ekkis
|
poetry = nonsense
nonsense = meaninglessness
meaninglessness = void
void = nothingness
nothingness = spirit
nonsense = meaninglessness
meaninglessness = void
void = nothingness
nothingness = spirit
My gift |
---|
My one friend and master
has bestowed upon me
an embarrassment of courses,
confusedly piled like the unwashed dishes
after a supper of too much wine
and too little regret
Inebriated with the sweetness
of his corrupting profligacy, I run
like blattarian critter scrambling
amongst the plates when the lights
get suddenly switched on
To run a course
through his labyrinthian desire
means the seeking of escape,
yet for the clues are so abundant
our very start is but a delusion
and thus all epiphany vain
Still, in the stupor of my inchoate
neurological wiring, I remain convinced
there is light - and so grievously blind am I,
sodden from looking too long,
that confusing conviction
for a feeble suspicion seems like
the Tao of Nirvana
Oh the irony that even
such hollow musings appear
to my intellectual retina
like the faint threnody of the stars!
But such is our fate,
that the optical nerve moves
not light from the pupil to the cortex,
nor wisdom from the master,
but the Vedic illusion
of Occidental disillusionment
My gift is not these verses that I offer,
but what I'm given. The present,
gift-wrapped in the pretty iconology
of the prism and girdled with the short ribbons
of Chronos, is for me and me alone,
in all its wonder
Yet, the gift isn't really mine;
not because the Autumn trees
haven't strewn their ochres and ambers
on the ground for me to tread upon,
nor because my soul isn't aroused
to profound melancholy
with each succeeding winter,
nor still because I haven't left myself
wide open for the susurrous lamentations
of angels who would decry my insincerity
in entering their kingdom
'Tis for none of these reasons
but that to claim a thing as one's own
- what child, lion and vulture do naturally -
demands a communion with God
afforded not the likes of me
who has imbibed recklessly,
vomited wantonly, worshipped
in the cathedral of my ego
where brilliance dwells only
in the breast of darkness.
Let none hence say I wasn't given
for all are forgiven - no matter their transgression
but only that I refused
what was so earnestly placed before me
3-XII-2011 Copyright © 2011 Erick Calder |
« prev | index | next » |