Poemist Dabbles in Casual Art on A Desolate Evening

 

I, poemist
walk to the outermost sides
of the outer courtyard
of the palace named Dream.
and i shriek want, yes

i shriek want.
i want the morning
i want the evening
i want every shred of time
neatly assembled and

arranged before my heart
before this evening's over, see?
my heart used to have a tic-toc tic-toc
round it but now it don't, see?
and i want a watch and

i want some food
and i want some peace
and some cosmic security
with that, too
while yer at it

and i want time
and i want peace
i want time
i want time
i want time

and somehow
i knew
when i heard
the falling sound
that time had broke -  

would never expand
nor contract
but it'd ever be the same;
would always be the same
insensitive tyrant

Sussurations

The inside world inside of you

Dances on with God

Christ's song and Heaven's dance

Whirl round in your heart

Sussurations of the wind-leaves

Of the night's breeze

Sing a whispered melody,

At the stroke of midnight.

The wind sings birthday, as if 

The dawn bird's already up.

Here's the cake's candle - blow it out,

Cause with this breath everything changes

The very air sparkles with light,

And reality sings for joy

And the inside world inside of you

Dances on with God.

God's blessings and a rainbow upon all your days

Celerity

I look back

And see the utopian past

The dystopian present

And the goodness-knows-what future,

Ensconced in a celerity of data.

The world has become

One single machine

Lights of a New Dawn

Shards of a glass past

Rejoining and casting  

A beautiful brilliance onto the future,

Out of the light that floods this day -

A blessed rainbow on all of your days.

Light pervades the very air you breathe,

As you love God with a conversational heart,

Swaying with an immanence of peace

I wish you the frequent thought of trees,

Pastures, fields and leaves

Let the immensity of the skies at dawn

Awe your soul into the wonder of existence.

From this breath on, everything changes, 

For the dawn bird's song goes on forever

The Thoughts of the Puny

Worlds within world

And the phantasm called imagination

Creating, dancing in all 

Alternative universes.

Oh what worlds we create 

With our seven-inch skull.

We humans are puny

But capable of thinking 

About the universe

And making make-believe lands.

And the one we inhabit now - 

Tiny speck of blue,

In a sea of black - 

So small!

But it's a nice speck,

And we call it home.

At least for now

Lockdown

 

Here we are,
Billions of us,
Fighting for sanity
In the prison of our homes.
Will someone set us free?

We hear the jangling of keys,
As God opens our cells one by one

 

The Night Might Have Been Dark

 

The whisperings of the dawn
Beckoned me,
Leading me through the winding streams
And lush pastures
To its source

The night might have been dark
But light has no equal