Jun 2016
And The Hungry Ocean Spoke:
sea the human modifier,
each wave,
a dance choreographed,
a fomented friction, a whitecap invitation,
dispelling man made fictions,
repititiously reminding to:
remember, ascertain, fail, try again,
to reckon the imprecise place
you occupy upon this Earth
and be ever wave grateful
you-man, speck sized,
suffer tenderly these unceasingly reminders,
provisions of stiff winds,
soft slaps of gusting humility
coming from a roughened atmosphere
perspective, not selective,
sea how much loss I have
eons stored for you-man
has time's tenure insufficient
to yet teach you-man,
to the one conclusion bring,
kindness towards a living thing,
is the life's solitary methodology
to survive upon our shared principality?
oh desperately,
this hungry ocean, inquires:
what advantage does
your kingdom of the shore provide,
upon both the soft soil and the hard boil water,
doth not life and death mutually coexist
beneath my watery bounds,
yet killing for pleasure
here has no measure,
unlike your cursed you-man
internecine interactions
you, man, every-one, and each
a cornerstone, an etched mark so slight,
footprint in the sand, a shifting, imperfect, yet lasting,
molecular impression for all time
all time,
till the next second, the next air lifting, the next wave,
our creator's begging method of commanding,
surrender your Babel Tower's mortal arrogance
I am not human, yet I am modified.
each wave an accusation.
Oh Orlando!
what have you-men become,
infinitesimal but universal,
sparking containers of miraculous
creation breathing,
what justifications
do your bloodied solutions
that be no answers, provide?
here you-man
come once more to my irregular edges,
to replenish regularly my stores.
with your unwanted salted tears,
the sullied bodies of thy children,
mourning deaths you have fostered
Oh Orlando!
weeping, weeping,
even as your pulse's fury speedth,
every dance must end,
for to time subservient,
even as time ever forwards,
living men must slow weaken...
live by the sea,
die by the sea,
come unto me only as,
unruined mortals,
worn only by happy ending of
molecular disintegration,
the sweetness of time's decay,
a recording completed,
your resolute dancing resolved
come unto me
only from deaths
which one cannot void
but come concluded peaceful
Oh Orlando!*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Shakespeare Sonnet LXIV
When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced
The rich proud cost of outworn buried age;
When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed,
And brass eternal slave to mortal rage;
When I have seen the hungry ocean gain
Advantage on the kingdom of the shore,
And the firm soil win of the watery main,
Increasing store with loss, and loss with store;
When I have seen such interchange of state,
Or state itself confounded to decay;
Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate
That Time will come and take my love away.
This thought is as a death which cannot choose
But weep to have that which it fears to lose.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Wild animals never **** for sport. Man is the only one to whom the torture and death of his fellow creatures is amusing in itself.” James Anthony Froude (British historian, 1818-1894)
~~~
June 12 ~ 18, 2016
Shelter Islamd
also inspired by Jessica Lang,
Choreographer
sea the human modifier,
each wave,
a dance choreographed,
a fomented friction, a whitecap invitation,
dispelling man made fictions,
repititiously reminding to:
remember, ascertain, fail, try again,
to reckon the imprecise place
you occupy upon this Earth
and be ever wave grateful
you-man, speck sized,
suffer tenderly these unceasingly reminders,
provisions of stiff winds,
soft slaps of gusting humility
coming from a roughened atmosphere
perspective, not selective,
sea how much loss I have
eons stored for you-man
has time's tenure insufficient
to yet teach you-man,
to the one conclusion bring,
kindness towards a living thing,
is the life's solitary methodology
to survive upon our shared principality?
oh desperately,
this hungry ocean, inquires:
what advantage does
your kingdom of the shore provide,
upon both the soft soil and the hard boil water,
doth not life and death mutually coexist
beneath my watery bounds,
yet killing for pleasure
here has no measure,
unlike your cursed you-man
internecine interactions
you, man, every-one, and each
a cornerstone, an etched mark so slight,
footprint in the sand, a shifting, imperfect, yet lasting,
molecular impression for all time
all time,
till the next second, the next air lifting, the next wave,
our creator's begging method of commanding,
surrender your Babel Tower's mortal arrogance
I am not human, yet I am modified.
each wave an accusation.
Oh Orlando!
what have you-men become,
infinitesimal but universal,
sparking containers of miraculous
creation breathing,
what justifications
do your bloodied solutions
that be no answers, provide?
here you-man
come once more to my irregular edges,
to replenish regularly my stores.
with your unwanted salted tears,
the sullied bodies of thy children,
mourning deaths you have fostered
Oh Orlando!
weeping, weeping,
even as your pulse's fury speedth,
every dance must end,
for to time subservient,
even as time ever forwards,
living men must slow weaken...
live by the sea,
die by the sea,
come unto me only as,
unruined mortals,
worn only by happy ending of
molecular disintegration,
the sweetness of time's decay,
a recording completed,
your resolute dancing resolved
come unto me
only from deaths
which one cannot void
but come concluded peaceful
Oh Orlando!*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Shakespeare Sonnet LXIV
When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced
The rich proud cost of outworn buried age;
When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed,
And brass eternal slave to mortal rage;
When I have seen the hungry ocean gain
Advantage on the kingdom of the shore,
And the firm soil win of the watery main,
Increasing store with loss, and loss with store;
When I have seen such interchange of state,
Or state itself confounded to decay;
Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate
That Time will come and take my love away.
This thought is as a death which cannot choose
But weep to have that which it fears to lose.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Wild animals never **** for sport. Man is the only one to whom the torture and death of his fellow creatures is amusing in itself.” James Anthony Froude (British historian, 1818-1894)
~~~
June 12 ~ 18, 2016
Shelter Islamd
also inspired by Jessica Lang,
Choreographer
