, a thing is feeding us
words or transgressions,
the altar w/ wine,
snatched photo glance,
in a trance you are revealed to me
--
Eyes of love's fire stare through
the Sunday vision
This meeting of intuition
a resurrection claimed
by green truth
We are proof of this exsisitence,
Winners and losers of this gambling chaos removed,
Sacred children of the hidden light turn again
and are redeemed on this night,
They cry and swoon through to the
Solstice dawn of blood tide,
Everything now dead and graceful,
All things converge into one instant of
languid space....
I touched the master's hand,
my hand,
shaking with intolerable sorrow,
I caressed the eaves of nothingness
Due North Poetry and Art Chapbook for Creative & Teaching Writing-Radford University with Professors E.A. Poe & A. Bromley Spring 1992/Autumn 1993