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Friday, May 23, 2014

The Coloring Book

A child plays with a crayon,
Coloring inside (and outside) the lines;
Drawing his own canon,
His imagination constructs his guidelines.

Sketching specifications,
No concerns for outline – black and white.
No dogmatic limitations,
Scribbling in tones that are: dark and bright.

His wax intones,
The page fills with his charms.
Shapes – he clones,
New generations of crops on farms.

Colorful seeds re-sown.
The plants his hands harvest and reap,
When he has grown,
Will be the hues which – make him unique.

Daily, through trial
And error, he develops his ability.
He sharpens, and files
His style, and soon controls his artistry.

Knowledge he vehemently seeks,
As he learns to stay in the prescribed boundary.
Through a variety of techniques,
He adds depth to his personal kit, and quarry.

He feels a fresh creative rush,
As (now a grown man) he gladly exchanges
His old crayons for a brush.
Recycled paper to canvas – the medium changes.

He creates beauty;
By recreating his picturesque perception
(His sense of reality),
And with his work is met with mixed reception.

Still, free from the color book,
No longer held back by a predetermined standard;
Forward – never back – he will look,
And others promote him to a creative commander.

“Free at last,
Free at last” once (unwittingly) a slave,
In the past.
“In the past...” those regrets, no longer engrave.

However, after “forever”…

The adult illusion
Begins to lift – and “freedom” degrades.
He`s left in confusion,
And into ancient innocent memories he fades…

…He stands staring, at a figure, across an impassable temporal canyon.
From his present longitude and latitude,
There is a sense of rectitude and servitude;
And his soul longs, to travel to the other side – to the child with his crayon.


Composed By: A.D.

In the Net

Amidst the tree branches; the sage explosions – fragmented –
Suspended in their frozen galaxy, is the universe is represented.

Higgs-boson particles, adrift in every crevice.
The ever-growing photosynthetic nebulae
Are connected – knees, and ankles – fibulae.
Two telescopes merely penetrate the surface

But, with microscopes (and electron radiation),
The lens can achieve greater magnification.

Scope is analyzing atomic level diameters,
And is grasping the complexity of the system;
“Invisible” interactions in the root and stem,
And deducing the slowly shifting parameters.

How the nature’s laws interplay and weave; like our moods,
Full of subtle relations – the thoughts affecting the attitudes.

Those celestial objects circulating in the galactic brine
Mimic, the psychology of the homo-homo-sapiens species;
Our genetic materials and motivations holds equal mysteries,
And soon all things equally troublesome to term or define.

Still, the most curious aspect (often found)
Is: What is layered in perplexing complexity,
Somehow, pales to effects of sacred simplicity.
The seemingly plain – can be plain, astound.

The ambient associations between the fabrics all around
Has a way, when information is re-viewed, to be simply profound.


Composed By: A.D.

Thursday, May 22, 2014

Sectio Divina


“Pleas'd with his idol, he commends, admires,
Adores; and last, the thing ador'd, desires.”

1.Around the time when the night had begun,
6 In the dim light of electric wicks;
1 Numerals, within his mind, slowly spun.
8 The minute hand pursues each hour of fate;
0 And similarly, his cognition begins a chase.
3 Starting with an invocation, a supplication, a plea;
3 Asking God and the Muses to: set the thoughts free
9 And to direct his Will, toward his grand golden design.
8 Just then, as if some force lifted the mental weight,
8 The pressure of his task – his intellect felt start to abate.
7 So like the sculptor Phidias, his hands write…
4 …He feels the ivory, her every sensual contour;
9 Concealed in a pentagon, hidden in a coarse shrine.
8 His eyes picture, ingest, and savor her every trait;
9 His senses dine on her beauty, features so fine.
4 He could have died satisfied, lost in irises – nothing more.
8 Woman is Nature`s magnum opus, beyond debate.
4 Soon he would spring her from the stone`s core,
8 But at the moment, he felt sleep calling sedate.
2 To his adoration of female perfection (for now) adieu,
0 And he took his rest, next to her slab prisons base.
4 Drilling into his drifting dreams he feels her image bore.
5 Her pleasant voice buzzing like bees in his brain`s hive.
8 Her glamor and charm, how could any ever replicate?
6 Now, together their souls blend, and form a perfect mix.
8 Though other women he admired, each in her own way great;
3 This one was the symbol – the conception of perfection was she.
4 With her nearby, he forgot every other pointless chore;
3 And by her soft silver eyes, he became an adoring abductee.
6 Upon her delicate, satin skin she places his hands, and they transfix;
5 Behind her soft breasts, her heartbeat reveals: she is truly alive.
6 Lying together their bodies enfold, entwine, and fix – sticks.
3 Each person had become the other`s willful detainee.
8 He moved his head to kiss her, a desire he could not sate;
1 But when he felt her warm lips, like the rays of the sun,
1 He awoke and looking around – he saw there was no one.
7 When the eyes stare at the golden orb, vision with glare – will fight;
7 The same struggle ensues in his imagination, lost in a doldrums flight.
2 Yet, in that momentary dreamy luster, the glistening celestial hue;
0 He felt a sense of clarity, lend his spirit, its loving embrace.
3 He calculates: reality and fantasy, creative strife and glee;
0 and the dimensions of a golden triangle, he starts to encase.
9 Returning to the statue, he sets to work, touch caresses her spine;
1 Eventually, through her wavy marble hair his fingers lovingly run.
7 All the while his heart wishes she had life, with all of its might.
9 Daily he circles her, soon he admires the shape of her firm behind.
8 For all his instruments, his tools, cannot free life from her alabaster state.
0 Over time, like a needle which works repeatedly to make lace;
5 His craft sculpts the attributes, from his dreams each one will derive.
7 The craftsman’s lonely labor is his greatest joy, and a cursing plight.
6 His social life is enclosed by rocky barriers, and mental bricks.
2 He only understands this apparition, gorgeous aspect, and spectral view.
8 Like the others, he is endlessly caught, artists left to creatively contemplate.
6 He makes progress, and at times, she seems almost alive – his mind plays tricks.
2 The signs of sentient affection, he has always tended to misconstrue.
1 In the way sentiments of attraction, by neglect and time are undone;
3 He too feels his attention and concentration, attempting to try and flee.
5 Still – toward his aspiration, he forges forward, and continues to drive.
4 His skin is dry and dusted, but soaked in his desire – a torrential downpour
4 While a traveler stands on the threshold, staring out of their front door.
8 He`s been sculpting every early daybreak, into the evening hours late;
6 And to every freshly made curve, his soul, he plans through volition to affix.
2 On her succulent lips, and her supple hips – her aesthetics sparkle through.
2 All the while, the outdoor scenery shifts. Poems in the swirling cloudy stew,
7 While stanzas twinkle, written on various coal pages of crystal midnight.
0 Stationary -he revolves around, his tools axis – her busts figure and face.
5 On occasion passerby’s laugh, as he laboriously toils, still he`ll strive.
2 He remains cemented to his current objective, he attached with glue.
6 Those jests, like his chisel on stone, small pains each chip inflicts;
0 But by the same incremental degrees, he loses touch with this place.
4 Those who abhor his labor – he forces his emotions, and reason to ignore;  
6 Much like the stone remains stationary, despite the actions of pricks.
2 The precision nicks, shaping, and developments accrue;
8 Miniscule additions, and subtractions, manipulate her slate.
1 He is inching closer (a few more taps), his anticipation, are shocks which stun.
8 One final blow, and the sum of her parts will conjoin and form an aggregate.
9 Then, suddenly his spirits suffer strange effects, resembling a plumb line.
0 He realizes: the excitement of completion – her completion – will erase.
2 She is stand ready, except for the final touch, then off to her grand debut;
4 And this factor, the departure, his heart neglected to account for.
4 With her unveiling to the world, solitude, the action – will restore.
9 In that moment he experiences a joyful sorrow, which is hard to define;
7 To lose his dream, his art, his love – represents his only mortal fright.
0 There, in his workshop indecisive, he begins to frantically pace;
7 But, makes a choice – he completes her with a loving touch – so slight.
2 To Venus – over time, all his desperate prayers amorously flew;
0 She hear his request, and delivers a Goddess`s grace.
7 Sullen, holding his cold creation, he feels heat inside the white.
2 Stepping back, he now stares at her eyes, which are deepest blue.
0 In shock, he feels his heart like horses gallop and race.
4 She speaks, he jumps, and she says that “You, to me are Amor”!
1 Now that, their work has reached its conclusion – is done;
8 Together in flesh; they can both finally, actually, relate.
9 They drift into the unknown; drunk with Love, the strongest sort of wine.
3 Together, they spend forever – sailing on a page, two on a vast sea.
9 The story: Pygmalion, with his Galatea, hidden in a golden mean – a section divine.

Composed By: A.D.

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

A Slice Of Pi

The ratio:
Three
Point One and Four.

The digit:
El-
Mentary,

Imperfect,
And
Totally pure.

Don`t know,
See,
Or feel the door;

But sense it,
Dwell-
Ing and explore.

We connect
(Blend)
What was obscure.

When winds blow,
The
Spirits will soar.

With our grit,
(Hell
And) mental war –

We dissect
(Rend),
From out of core.

Then, project
(Send)
From Gaea`s floor

(Angles writ -
Tel
Emetric score);

And we go,
Free
To look for more…

…Soon we find. shim. mering gold ore.
The portal. we. had searched for.
Hidden with. in. Three Point One Four.

Composed By: A.D.

(I need to do a secondary check on the syllables, I`m tired at the moment. I will revisit and do a secondary proof, tomorrow. Have a great night, and thanks for visiting the page. Enjoy)
"Gud styrke dig, hvor du i Verden går
Gud glaede dig, hvis du for hans fodskammel står
Her skal jeg vente till du komme igjen
Og vente du hisst oppe, vi traeffes der, min Ven!" – Solvieg’s Song

I

The perception is, as if, it was drenched in blood;
A small flash of crimson, in the vision – then a flood.
A crow spread its wings, and it takes to the skies;
So too – the fury spans, begins to rise, and rage flies.

Only a bit of control; bitter whispers, troll,
Echoing in the skull bone cave.
A zombie arisen from the grave;
Mouse wheel will scroll, louse starts to stroll.

His heart pumps defiantly,
His lungs breathe violently.
His heaven his hell – his haven his shell.
He is dust drifting through the wastes,
And the dry grains the mouth tastes.

The skin rains perspiration,
Covering like acid precipitation.
His flesh is adorned with lethiferous intaglio –
But, like heat from the ice – incisions are incognito.

From birth, sworn to repression, through social contract.
Married to death, no egression, life’s purpose to distract
The mind; from the inevitability of this deadly, nuptial union.
An artificial, solitary person; awaits genuine, total seclusion.

II

The way vocal onomatopoeia, reverberates in the loneliness
(Like those whispers he hears in his caverns emptiness);
His feelings encyclopedia registers an entry that’s mysterious,
In its distorted repetition, he at first classifies it as: delirious.

The shroud is shed. The sound waves, now, show (crowd waves at a show)
That the emotion (mis-categorized) is drawing near;
And with each new refrain grow more distinct and clear,
Propelling forward like oars row (moving closer and towards the first row).

His heart beat slacks;
Inhales, and exhales – relax.
His paradise, and purgatory – splice.
He is an oasis, to a voyager who has (restlessly) marched
Through desolation; that first cessation, of those who are parched.

His soul, now exposed, his ambrosia.
Tones balanced, and composed – synesthesia.
His spirit identifies the unknown sensation as: meridional;
Fluctuation between, mercurial and tranquil, peaceful and temperamental.

Adolescent ignorance, cultured affliction; but embraces (unknown) acceptance.
He lost care for the demise (irrevocable destiny). Each instant, a second chance.
He knew: the invisible wife, of his lonely life, would lead him to a common destination;
This brought on mortal intensification, and (perhaps) others await him, at final way-station.


Composed By: A.D.

Friday, May 16, 2014

The Secret Keeper

- "Canis lupus"

Late in the afternoon, I sat pondering in the concrete forest;
My thoughts wandering through the canopy, which was porous.
From my usual perch; I felt an unusual, lure of an ancient, alluring chorus.

Nine voices singing, tones rising and falling.
Nine times, I felt a drawing towards their calling.
Nine instances of my trepidation – stopping and stalling.

Like the tenth son, Sigmund, my body hung (as if upon a rung);
And like that honey-smeared descendant of the glorious Volsung,
By the tenth sun, from the mortal modern bonds – I was sprung.

Thus, in elation, I called out to the voices which spoke to me;
Desperate to have those spirits accept my plea, commitment in each knee,
Saying: “Provide my soul with the key, to unlock my mind, and set my spirit free”…

To this they, replied in, agree!

…Yet, they advised me, with a warning serenade
That: “Prior to ascertaining the next grade, you must first fade;
To have your conscious tried and weighed, by an ancient shade” – this, they bade.

So, before I knew it, I felt my attention dragged through a subconscious door.
I went past the threshold, of past fragments, and into something – more;
Old creations, and notes – runes reconstructed – grafted a fresh, new score.

I became the light, upwards, I (or the surrounding images) sped;
Within a jumbled tunnel, of sights and sounds, I traversed my head.
Abruptly, a flinch, a crash; and I saw only onyx, believing I was dead…

…However, I felt my vision swirl, in the endless streams of black.
I opened my eyes, at first, just cracked; and saw a sky’s mirror, looking back.
Disconcerted, one view was intact; a heavenly orb – I felt attract (a full Moon to be exact).

Patience, while I shall (poorly) attempt to express:
The deceptive perfection,
The perfect deception,
I had seen (at that time) in the strange wilderness.

Would – could – I describe the (still blurred) wood!
(The bewitchment, causes the pens voice to fail;
And any written portrayal, or comparison, is pale)
Like the environment, nothing illuminates where I stood.

As already stated, this area, was enveloped in night
(Save a sliver of shimmering silver light);
Therefore, to begin, could only sense sound.
Distant waves created the background;
Birch, Rowan, and Ash trees, swaying – so slight.
I also heard an owl in, her winged, flight.

Slowly, as my visual perception, had just begun to adjust
(My nostrils listening to the salty scent of the sea);
I noticed for the first time, the outline of the forest, I would see.
On some Weird sylvan island, I assumed I must be.
I attempted to deduce the location (the where),
And felt an overwhelming amnesia – no relief from scratching my hair.
After some time, I smelt smoke pervading the air;
Already forgotten my purpose, so I followed curiosity`s lust.

As I strode, a soft mist carpeted every step.
By only scents of direction, I was led, ahead I plowed;
As if, by a dread fervor, my form was swept.
The occasional screech, of the stalking owl, echoed aloud.

Her calls sliced, through the overall silence,
And cut into my courage – my intellect was in bitter defiance.
Regardless, the soles of my confused feet lunched;
On the bunched up dried leaves, which crunched – as toes munched.

Past Alder, Willow, and Hawthorne, I struggled – to remember how I came
To this plane, still forgetting all things – perplexed – my very name.
It was as if: some spying presence, against this would-be poet, plotted.
I walked further forward; and walls of fireflies, and insects, I swatted.

Eventually; the atmosphere, and toasted, smoke grew thicker.
I pressed on, and felt my pulse, and steps; both moving quicker.
I passed past lush flora, Oak, Holly, Hazel and Evergreen;
Beyond bushels of bushes, Vine, Ivy and the dikes in-between.

(Could I have recalled home, at that exact moment,
A splendid metaphor would have been evident – apparent: 
This grove was the crossroads of the world, on New Year’s Eve;
Before I go astray, through wild congestion I strayed, and continued to proceed).

Among the trees, their outlining, and fingers (which branched);
I followed the smell of cinder, to where a heavy vapor danced.
I cautiously drew closer; and noticed moonlight, joined another glow –
Among the crevices in branches, trunks, and thickets was brilliant shining show!

Ambers, citrines, sphenes, and rubies; shimmered, and flickered –
In my irises; the fire`s opal hues blazed, glimmered, and stickered.
Nearer, and nearer, the clearing; my ears heard logs crackling –
Clearer, and clearer, I was nearing; I thought, I heard cackling.  

“No…” I speculated, “…I`m fed up of my mind playing tricks”!
“Though…” my flesh, in the sticks, felt immersed in the river Styx.
“…Singing?” I noticed. I am unsure of what music Ulysses detected;
But, I reckoned that, this woman`s voice was: a sirens call – perfected.

My head, at that point in my journey, was in a total jumble;
Like, when an excess of punctuation, causes one to stumble.

I proceeded into a clearing, exiting out of the tree-line.
There, under the white Moon, I set my eyes on someone divine;
Next to the roaring fire, I saw a gorgeous woman`s back – nude.
I turned the sight, and cleared my throat, so as not to be rude.

Am I a man, and so; my chivalry, by instinct, was easily betrayed –
And these optics, peripherally, the sensually smooth body assayed.
In that instant, I felt as though, I was the father of Aeneas;
Like Venus, this Goddess, was elegant artistry – in a surplus.

The spirit of the fire danced, as the air began to blow, playing out taps;
And, these mortal eyes glanced at skin, as pure, as Olympus snow-caps.

Initially, she turned her head and reveled her pristine profile;
Her nose was hooked, and yet, her perfection was beyond denial.

Fresh blood, was the color of her moistened lips.
A bottle neck, was the shape of her barren hips.

Lapis lazuli’s sparkled, gemstones were her eyes;
While, mine traced the contour of her back, and thighs.

She subtly turned, completely, towards me – a full frontal perspective;
I mimicked, as well, all shy consideration – now shattered, and defective.

I was hypnotized by: the shapely mountains, and curved valley of her earth.
My flesh and bone tingled, invisible spiders, as I approached my full girth.

She began striding towards me with, an entrancing, crescent grin;
Under her spell, to the forest, all my adornments – were given.

The slim, champagne haired, deity took my hand; and led me, to her love den.
This journey, and memory (even, currently) is: that of the children of Hamelin.

I only remember: two together embraced, naked, coiled, and intertwined.
In ecstasy our carnal natures baked, bodies glistened soiled, and libidos were calcined.
Hands scratched and raked, reproductive plunders were spoiled, and the flesh was combined.

Our passion-making went on for an incalculable length – an eternity,
And though I felt only pure awe, and pleasure externally;
A foreboding terror, an ominous sense of error, filled each internal extremity.

I dismissed the cause, as that of surprise, and our potions were further mixed.
Obsessed with coitus, my entire essence was bound – to my master – transfixed;
Her legion of sutra tricks, her horde of curious licks, and her power kept me affixed.

Each break, we would lay; and she would play, grasping the haft.
On one occasion, my eyes grew wide with fear, and trembling;
Like two crazed madmen, my optics were opening, and resembling.
I felt (I would rather not say, but) two feelings: her lust on the shaft,
And the thrust of her jaws, upon my neck closing like jaws;
Her feasting on my throat, created an echoing applause.
Unaware, at first, my first reaction was that: of one blissfully daft.
It was not until, I noticed crimson sweat upon my chest;
That I sprung up in horror, realizing the trap of this fatal nest.

Her bite, had returned me to my better senses, and the cave`s aura switches:
Bloodstained bones, cobwebbed skulls, and splintered quills; lay in graves and ditches.
I wailed, the light became incense, and she transformed into many serpentine witches.

I stood in a pit of snakes; she stung me, with each repeated venomous addition.
My flesh rapidly swelled, my muscles – atrophy; and my soul was in perdition.
I fled, propelled, and impelled – solely by epinephrine, despite my poisoned condition.

I sprinted, but like a hare through the forest, she gave chase.
In horror, I screamed out, hopelessly – beyond any form of grace.
Running full speed, ahead; beneath an Elder Tree, I noticed a space.

My eyelids were starting to close, as I approached the only point of concealment.
I thought, I would reach the spot without a dent, when my back felt an indent.
Bones shattered, blood vessels burst, as her javelin hands puncture without relent.

It sounded like hail beating down on the roof of an automobile;
Each new puncture, boiled and spewed; fresh flesh, from the oven stuck with steel.
My gait as I approached the voids gate, was spiraling like the twist of a citrus peel.

Sobbing, sweating profusely, panting substantially, and throbbing in the hole I dove.
The depth was unexpected; and scared, scarred, and desperate descending I drove.
I was Alice, in anguish as I kept tumbling; aware and unaware downward my carcass would rove.

Upon reaching the root of the root, the bottom of that curious chute;
I lay broken on the base, and through cracked eyes, I noticed a short pathway.
The end of the channel appeared to lead back to my body
Standing, although dying and decaying; I hurried, feeling life left - stray.
I met, with one more test, one last spectacle of pure insanity;
A resolute wind began to shoot, trying to blow me back to, those in pursuit.

I heard the hags harrowing cries, and fought the infernal wind, which continued to rise.
My eyes closed, and I fell again; crawling, clawing towards the portal, before all hope dies.
In my heart, then I quit; but, ahead, I heard the low verses of my nine nymph allies.

Through a final push of the volition (I couldn`t hope to replicate), I gave my last breath to return.
Life from death, to my former position; against the winds of hate, every fiber burned.
In one last gasping effort; the foolish, frail Will revolved, and the spirit through (the door) returned.
Back into my normal reality I fell (mentally spent, but unharmed) strengthened by what I learned.
I sat still, smiling; although the meaning of the dreaming – I still struggle to discern.

Composed By: A.D.

Wednesday, May 14, 2014

Semper Paratus

The winds of time
Swim through the sails.
The sea below is glass
Unaffected by the current.
The ship has faithfully
Transported the crew;
An instrument playing
Each note with precision,

Harmony from division.
Sailors’ spirits pantomime;
The listless swaying
Of the air, which flails
Gently, as it moves through.
Unruffled ocean grass,
Peaceful as the rhapsody.
The vessel proceeds inerrant.

This moment: a concision,
When sea straying.
In the vast orb of blue
(Enveloping endlessly),
The captain remains diligent,
Despite the calm en-masse.
Wary of the lulling veils,
Of the winds of time.


Composed By: A.D.

Intangible

In intersecting crevices on the sidewalk
There are many blank Cartesian planes.
X and Y-axes which are awaiting geometric formations,
The foundation for mental derivatives and equations.
Out of these concrete window panes,
The consciousness glided like a hawk.

From the initial lines, which extend on infinitely,
There was movement and plotting of each new segment.
Next, the small points of a ray
Began to array the stony gray.
Then, rapid reformations (an exotic Council of Trent);
Automation of calculations, was done systematically.  

The vision stares into this unknown,
While the geometric structures are grown
By some unseen unexplained element,
Which deftly assembles each new component.

Left to wonder, if this is the effects of delirium?
To too much information did the mind succumb?  

Then, the inner sight saw it:

A Sphere which contained: a Circle, enclosed in a Square, surrounded by a Triangle;
Laying there invisible – yet transcendent and resplendent.
It was clear and exposed; like a banner, flying high, adorned with Stars which spangle.
Among functions, a transformation to an extent ascendant.

The images and the figures, had so much to teach;
Knowledge not acquired in any familiar school.
In the end, like Cephissus’ son, staring into a pool;
Each time the hand attempted to grasp the design  
(Touch the stone, to feel the beauty of the outline),
The mind found, it disappeared and was out of reach.


Composed By: A.D.

Ellipsis

A magnet placed between two equal attracting forces.
A mind in its shack; on a rack, pulled by two opposing horses.
Frost, in a yellow wood; two roads deciding what the course is.

In the black ink, thoughts – think, they see a star in space.
The vision is blinded by a nebula, a strange storm.
Shrouds, clashes, and flashes – like thunder clouds;
And through the tempest a solid, begins to take form…
But, then a nagging cellphone, causes everything to – erase.

The interference against the attention – the focus is unable to assuage;
Patience into irritation, annoyance then rage, the extent of which it’s unable to gauge.
The volition tries to remain sage, and imagination adds the disturbance to the page.

A plastic brush, now, strokes on new layers of acrylic.
It is devoted, and focused, on the perfect technique;
While musing about hues, and points of views, it will be using.
Just as the grasp discerns, and penetrates, the mystique;
An, interrupting, acquaintance ensures efforts are Pyrrhic.

Hephaestus, reworking the metal of the mettle, with divine fire;
Words uplifted in the smoke, concepts consumed in a blazing pyre.
What started off aloft, was brought low – but rose in the end even higher.


Composed By: A.D.

Monday, May 12, 2014

A Moment with A Naiad

A fishing pole propels, and casts out its line.
After the introductory lob
All the thoughts, gently, bob;
Attempting to catch a trophy, within the brine.

Together, the company is, fixated on the murky beyond;
Together, their craft softly rocks upon the surface of the pond.
Each shipmate formulates their own ideas of what lies under;
Each perspective treasure, and every potentially plunder.

Some are dreaming of objects glistening, and gleaming –

Other of items immaterial, things incalculable, and ethereal –

A few believe the reward is: in the companionship, and accord.

Most of the attention is focused on what might soon be caught,
Ignoring the value of what the experience has already wrought.

The distant sunshine, trapped for a time, suspended in the aqueous glass.
The swaying whispers, of the ever-growing playful willows –
The air bellows, and blows with hints of what they`re saying;
The response to their jokes, from the chestnuts and oaks.
The calls, and clicks of insects; which tock and tick, like clocks.
The breeze rising and falling, along with the untamed poultry.
The slow sway, as they drift, along the day; with the way the boat rocks.
The collection of senses recorded, and sorted, from the sensations sundry.
The images opposite the mirror, overhead, which continue to pass.

All these natural gifts given, from the new-world, and new-age nymph.
Each present, she presents, in the present environment; each a sacred glyph.
The favors cause one to forget every other desire, and wish;
And cease the search for some future, yet caught, fish.


Composed By: A.D.

Saturday, May 10, 2014

Developmental Refraction

In the afternoon – earth, on its axis, gradually circulates.
I, “stationary”, take notice of the solar star;
The rays shine through the celestial door ajar,
And reflect on the perceived course the golden sun makes.

The orb reminds me of speculations we express…
…How each conjecture (I`m told) has movement
Although I see little motion is visibly evident.
Perhaps it`s the sound waves of rest and stress?

Noise unbound, from the core it unravels;
And it`s heard as sound, I`m told: “it travels”.
I do believe, but isn`t this still a matter of perspective;
Perhaps the senses are applied to tones projected?
A fallacy, I know, this situations solution is intuitive;
But what if the model, the example is more disconnected?

The subject of this adjusted case
Is: letters (ideas) placed in empty space.
These coalesce (empirically) into terms or words;
All with specific function like: nouns and verbs.
Some signals contain, a slew of, different definitions;
All are – ranked and filed into a few ordered positions.

Features are concrete, when the symbols are inscribed;
The aura is abstract, and depends on how all is derived.
It`s reasonable to suggest, the words are moving ahead;
If their location is accurately identified and correctly read –
But, the oscillation isn`t activated until they have been said.

So, it is clear: the series is a matter of placement, and context.
The signification is established by: how the whole, and parts connect.
The straight lines – delineated, the conception – starts to flex.
The initial issue is: the (silent) intonation your mind might project;
In order to create fascination, through the euphonious effects.
Then, every phrase will become an occurrence of personal inference.

So, although I`m told ideas disseminate around us;
I believe it is we, whom revolve about (and develop) them.
Einstein`s relativity, the fundamental element, in all we discuss;
All comprehension is: breed from analyzing each visceral stem.

The quondam conundrum
Is solved,
When the ocular vernacular
Is evolved.

In that moment, all momentum no longer occurs extrinsically;
But, is within the core – an impetus which is found intrinsically.


Composed By: A.D.

Rhetoric Recanted

Each new day, the reasoning develops;
It is the air, which surrounds and envelops
The flesh, keeping the logic fresh.
The previous conclusions are carbon dioxide;
Though once inside, from the lungs they divide,
And are expelled through mental mesh.

Partially productive, only sediment remains;
Strains of unenlightened memories, sentimental grains.
Segments continue to subsist, but are expanded.
The selfish poison`s portions, left on old blog bars
(Stains); the reminder of ideas (narrow-minded scars),
The mar remains, but the deduction, the ratiocination is recanted.

With every improved entry, the soul is transmigrated;
By more experienced revelations, the work is decorated.
Leaving behind the outdated, despite whether it serves as a pro or con;
Ignoring the cosmic background radiation, rationale reaching for the next echelon.
The verses are breaths of life (filled with either: the continuum of trifling strife,
Or the dawn of significant positive productivity); Art, this soul`s sole proclivity.


Composed By: A.D. 

…Composition

The outline in this current creation
Is established carefully, through gradation;
A task involving: contemplative concentration,
And evolving via constant erudition.

Now, to the preparation.

A patient, skillful, and steady hand,
Painstakingly executes each command.
Five Legions stand ready for the assault.
On the battlefield they disperse, and season
(Layers of imagination, and also pure reason;
Developing the flavor, like table salt).

The grammatical units combine, conjoin, and ignite;
Within the erratic clashing, there is much bright flashing.
The sparks of the syntactic swords, the annotated chords,
Thunder – lightning strikes in the dark of the night.

The commander`s focus is isolated on a single position:
On the present – the perfect moment –
No past, nor future, only the nature
Of this repetitive engagement; this consuming cycle of…

Composed By: A.D.

Tuesday, May 6, 2014

In Pursuit Of...

Life seen through a lens
The glass
Is the ink from the pens
Taking the images
Which pass
And logically erecting
Also verbally connecting
Structures and bridges

With each new stroke
The hand can broaden or narrow the scope
Solids formed within the smoke
Freshly blown, a liquid crystal rope
Which is bound and coiled around
This loosely versified and supplied trope

To create vivid visuals without pictures for the optics
And harmonic tones without sounds for the hearing
Beyond the homonyms and homophones is more appearing?
Beyond the symbols and syllables laid down for the acoustics

Derive the message, an underrated overlooked emotion
Beauty of the depths, forsaken for the face of the ocean

… The spectrum and the history of humanity
… The scientific advancements comprehension of reality
… The asymmetry and symmetry of this artistry

The expression of sensations, experiences, and aesthetics
Achieved through combination of genuine and synthetics
An unyielding pursuit of art and intellect
An inability to every feel correct or perfect

An amateur in the understanding of nanotechnology
And yet in this current matter
Manipulating every atom and molecule
What seems merely abstruse chatter
Apparent ranting’s of an obsessed fool
Is utilized and devised (every idea) as part of the strategy


Composed By: A.D

Parched Parchment

The leaves are emeralds,
Glistening in the afternoon light;
Photosynthetic heralds.
Nature lends the pen insight.
Golden azure flames from on high;
Like an eagle omen, fly in the sky.

Trees and grass yield,
To the concrete and bricks.
In a once verdant field,
Modern stones now – affix.
In the Hudson woods, which were enchanted;
Massive apartment complexes are now – planted.

Community, an error which is slowly erased
By individualism of this era, the old is replaced

Profitless service – a rarity;
Compelled by gainful impulses.
An unattractive interior –
No longer matters, nor repulses;
The structure of the exterior
Determines the quality, and disparity.

Sunset breaks, fire silently shimmers through –
In wonder, thoughts wonder –
If this would is quietly ablaze too?


Composed By: A.D. 

Altogether Scorned

Constant confrontation takes place in his cognition;
An endless engagement to determine the exhibition.

While sitting in place, deciding each choice;
Many feet pace, and disapprove without a voice.

Critics, who are busy following their dreams,
So dedicated and focused on each goal;
That, from their passing position it seems:
There is little labor, or conflict, in his soul.

In the same way, his observation presumes
To: understand each (potentially) disdainful look,
In the multitude – The multitude also assumes
The content, based on the cover of the book.

For all that’s seen written, twice is (unseen and) read –
Theories, calculation, and facts;
Data spiraling, on circular train tracks,
(Making multiple loops on routes) through his head.

The creative sources, and imaginations’ courses, are colliding.
Sciences like chemistry, and biology;
Separately blending – simultaneously sub-dividing.
Philosophies, theologies, and psychology;
Separating, cross-contaminating, and re-combining.  
Our history, our astronomy, and our poetry;
Compose - just the surface of the internal equations
(Mental mathematics – abstractions in the calcinations).

A jack of many trades,
A master of only one;
A hand of aces and spades,
Shooting the moon, under the sun.

Inside – mad laughter, as others sneer at the seated (as he`s playing a game).
Each day repeating the same – not for riches, or personal fame;
But, because the desire and passion… (coursing through each vein,
Within the tumultuous mien) …is to express verbal beauty and poetic rein.


Composed By: A.D.

Friday, May 2, 2014

Endless Iterations

The gears in the head spin around,
And develop the information;
Elucidating (uncertain) observations,
Which are seen, viewed and found.
The low brought to elevation;
In organic, mechanical, manifestations.

Again – repeating the daily process,
Retracing the old outline,
And reshaping what was defined;
Until the previous is sublimed.
Pen – graphing an incline,
Mind – manipulating the compass.

Like: roots of a massive pine,
Liquid composing the Rhine,
Oxygen two – a super-oxide
(End rhyme – verbal dioxide),
The electric conductivity of a silver wire,
The acoustic elasticity of a string on a lyre…

…Like the heart and it`s pulsating;
This art is life, existence it`s generating.

To many this seems a pointless activity;
To a poet, this is the essence of viability.


Composed By: A.D.

To Summarize

The works are: a spontaneous combustion,
Each letter sears into the frame;
Ashen runes, through flame, are lain.
Creating a legend, which assists with the cartography;
Symbols to help eyes navigate the poetic topography,
And delineate the movements of each production.

Each poem, line and stanza, has its own valley and peak;
A depth and apex of emotions – which are far from unique…

(Dedication, indifference, joy, sorrow, bravery, and fear;
A matter of deduction, till then – the sentiment is unclear)

…But, the many sensations of personal experiences are –
So, implied individual inferences are layered into each bar.

A coal engine’s fuel, in a cranium, a scuttle;
Each statement’s progress, facing no rebuttal.

To many, the unseen seems easy to refute;
Like, zeros and ones don`t appear on the screen,
The inconspicuous is there – somewhere in-between.
Poems with abstruse metaphors, dull or astute?  
If the vision is in the darkness – there is only black, no white.
Emotion in each work, though the evidence is sub-atomic;
It is underground, underneath, like a spirit which is chthonic.
Some poems meant to depress, while the others meant to excite.

Look below the dictation,
To see the spectrum
(The prismatic hues in each creation;
The senses total, the feelings sum).

Are the multitude still indiscernible –
Is this mind, blind and one-dimensional –
Are the symbolic icons, incomprehensible?

Why is the tenor of all this poetry
(Its iridescence, diversity, and complexity)
Felt, detected, and classified statically?
These words strive not to capture a single, momentarily;
But, work to encapsulate a series of senses, shifting constantly.


Composed By: A.D.

A Fatigued Wager

The condition: deprivation of rest;
The Will refuses to surrender, to momentary death.
The Volition is in a casino contest;
Craps is played, with each conscious breath.

Sleep is synonymous with grief,
It is our clever, friendly foe;
Pursuing our days without relief,
Until the final fatal woe.

This she-wolf grasps and doesn`t let go;
Sleepily, the Drive – drives on to Paradiso.

Chancing, gambling, rambling words are the bets;
Chips are bids, placed in the quatrains, and couplets.

Every preceding roll of the dice,
Represents the respite`s sacrifice.

The Attention is playing against the house.
The Moirai are the fateful dealers
(Clotho and her fellow wheelers),
Each hot streak they attempt to douse.
Luckily, the maiden Tyche is our spouse;
So even if doom, spools in the loom
(Even though, in the final game, we all must lose),
This bid (currently dealt) ends when we choose.


Composed By: A.D.