demons and monsters

whether personal
    or sprung from  Hollywood creations
    in that vein

seem to be a little bit like gods

you can
     believe in them
     blame them
     adore them
     fear them
     pray to them

but

     or because

you have no proof
they exist

while the servants rounded up the tea
and crumpets, I studied in my library, ancient
texts by some of the lesser known  poets.  Of
course I read Shakespeare and Wordsworth,
Blake has crossed my way,
Keats is a mainstay.
I sat in my Tudor Mansion  staring out one day
the stain glassed window
tried to find a certain book.
And it crossed  my mind,
it had not been written yet.
So I took my quill out,
and scribbled this,
I just remembered it.
I wrote it back when
I was regal and renowned
throughout the valleys and  hills
when I was called
LordVango!
Another life
another day
a world envisioned
a fantasy.

The Crows will soon cackle after confiding in
a Myna Bird* ....

when god heard Lennon sing "Imagine,"
it/he/she filed a complaint
with the Human Rights Commissions,
a grievous hurt claimed,
needing omission,
hurtful words, the spirit opined,
his repute, civlly defamed

a direct attack on his divine permissioning
and though his unverifiable existence,
a poor excuse for such a
sid vicious exercise
re his persistence,
he needed humans

the song to excise,
punishment suitable be arranged,
to assuage his hurted feelings,
canons of political correctness
demanded it be whiteout erased
as if history did not matter,
those visible  tracks of his trade

no atheist or agnostic here,
having had too many disputations,
face to face confrontations,
about the damnable ironic games
It plays upon "his" human dolls,
by this manic~depressive curmudgeon,
from up above & his vapored flighty humors,
sans rationality,
for god was supplied with omnipotence
but too minuscule an impotent allotment
of the untold power of the
sensibility of the five mortal sensible senses,
the all-in reasons or rhymes,
the electric grid
making humans superior, the ability

to imagine

Imagine a power
so wonderful,
an all-in everything

I am God of myself,
when I imagine

Imagine I wrote this


and then,
         I did

imagined that your crinkly eyes laughed
when your read this,

and then,
         you did.


imagine that

time eagerly devours
   every moment
leaving behind
   a stench of indigestion

hours drip slowly
onto a taunting empty page
the soul’s depictions brushed simply

a palette of whispered words
dry as if it were thoughts painted
onto a tightly stretched canvas

it's been said so many times before
                   similes,...
     form clots at the tip of the quill
                    words,...
finally surrendering to gravity’s flow
as the ink scribes the paltry ruminations;
flooding the same stifled notions
another way into another moment

metaphorical sleights of hand
incarnate onto the absolving
       sheet of parchment;
traces of past now’s ensconced
       in considered words

        miles of silent reverie,
                     spun,...
        like a spider reprocessing,
        carefully savoring
        each fine silk thread of web,

        spinning the womb of time...

© H.A.  Rivers 2012 … All Rights Reserved

you can plummet through the layers of consciousness
find yourself deep, all a sudden somewhere other
transported as if by magic, a dreaming, a reliving.
You are not the same as you were, you have experienced
many, many, things. And you take all with you, every time.
Standing on a platform, waiting for a train, running into
a very old friendship, and you wonder just what it is
what you need to learn, what's being said, why you find
yourself back way back when, all it seemed was a coincidence.