Stratagem

Somber night aura envelops the city streets,

Perfect silence the atmosphere entreats.

Contained within a pod (of electricity)

Is: the fifth symphony of Tchaikovsky.

Among the quietude (the reticent evening air)

Two ears hear tones, the stare: an empty tare.

Still, together: mental and musical wrapping

(The thoughts and instrumental overlapping)

Weighs out to a mass of incalculable gravity;

And it is this sense which alters the streetlamp

Illuminated, soft mist embraced locality.

The dull environment – once (still) mildly damp;

Is now saturated, with vivacious, lively undertones.

The landscape, is impregnated by a mystical dew;

And while thoughts sleep in compartment homes,

Nature and the nature of man – once seen as two…

…For this moment, are united in a single melody;

A combination of reality, fantasy, and rhapsody.

Like, graphite and paper in joyful prosody;

Like, light and shadow intertwined;

Shades of sophistry, grades of philosophy;

Both truth and fiction are combined,

The very existence is re-defined.

The silence – both a myth and fact,

Contradictions in a momentary pact.

The silence – is sound, an equinox;

Together both a sort of paradox.

The vision drifts and wanders,

In the levels of depth perception;

The consciousness wonders:

Is this existence, true conception,

Or just another sensory deception?

…This moment fades away;

Then, returns the next day…

Thoughts about the joys foregone for perfection,

That race without a true finish;

There, the further you move in the proper direction,

The more you see the goal diminish.

Strange – the way, the more you comprehend,

It seems the less you actually understand.

Strange – a definite start, and indefinite end;

An indistinct takeoff, nowhere distinct to land.

It becomes more difficult to enjoy each new advance,

As more subtle distinctions appear in each occurrence.

When even the most complex calculation of scientific notation;

Is a measure – not specific, an estimation, and an approximation.

When a single definition is: found to contain

A multitude, a myriad, of different entries;

And what (at first) seemed simple and plain,

Is replaced with a variety of varying complexities.

Small actions are extended beyond the initial scope,

Like devices that break boundaries poetry in or trope.

This post – dramatic, not depressed;

This life – relaxed, and also stressed.

The heart – emotional,

The reason – logical,

Evidence – empirical,

Order – strategical.

Though, the stanzas roam the sidewalk of the sheet

(Muttering to themselves, madness in the street);

Beneath the disconcerted chatter,

(The loose associations

The distant relations)

There is structure, form, and matter.

The lines, when transposed sideways;

Pulses, pulsating on a cardiac monitor.

The shifting needle point never stays,

Rising and falling on the speedometer.

At first glance, the readings may be misread as vanity or insanity;

But, given a second chance, they reveal a methodical strategy.

Composed By: A. D.

Sirens in the Street

“Sweet coupled airs we sing.

No lonely seafarer

Holds clear of entering

Our green mirror.”

-Homer, The Odyssey

The man, flesh and mind, was tied to the mast;

As the battered vessel approached

The island of doubt, a deceptive deadly landmass

(Which the seeress reproached).

Strange power had lulled the raging swell.

The earth shaker’s domain had grown

Calm now, through some devious spell;

As if cast by an agent of Persephone.

The silence (in the air salted)

Immersed and climbed his spine;

Though his oars weren’t halted,  

Emotion, motion seemed suspended in the brine.

Suddenly, across the placid expanse -

The way dawn softly invades evening sky -

An arduous aria began to advance;

Lovely voices singing to him their lullaby.

They beckoned his wearied mind,

With their harmonic song of allure;

And he desperately craved to find,

The source of this melody – so pure.

Luckily, he couldn`t escape the bind,

And follow where others have before.

Despite the victory and trials still ahead:

The potential doom impending dread -

He couldn`t forget those words they said;

Wonderful and fatal, still consuming his head

Composed By: A.D.

Game Point on 25th and 8th

The tournament is taking place on a clear, lined court.

It`s the championship point, Serene has the chance to win;

Game, set, match. All of her concentration is now given;

To this field, this art, to her craft, and her sport.

Her quiet mind is keen, not limited by any imposed parameter.

Above, the sapphire firmament swims, and refulgent rays shine.

She recalls every ace, and each time she heard “fault”;

Moments of utter perfection, and feet intruding on the baseline.

 Still, she returns rapidly from recollections of her vault;

Dwelling on past triumphs or troubles, are actions of an amateur.  

Abruptly, her opponent serves a bullet from the barrel of a gun;

From the primed place, pace starts to race, breaking into a full run.

Circulating decisions, barrages, volleys, and bounces off the turf.

Full swing, both are given, mere seconds to defend or attack;

One swiftly sends, while another directs the sent sphere back.

From north to south, left to right, the directions – the orb will surf.

Meanwhile, the audience`s eyes are passing, watching, observing in silence;

Or are they cheering, are they jeering, currently she can`t tell.

Serene is entranced, hypnotized, by the round pendulum`s spell.

She remains composed; her attention is demanded, and non-compliance

Bares (if she dares tolerate lethargy) a devastating cost –

So, her heart (a stone effigy) supplies sanguine frost.

Her rival delivers a hostile shot, but the antagonism breeds – a relinquished position.

Anticipation: causes time to slow to a stall, as her eyes follow the ball;

Adrenaline: the sight narrows into a tunnel, her vision is liquid into a funnel.

The azure sky, people nearby, stadium`s nature; all vie – all, her senses deny…

…Her only ruminations, meditations are on the trajectory of the arc;

The mind`s silent contemplation, of the projected path in the dark.

A Shepard-Risset tone – with adroit, adept accuracy, she prepares her backhand;

Her sweat drips, grip grips, racquet is connected – and executes her command…

…Time resumes (as if it never ended or paused) with an applause, as she decimates the opposition.

Composed: A.D.

Hortus Cultūra

Each mind is a garden, and the judgments are its plants;

Every new form, of productive vegetation, needs cultivation.

The seedlings must be carefully nurtured, and caused to grow;

Until their emerald stems, and distinctive petals begin to show.

When, those first flowers begin spreading through germination;

The entire landscape will adapt, and take on a new stance.

On the other hand: all negative seeds must be instantly destroyed;

They must not be given a chance to begin developing any roots.

It is a fact: when a single, objectionable shoot hatches;

It has the capacity to devastate many valuable patches.

The intruder will kill, enveloping constructive sprouts (as it pollutes);

So, the vast genus of corrupting weeds the cultivator must avoid.

The wise gardener should tend to their priceless land;

Ensuring it grows healthy, and sows a profitable demand.

They should always remember: reforming (mental terraforming) is a constant toil –

It is an abstract act – they enact in each thought, as they traverse the concrete soil.

The horticulturist may find: with diligence, vigilance and beneficial fertilization;

That every hope and each vivid dream, may (some day) be brought to realization.

Composed By: A.D.

Final Warning

 The worn hunter strategically set the snare,

All energy drained from tracking the quarry –

Like a lonely man`s unsure, eyes stare

At an attractive woman; passing in a hurry,

But, his confidence doesn’t move anywhere…

…Yet, unlike the hopeless romantic

(Confidence silent and gaze tantric);

The self-reliant hunter`s ability is decisive,

Skillful, indisputable sharp – almost incisive.

The hunter had simply grown tired of pursuit,

But continued setting the trap on paper`s root.

She thought,

“No more games with the game

Once caught,

By this frame which I frame”.

She completed the construction of her simple ploy,

And then some bits of embellished bait, she`d employ.

She hid; and as she did

In her patient mind, she contemplated,

Content with the apparatus she created…

…”This cunning device, which I have now set,

Shall capture all my prey with a skillful mechanism;

One, the victim (hopefully) will not soon forget”!

(Like the recognition, of the implication, causes a chasm;

But it`s too late, the revelation apprehends like a net)

And, snap – goes the trap.

Composed By: A.D.

Vale of Tempe

“She urg’d by fear, her feet did swiftly move,

But he more swiftly, who was urg’d by love.” – Publius Ovidius Naso

The poet’s soul was akin to enamored Apollo,

His aspiration was the all-alluring Daphne.

Over great distances, his spirit would follow,

Pursuing perfection and absolute beauty;

Spiritually and physically, growing hollow,

Losing the evidence of prior personality.

For a moment, he lost sight of his precious prey,

The forest canopy, concealed the light of day;

Most painfully his heart began to wail and pray…

…To these pleas there was no audible reply.

In utter emptiness (the obscurity of solace)

He felt his naivety, and feeble emotions die

(Even the wonderment, now, felt aweless;

As if, instead of gold, Cupid now let lead fly).      

Disoriented, the pressure of gravity, began to heavily weigh;

When some serendipitous unknown force, suddenly did allay,

Mitigating all the uncertainty of the (previously) unknown way.

Instead of holding on to the past, he completely let go;

And proceeded forward by small degrees, soul now free.

Trusting in his ability, and that his goal would one day show;

All adversity, he faced with conviction, unwilling to flee.

Finally, his journey brought him to an azure, watery flow;

Overjoyed, his eyes were transfixed on a blooming laurel tree.

Composed By: A.D.

The Nine

Selene moves slowly, into her position;

Her vision admiring his composition –

For a moment, his eyes pay her supplications;

Then, his hands continue his poetic invocations…

“O, Zeus`s and Mnemosyne`s daughters,

Nymphs of (many names) nine –

Please arise from your forgotten waters,

And impart your blessings divine.

…Clio, although other poets may omit

Your name from their knowledge of history;

This servant asks that you never forget

His words and reveal every poetic mystery…

…Thalia, continue my intellectual flourishing,

And filling this mortal heart with joy.

All desires your trumpet is nourishing;

Use this pen, as your modern envoy…

…Erato, your blessing is timidly desired.

Hesiod or Virgil – create a contemporary

(Though such status, is impossibly acquired)

Out of the engineer of this simple poetry…

…Euterpe, add my lyrics to your well of delight;

So even when, by mortals, these words are forgotten,

When this life proceeds into eternal night –

These symbols, I send to you, will not grow rotten…

…Polyhymnia, like Dante, I`ve meditated on geometry;

And with modest heart I beseech

Asking: you create congruence and sacred symmetry,

Within this respectful poet`s reach…

…Calliope, adorned with your golden crown,

Metamorphose (like Ovid) my poetic energies;

And lift my words up when they are down,

Filling each letter with joy, in all its extremities…

…Terphsichore, unload into my mind your creative store,

And find any weakness (which is rough or porous);

Smooth and fill it with strength, so these poems may endure,

Harmonious and amplified by your perfect chorus…

…Melphomene, with humility, fill every line with your melody;

Create in them a sound that resounds in another`s memory.

Let the lines linger on skins, and these stanzas replay in brains;

Like pleasant recollections of the past, or presently falling rains…

…Urania, these worn eyes stare at stars in the celestial sphere,

Into oblivion this mortal life and words continue to steer.

I pray that in the end, you and your sisters draw near;

And even if unseen, before my end, may I see your faces clear”.

Composed By: A.D.

An Experiment

The page is water, sodium the graphite;

Sodium hydroxide, each letter gives off light.

Atomic eyes are drawn to the chemical reaction,

By the laws of nature, and forces of attraction.

Every new end-rhyme forms a covalent bond,

Releasing enough fuel; increasing the energy

To a level, which is above and beyond,

Ever thought plausible through: such simple chemistry.

Notice the gravitational pull of the imagination,

Is equal to the supermassive black hole in the center

Of the galaxy… it`s an unfathomable generation,

A singularity, no return once you dare to enter.

Every new metaphor is an additional satellite;

Sent on a mission (from this atmosphere),

Each is journeying further, deeper in its long weightless flight…

…Into the unknown, with both awe and fear.

Drifting through space with much uncertainty;

Needle points threading, time and it`s fabric.

Slowly, treading waves of irradiated cosmic energy;

Obsolete allusion, the only trace is electromagnetic.

Composed By: A.D.

Implied Perspective

Silent contemplation spawns conception,

Solace amplifies truth and deception.

…The wind through the window,

The rain infringing upon the screen,

The sun and its final glow,

The little blades in shades of green,

The voices of a familiar terrestrial race

(In which the heart

Rarely takes part),

The great beyond, and celestial space…

In the passing setting, for some degree of a while,

There appears some degree of a crescent

(Moon rising, upon stoic lips) a serendipitous smile;

The veiled and revealed, both seen resplendent.

…The life and the living

The dying and death…

Together, the abstract and the concrete,

Are tinged with both honesty and deceit;

In lonely introspective time one may find,

A plethora of respective friends in the mind.

Composed By: A. D.

Sophia The Poet of Arcadia

(John 7: 37-39)

Sophia had been drinking liquid from many different rivers;

Cocytus, Phlegethon, Lethe, and particularly Acheron – 

And each new sip both burned, and brought chilling shivers;

Enslaved and suffering congelatio, to hypothermia a pawn.

Pursued and lost in savage, rough, stern, dark woods;

Enthralled and tormented, in the depths of a vile prison…

…Like Alighieri; saved by Virgil, Angelic, and Divine goods –

Like Redcrosse; by Arthur`s hand, returned and arisen.

Six carbon, two hydrogen, three nitrogen,

Six oxygen, one carbon, and three hydrogen;

Is the chemical composition of her dialogue,

Although, it`s shrouded in an analogous fog.

Through patience, Sophia is learning to achieve verbal valence;

And

Through assiduous pondering, each equation achieving balance.

Sophia knows that: plain allusions aid in overall appreciation and accessibility;

But

It is challenges – resolved: the facilitation of the congregations’ cerebral ability.

Sophia now decides to consume her aqua from a new source:

The streaming Euphrates, Hiddekel, Gihon, and Pison;

The spring of these heads is where her soul will siphon,

The only soothing solution to cure her spirit – which was hoarse.

Composed By: A. D.

A Brief Kiss From The Grey-Eyed Goddess

These verses begin in the mind, a dark space of jet and emptiness;

But, like the rising sun, which begins intersecting the horizon –

Its golden rays thawing the morning frost and blades frozen –

The composition (of this place) is filled with warmth and gladness.

Within a state of lonesome visibility,

She brought her visions of utter lucidity and bliss;

Such as in the unbroken tranquility,

The moments before two true lovers share a kiss.

Aphrodite may have her beauty and her aphrodisiac;

Which makes the average man (to you) an amnesiac –

To this poet, there is no allure more divine and perfect;

Than every sensual, arousing curvature of your intellect.

That passionate tension between two set of eyes,

The strange suspension of the time which (often) flies…

The axiom behind, the mathematics of conscious division;

Where two sets of sight, are reduced to one solitary vision…

Both rendered helpless, against the power passion supplies;

Their senses soaked in an amorous liquid, which never dries…

Controlled the chemical reaction, of the irrepressible decision;

Receptors stimulated, as the both connect, a captivating collision…

When our connection is made, all those prior moments are left in the past;

And to the instant the entire attention is focused – on her fervor, which is vast.

A mortal fastened here, with the third daughter of Zeus, enamoured and holding fast.

Composed By: A. D.

Drifting Into Nirvana

I changed from plastic and ink, to wood and graphite;

To add some new texture,

And to seek fresh tones.

Glyphs on ancient bones,

An old pictogram picture,

Old tools and symbols – have given modern insight.

Carved within, the fine wooden grains of my pencil;

I saw the adventure, of something inconsequential…

Driftwood floating upon the sea;

Attempting to engrave its own path,

Through the waves of eternity.

Immersed in the liquid dispersed,

In the aqueous flow of infinity;

Steadily the timber revised its draft,

Constant correction a necessity.

Under the light and dark, it drifted along,

Passed by many different cultural ships.

Once part of a friend ship – it was strong,

Misfortune gave it a new portion.

Like the echoes of a melancholy song,

Each wave cracks, the sounds of whips.

In ebony and ivory, can mahogany belong?

It was unsure, from which tree it descends;

So, the entire ocean it had adopted.

In the state of loneliness, with so few friends;

Moon, Sun - the celestial sphere was its only boon.

Studious, still – there is so little it comprehends.

For social solace it unwillingly opted;

Like, a poet forced, into the company of pens.

The plank had been soaked, to the core,

Its composition was continuously rotting;

The condition of a heavily trafficked floor.

Still, remaining firm in the course of its will;

Despite the erosion, its heart was pure.

Tossed and turned, but forward plotting,

Its way to the (currently) unseen shore.

Each incoming torrent was a bitter test,

Nature sent storms and tempests;

Many new trials faced, which it must best.

Dreaming of distant golden sands gleaming.

It was drifting, with little sign of rest –

Salts, searing wounds – sodium pests;

And little hope, in which it could invest.

The azure scenery did not seem to change,

And it wondered, if there was any progression;

As it stared out, into the ebbing blue range.

Hopelessness, it embraced – in the endlessness.

Until, the wood detected something strange;

Within the continuity, a subtle digression.

Its feelings, like the form – slowly rearrange…

…As the movements and moments transition,

The broken lumber perceived a new position;

Now it was drawing close – almost in reach,

And could see the shore, of Nirvana’s beach.

Composed By: A. D.

Flame Imperishable

"You cannot pass," he said. … "I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. You cannot pass. The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udûn. Go back to the Shadow! You cannot pass." Gandalf  LOTR - John Ronald Reuel Tolkien

Sitting amidst the glow of candlelight

The tiny flickers are guiding, despite

The lack of any overall sense of illumination;

The mind recalls the heart`s plight,

And hopes, the memory will take flight

(Thoughts to be consumed in cremation).

Love is a poet`s greatest strength,

And is given in massive length;

But it also simultaneously presents

A weakness (which defies the sense).

Love – the most treasured token –

Is: torture, when the heart is broken.

Like the wax, which evaporates beneath the flame

(Longing exacerbates) the fading spirit is the same;

As the solid and firm is slowly becoming liquefied,

(By the minor additions of searing, silent heat applied)

The mind contrives to extinguish the connections,

Of those mementos (foul and fond) – past recollections.

Madness when, the softness of sunlight`s song is: a sorrowful sonance;

Sadness when, the refrain of reprieve is: reversed – regrettable resonance.

But, despite all the internal devastation

(The continuous, corroding, conflagration;

The wick`s – the heart`s – incineration)

…The countenance is steel,

Actions do not reveal,

Spoken words conceal…

 

And, the fire of love (for verse) burns calm and steady;

An endless desire to disperse – though all else is unsteady.

Composed By: A. D.

Domination of the Continuum of Occultation

With sharp intellect, and the tool, I snuck into the prison;

Finding myself inside, long before any spotlight had risen.

My instrument, broke through the bars of blue and white;

The divinity and wisdom, directed the course of my sight.

Within the many cells, my eyes perceived an occult vision;

Which I now divulge (with most minor revision and excision)…

…An owl sat depressed and alone, in his cell at the local zoo;

Worn from the passage of people coming (into, and) to view.

During the day, in his (many) drifting dreams, he`d be flying away;

Only to open his eyes at night, and find – caged, he still did stay.

That evening the sky above was swimming with strange possibility,

The dark clouds motionlessly spinning in the vast whirl of jet infinity.

When

The clouds shifted, to reveal: tears from the moon, falling in silver rays;

And in the young flying creature`s eyes, each shining drop (still) stays.

Tears of compassion, from Luna, for him – she truly understands;

The loving, lonesome duo seemed connected, by curtained bands.

Sweet Luna, they claim (and explain), her luminosity is not her own;

As if the logic of their discourse, negates the resplendence she has shone.

A celestial poet, appearing ordinary, but such bright movements she writes;

Still, few ever notice the extraordinary compositions, written in the nights.  

Indifference causes her to wane, to hide her face (and melodies), becoming blank.

Her words seem to gain no interest, concealed in (the new phase) an obscure bank.

Yet, after each respite (her dedication waxed), she returns heeding her nature`s call;

Only to be barely noticed and dismissed again – it burns, as her tears softly fall.

She has been trapped high above, in her heavenly captivity;

On this night, sensing one of her terrestrial lover`s exigency.

The need, for at least one moment, to break the monotony;

Both lonely entities desiring attention, affection, and company –

Both trapped in their respective cages – both longing to be free;

Hers – is the passing of the ages, his – are bonds forced by society...

…As I watch the entire scene – unseen, wondering if any see me?

Composed By: A. D.

The Gyroscope Of Hameln

- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

The words begin spinning round, without any sound,

The notes are gyrating in a blank – empty space;

Spun around an invisible frame, and then slowly wound

(Glyphs in the sand, time`s tide tries to erase).

The tones of your memory and personality having been imparted;

Ensures these runes are (soon) set, to never be separated – parted.

The timbre lies in each new viewer’s intonation,

The melody is within the fluctuation of each new inner voice.

Each reviewing composers provides innovation;

Adding accentuation, annotation, and stress of their choice.

The entire meaning is derived by personal deduction;

These lyrics compose an alluring, albeit, ambiguous song.

Ideas in verses – heat transferred through conduction;

Slowly the warmth dissipates – not destined to last long.

Percussion reverberates throughout the personal discussion;

The pulsing, rhythmic effects of a solitary rhetorical concussion.

Each eye and letter is: drifting safely on the unseen scale;

Being kept in balance, not falling, due to an invisible rail –

While, each new bar is: drawing closer to the next edge;

The line is steadily shifting, down to the following ledge.

Can you hear the sirens voice, playing within your head?

Poetic pied piper, each mental perception is being lead…

(Through these various deceptive, decadent, inscribed symbols;

To be unstrung, undone, un-suspended from these verbal gimbals)

… Plunged into confusion, from whence it came (in quiet violence);

Sent back to the beginning, to contemplate in emptiness and silence.

Composed By: A. D.