Through the pane

The lion and you

How did the lion know to look you in the eyes
when communicating his thoughts?

“Beyond these bars and this cage,
out in the world where I reign,
I am indomitable,
I am superior to you and I would decide
whether you lived or died.
Despite this glass between us,
and this cage that divides us,
the same still holds true
and I am power over you.
You do not own me,
nor do you have a right
to behold my magnificence.
Only the wilds may observe my majesty,
and humanity does not deserve my magistery.
In spite of my conquered state,
I am power forlorn,
power eternal and power (once)
if only (ever again) symbolically”.

The only way to communicate so deeply is through a time-defying, space-nullifying, interlocking oneness of souls as defined by eye contact. How could the lion know that beyond the separation of that pane of glass your respective thoughts would be one? How did the lion know to look you in the eyes?

You were filled with awe as trepidation struck, then you dropped your jaw in disbelief of what had just befallen. The lion; this terrible beast, this king of the jungle, this most fierce and wild animal driven only by hunger and survival, this creature capable of swiping off your head in one manoeuvre of its massive and unruly paw, had shown you a side that hitherto was thought impossible. The lion had shown you conscious self-awareness and that he possessed the knowledge of what had happened to him.

“I have encroached upon you,
and therefor am indebted unto you.
There are no words to convey remorse
from a society that has consumed
without thought or recourse,
and worse still, most do not think twice:
for if a grain of rice can grow to feed a family
then a field of rice can grow to feed a city,
and we will knock down the trees
and continue to spread this disease
once called humanity,
and habitats be damned,
the lion cannot stand in the light of progress.
Progression is not without inevitable regression,
as I stare into your eyes,
benevolent lion,
I stand to realize
that my convenience is not equal to your freedom,
it is lesser than;
and that my inherent need for speed
that serves to constantly feed
an ever expanding belly
is the very contrast to life itself.
I understand that the expansion
of the human race at such a rapid pace
inexorably mean extinction.”

Then you thanked the mighty lion for the wordless conversation, but still begged the question: how did he know to look into your eyes?

From the archives #3

Dearly departed
We remain scattered
No shepherd to be followed
Alone in unhallowed realms
Dearly beloved
We gather mournful
Incomplete and scornful
To live is shameful
Alone in hurtful realms
There are certain things
That echo through a thoughtless head
So many times the end result
Is better left unsaid
And all the roads I’ve travelled on
The signs are all unread
No matter how much that I consume
I’m always left undead

From the archives #2

This is a freestyle poem from years ago. It was written extremely fast, without lifting the pen from the paper. The name of that particular style of writing escapes me these days, but it can be compared to a rapper that improvises a freestyle rap without any preparation.

They keep me subliminally under sleeve
As a forced hand, I am a digger, a miner
And here I’ll pine until I find something useful in my mind
And if the day continues to confide more secrets than I can out ride
I’ll be gone
I’ll be gone
How we pay just to pray and say what’s troubling us
The long lasting day breathes in dismay
Tomorrow, if I may, I’ll sleep it entirely away
For I just can’t pay the price of pain anymore
To our friends we communicate
Our mothers’ we eliminate
But our lovers’
We obliterate
Filled with hate, they devastate and infiltrate a frantic state
Lying in wait, for the returning
They’re left yearning
They’re left yearning
When obsessing there is no moving
And when leaving there is no coming back
Failure to comply is the act of a lack of a backbone
But my heart is made of stone that cannot crack
And my will is set to come home in the end
Not to reign, but to mend external pain
Forever this to be my way

From the archives #1

This is an experimental poem I wrote years ago. I chose three pages from the dictionary at random, and then a word from each page that seemed interesting. This is the result…

Shoved in a drab hole
Moist and filth ridden
A haven for mould and disease and famine and rats and death
Punished for such crimes
I did not commit
Sentenced to lucubrate
Until such a time that
I might incubate a more sterile, sober thought.

To harness the power of an idea so pure
It may free me from this oubliette.

The idea is autogenous
And ground breaking.

These are the rules
And within there is no room to move
For it is any fool
That can plagiarize a pasteurized thought
Then stare into one’s eyes and lie
To try to pass off.

The punishment for such abandonment
Is to lie in a pile of biological
Suppurating waste until such a time
That fate may smile upon you and
Let you die.

“From the archives” – a project

      It’s a lazy Sunday, and I haven’t done much.  But I happened to come across an old notebook of mine, by the looks of it, it’s from anywhere between 8 and 2 – 1/2 years ago.  After my initial nostalgia was subdued, I had an idea.  There are a number of good pieces of work in there, but I can’t in good conscious release them as is, as if I had just wrote them now.  I now that poetry is timeless, but still, I’d feel like I’m cheating.  I’ll dub it “From the archives”, and over the next bit of time, I’ll release them one by one.  Most of these pieces come from a very dark time in my life, and the black bleeds through the page with relative ease.  

The negative

Seeing is not always believing, yet believing is rife with seeing

Not to be bound by the Earth
Consciousness is energy
This in turn gives birth
To flowing reality

The reality of the real is that the real is not reality
And what we think we see, in turn, is only seeing in thought
We are all one, through quantum nonlocality
The universe, it seems, within the singularity, is wrought

Perception is malicious upon us
The conditioning that has been draped over us
Is merely a correctional punishment
Upon the unconscious;

We are shown the fragmentation
And then forced to see it
We are fed the deception
And then forced to swallow it
We cannot run away
Because we’ll run towards it
Everything is constructed of light
And light is constructed of nothing

At the edge of existence
In the frays of the mind
Through the horizon
And bereft of all time
Beyond the stars, past the quasars
Farther than anything one can dream
Where information is not lost
But, rather, hoarded and unseen
In a place where mathematics and emotion
Share one commonality
That’s where you’ll find me and my reality
In the negative space that is the singularity