"nonplussed" poems
and gargoyles
v v v
> an <
> angel <
### down ###
###### from ######
########/heaven sat on\########
#######/a gargoyle's wing\#######
#####/said she, "too bad youre\#####
###/hideous! such an ugly thing!###
###\the gargoyle said nothing/###
so the angel said, nonplussed
"too bad you have to
stay on earth and
cannot fly with us"
the gargoyle just sat
there. The angel left
alone. the gargoyle
shed not one tear
for he was made of
///////*stone\\\\\\\\\\\\\
////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
///////////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
///////////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
/////////////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
V V
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 12:13 PM UTC
the people whose job is to
understand the multiverse
can't figure this world out
rid·dle ˈridl/noun: riddle; plural noun: riddles
1. | a question or statement intentionally
phrased so as to require ingenuity
in ascertaining its answer or meaning,
typically presented as a game;
a person, event, or fact that is difficult
to understand or explain.
"the riddle of her death" [puz·zle
ˈpəzəl/verb: puzzle; 3rd person present:
puzzles; past tense: puzzled; past participle:
puzzled; gerund or present participle:
puzzling
1. cause (someone) to feel confused because
they cannot understand or make sense of something:
"one remark he made puzzled me"
synonyms: perplex, confuse, bewilder,
bemuse, baffle, mystify, confound;
faze, stump, beat, discombobulate
"her decision puzzled me"
perplexed, confused, bewildered,
bemused, baffled, mystified, confounded,
nonplussed, at a loss, at sea;
flummoxed, stumped, fazed, clueless,
discombobulated
"a puzzled look on her face"
baffling, perplexing, bewildering, confusing, complicated, unclear, mysterious, enigmatic, ambiguous, obscure, abstruse, unfathomable, incomprehensible, impenetrable, cryptic
"his explanation was rather puzzling"
antonyms: clear
think hard about something difficult
to understand or explain;
"she was still puzzling over this problem
when she reached the office"
| [ ] think hard about, mull over,
muse over, ponder, contemplate,
meditate on,
consider, deliberate on, chew over, wonder about
"she puzzled over the problem"
solve or understand something by thinking hard;
synonyms: work out, understand,
comprehend, sort out, reason out, solve, make sense of,
make head(s) or tail(s) of, unravel, decipher; informal: figure out
"she tried to puzzle out what he meant"
noun: puzzle; plural noun: puzzles
1. [ ], [ ] ( );
a game, toy, or problem designed
to test ingenuity or knowledge;
short for jigsaw puzzle (see jigsaw)
a person or thing that is difficult to understand
or explain; an enigma:
"the meaning of this poem will always be a paradox"
synonyms: enigma, mystery, paradox,
conundrum, poser, riddle, problem, quandary;
"the poem has always been a puzzle"
late 16th century (as a verb): of unknown origin:
synonyms: puzzle, conundrum, brainteaser, problem,
unsolved problem, question, poser, enigma,
quandary; informal: stumper
"an answer to the riddle"
verb/archaic
verb: riddle; 3rd person present: riddles;
past tense: riddled; past participle: riddled;
gerund or present participle: riddling
1. speak in or pose riddles.
"he who knows not how to riddle"
solve or explain (a riddle) to (someone).
"riddle me this then"
Origin
Old English rǣdels, rǣdelse ‘opinion,
conjecture, riddle’; related
to Dutch raadsel,
German Rätsel, to read
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 12:19 AM UTC
I travelled straight west
to the epicentre of the southern wastelands
and 'twas with mind-numbing disbelief that
I found an Oak table propped upon the sands
and it was not alone either
for three beings sat it, seemingly nonplussed -
one was a skinny old man
wearing a linen suit faded and powdered with dust
his collar frayed around the edges
a moth-eaten hat sat upon his head,
he had a daisy poking from his breast pocket
so very much preserved, so very much dead,
to his left sat a one-eyed Hare
the sole eye ecstatic and wiggling -
he swore and blasphemed each time the man spoke
from a mouth toothless and dribbling,
sat to the right of the man
was absolutely (absolutely!) nothing,
however I observed with mild humour
that both man and Hare were convinced it must be something
for the man was profusely adamant
scorning the Something for dissing the Hare's hair,
although the Hare was too busy rolling around its one eye
to even notice the man, or simply give a fu- care
"Hey hey talk to I! Hath thou seen my missing eye?!"
Hare asked from a voice shrieky and shattered
saliva running in rivets
upon the table it slopped and slavered -
then suddenly the man started singing encore
his voice cringe-worthy, out of tune,
sounding like a cat back-broke and on steroids
rocking and waving like a spastic-loon;
"If Father Time has no end,
does he even have a beginning -
oh, if there's pain is there gain,
which one of us is it that's winning?"
alas, that's when my attention was brought to the mounds
of surgical needles cluttered on the ground,
feeling sickly aura lick the back of my throat
I started backing away without a sound
["Hey hey talk to I -"]
["If there's pain is there gain -"]
["Hath thou seen my missing Missing MISSING EYE?!!"]
#FLASH!#
the dystopian landscape around me melted
into a field of bloated poppies -
serene, scarlet and blinding 'neath the sun,
feasting upon our charred bodies.
AJ
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 5:23 PM UTC
love between poets: “who will be between the sheets next week
when I’m gone,” she lets sigh-escape,
as she watches the backyard paradise parading landscape
of animals before the bay, perfect day sure to come,
her new pets obeying the early morn sunrising awakening call
to rise, everyone playing~parading, before her royal summons,
no coincidence, finger-of-god, two by two
this while I’m kissing her neck,
my arm around her *******
and the he-intent on slip sliding down
to the small of her back,
obeying his innate,
worship worshiping and giving up,
all he’s got intense intently contentedly
unfazed, unphased,
non-nonplussed,
he’s been interrogated before,
heart is pure he answers:
next weekend when you are back in situ,
thousands of miles away, airplane housed for hours,
writing poems of love from the lost and found,
recalling this exact moment,
how I worshipped your presence,
and these words:
You will be with me in every breath,
our sheets will radioactively emit
ions and molecules of our scent combined,
and present as present your perfume can be,
elicited, elixir, you and me combinant
she turns from the bay-view,
the animals who now mutually
worship her adoration,
watching, focused on us as observers,
she lifts me up and smiles,
replying*
“oh my lover you’re the cad of cads,
king of the baddest poet-lads,
the gist of what is wrong with the best of men,
her, pressing me hard to her chestnut hair chest,
she, falling down into my eyes
take me back to bed, liar,
let me add to my aroma,
to ensue, to ensure you will miss
the best love
you had partly, insufficiently, and unhinged
completely
I’m your lassie, you my lad,
my king of cads, my lover poet,
thief of my poems and my secret speech spells,
escalating senses of one’s imaginings”*
and,
along came the rest
of what was freely given,
for love between poets
man and
a woman,
is a someone, somewhere,
sometime summertime
thing
*I will still smell you in my
heart, and send to you ballistic missives,
words to explode your tear ducts
when you rest in sheets that met me,
when you’ll know me by my odors,
cry out loud so that you’ll scare our animals,
no matter how many tides wash away our residue,
you will never unknow and be forever unprepared
for my return,*
even though we will be each, a thousand unwritten poems away...
Jul 13, 2019
Jul 13, 2019 at 11:07 AM UTC
In dazzled astonishment
She looked up from her reverie
As she heard the flap of wings overhead
And saw the flash of laser beams in her dim lit room
Before her, stood a winged seraph
A radiant silhouette with such gentleness and grace
As never beholden on any human face
With its hands raised in benediction,
It saluted Mary and said
“Blessed art thou amongst women…
……………………………………
The rest she heard in a trance.
Unable to comprehend what was said,
The girl looked up nonplussed.
Again it said, “The Holy Ghost shall come upon thee
And a son shall be born of thee
Whom you shall call Jesus”
In that nanosecond of a new revelation
Did Mary’s world shatter like glassware
Or did her ****** womb thrill with new life
Did she swim in the waters of joyful tidings?
Or gyrate in the sweeping swirl of tidal waves
For the girl already espoused to a man
In whose dreams his comely form had begun
Flitting in and out
Was it a moment of silent ravishment?
Or of stupefied bewilderment
Did a dagger cut through her heart?
Or did her soul take wing in flight???
Dec 15, 2016
Dec 15, 2016 at 5:39 AM UTC
Four girls sit cross-legged
On cold pitted concrete
It’s always cold here
Their rear-ends frozen
Bare ankles growing sore
Pouring over textbooks
Finishing today’s homework or
Tomorrow’s.
Hope there’s no pop quiz.
They nod
In unison
I didn’t study
Neither did I
The other two stare
At their books nonplussed
Their papers scattered, a ruler and a pen
Out of the library and into the cold arrives
The fifth
She looks about and sees
A grey curl
A long head
A heavy tail
It’s soft, someone thought, as she saw the raised leg
Which came down fierce like lightning,
A defiant, queerly polished white saddle-shoe
One of two strange shoes
That looked like no one else’s but why?
Flattened the entirety into the cold, cold concrete
The meteorite that destroyed a species of one.
Conjoined twins, now dead
There’s no way we can repair it
Can’t even peel it away
The custodian will have to scrap it off with a blade and wash it down
We laughed
All but one.
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 12:23 AM UTC
He isn't going to come, isn't he?
He's drunk, with his friends.
Nonplussed about a girl who said she cared.
Said she was sad and who asked him to come.
He told me
He told me he was depressed. He asked to come in the first place.
He said he would.
I told him.
I told him I couldn't say yes or no to him seeing me, but I'd say yes if he came.
If he knocked on my door.
I don't need a knight, but I require someone with a heart. I thought that wasn't too much.
I told him later I was scared he wouldn't come.
It's been two hours. I don't think he's coming.
**I'm so stupid.
I'm so stupid.
I'm so stupid.
I'm so stupid.**
I thought he was coming.
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 1:32 AM UTC
The louche magniloquent maladroit malaise of the dense mayonnaise mouth of political palaver and longueur left me with that sad sinking feeling of believing there is nothing left to live for.
Lugubriousness aside, I was nevertheless momentarily nonplussed until I recalled that a bona fide thespian was once president. And to my dismay I remembered to say: nothing in the world can bother you as much as your own mind.
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 9:44 PM UTC
At night, against the pulsing embryonic black which could
Squeeze any number of untold horrors from it’s voided heft,
There sits a door; bright searchlights unmoving, having forever
Ago found and revealed the menacing target of their feverish hunt.
The lights, beacons of vision and revelation stay still,
Afraid to ever lift their gaze from the door.
The door; a crimson sentinel of conformity’s’ demands. A gate
To a finite space of infinite secluded terrors. It’s mocking facade,
Not the true foundation of the haunting visage, but it’s chosen
Illumination against the choking nothingness around it.
There is nothing else but it, and if the lights lose
Their oppressive gleaming, there will be nothing.
Would it not be better for the deep to win the ever waging war
Against our struggles to find hints of sight and recognition?
If the door were to vanish from the othering out there,
then it would be impossible to not turn inward. A forced reflection,
a mirror that’s presence is known, existence felt, but is unseen,
only available when the absence is absolute.
Nonplussed, the bastion remains, a gravity well pulsing
In and out the night, as if the darkness centered around
Maintaining the illusion of safety from knowing ourselves.
Do not be afraid, you will not be forsaken or alone with anything
Other than the beating of your quickened pulse, the edges
Of your vision shrinking until all that you are
Is mirrored in that crimson sentinel.
Apr 7, 2021
Apr 7, 2021 at 9:28 PM UTC
2:00am Saturday Morning and his restlessness reclined on his mind
The room was immensely silent but held a forceful amount of chaos
His large feet plummeted to the cold floor; he roamed out of his beguiling room
*
His body was almost bare and every movement echoed through him
The empty foil tins from a takeaway he had eaten at 8:00pm casted a noticeable stare across the kitchen like a coin to a magpie
The fridge was only a couple strides away now; he prematurely stretched his arm ready to grasp the frigid handle
The fridges seal parted and a saintly yellow light radiated in front of him
He stared nonplussed into the fridge for about 3.5 seconds
Celery
Sitting there in the centre of the fridge appearing as tasteless as it would taste
Unappetising.
The light diminished as the door closed.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 5:06 PM UTC
In the German town of Shtuping
Something clearly was amiss:
Town name signs were disappearing,
The good townsfolk were nonplussed!
“For years tourists have sniggered
At our name when driving by
As its Yiddish for activity
A girl does with a guy”.
Some people want to keep the name
That makes the tourists come.
Others are ashamed to say
That Shtuping’s where they’re from.
When the townsfolk vote to change the name
It will cost a pretty penny
To change the signs from "Shtuping"
To the new: "Notgettingany".
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 8:20 PM UTC
You watch too much tv…
I am not what you see.. on
cop dramas…Or
reality shows…or even… at this point...
B E T
I don’t use
“is” in inappropriate places
Nor do I finish sentences with prepositional phrases
Such as “who you is?” or “Where my coat at?”
I don’t do elaborate handshakes
I don’t work my neck
I don’t purse my lips… constantly sneer… or
“go off” at the drop of a hat
I do walk with quiet dignity… and
Shake off your devilish ways with God given grace
I do have a life… a peaceful “unbroken” place to go home to
Hence the serenity that you see on my face
Leaving you nonplussed-
That I have no desire to be you… and
You find yourself… trying to bond by
Putting the word “be”
Where no “be” should be… cuz you’re
Trying too hard to understand me…
And I
Wear this faint professional smile.. though my eyes do not
Which (as an aside) you don’t even see
Use all of my vowels and consonants
Never acknowledge any flirtatious compliments
As I render unto Caesar what Caesar’s should be… and
Escape to my loves…And
read something… or
grow something… or
learn something…
Now that’s the me that I don’t mind if you see… but
You’re not interested in THAT reality… cuz
It would wreck your notions preconceived…
So I've concluded... by your manners… or the lack thereof… that
You obviously just watch too much tv
.
Jul 25, 2012
Jul 25, 2012 at 2:37 PM UTC
Whispering in blessed curses
Under whine-tilted breaths
Fluttering eyes and furred chest
Beholden to a man left nonplussed
Begging and borrowing
Stealing burning touches from dewy skin
Whimpers cried into pillows within
Nails digging and hitched sighs following
Soft, searing serenades seek
Saints die to find heaven in something more
Dying small deaths for a moth adored
Writing patience with circled fingers over tongue and teeth
Pupils pulled into tiny beads
Staring up through lamplight lit lenses
Some bruises kissed splendid
Neck-, shoulder-, and lip-bitten pleads
Jul 30, 2019
Jul 30, 2019 at 9:41 PM UTC
her heart was at a moribund
as she fell in love despite all his foibles
like a portmanteau
but her half was a deceitful equal
left vexed and nonplussed
forbearing a mellifluous tone
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 4:19 AM UTC
“Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.”
Crying for wrongs that can never be right
or for those who have left you alone,
Counting your trespasses, weeping, contrite,
when the news of the day makes you groan.
Sorrow for evil, lamenting injustice,
bemoaning the state of mankind,
Earnestly troubled, concerned and nonplussed
at the mess we are leaving behind.
You are the fortunate, all you who mourn;
oh, yes, you are the blesséd who grieve.
Though you are stricken, distressed and forlorn,
Yet your Comforter’s here to relieve.
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 7:10 PM UTC
As Children of The Almighty,
we have the God-given ability
to rise up, without the shame
of knowing who we really are,
despite our souls’ fragility.
Have we been taught and shown
Love, Mercy, Grace, Forgiveness
and Peace that we require daily?
So what is holding us back now,
from overcoming this human mess
of feeling inadequate or ignorant?
About 90% of The World is headed
towards Hell, unconvinced about
the legitimacy of the Christian
Lifestyle, whereby God’s embedded
His Presence and power is in us.
We’re not meant to be superfluous,
seeing that we’re supposed to be
both the hands and feet of Christ.
So The World remains nonplussed,
plagued by their own doubts, which
is reinforced by our poor treatment
of them; our continued failures to
walk in Love, reflects our inability
to thrive with joyous contentment.
.
.
.
Author notes
Inspired by:
Luke 10:19; Eph 1:3-141 Cor 12:27;
Rom 12:9-21; Matt 5:13-16
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 1:34 PM UTC
Someone like me told me,
"You have to get involved."
Someone like me told me,
"You have to use your voice."
Someone like me told me,
"You're a disgrace
to your people."
I said back,
"I can't argue that."
I think, what's
the point of getting mad?
I've been called worse
than a delusional man
in women's clothes.
I think, what's
the point of the pitchfork?
I think, what's
the point of fighting language?
Someone like me told me,
"You're part of the problem."
Someone like me told me,
"You've been brainwashed."
I said back,
"Possibly."
I think, what's
the word I'd use
to describe you?
"Nonplussed."
And that's okay--
Funny even,
when you're angry.
You're funny
when you're angry.
Ha Ha Ha !
Sep 13, 2019
Sep 13, 2019 at 11:36 AM UTC
A week back, in my garden bloomed, a tiny flower
Neither colorful nor flashy to grab anyone’s attention
The next day one more bud opened of golden hue
Making it more visible, adding an iota to its attraction
Each day to the delicate stalk was added more
Until finally it grew into a large globular cluster
I now stand nonplussed before its splendor
So lovely, it can steal any one’s glance by its luster
When the wind ruffles the leaves of trees
The mother plant in luxuriant foliage stands proud
Bobbing her golden crown in gentle breeze
Safely screened from the gaze of passing crowd
A dandy butterfly has come flitting down
To kiss those regal beauties like a besotted lover
Embarrassed by such a public show of love
The bashful maidens bend their heads so demure
I am the sole witness to this passionate romance
To the love struck dandy’s out right advance!
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 11:52 PM UTC
Tiger growling in my ear,
Tell me things I want to hear.
Make sure that there’s no one near,
When you cut out all my fear.
I bare my skin, you bare your claw,
As blood runs down I stare in awe.
My side in ribbons, red and raw,
The meanest tiger I ever saw.
Scars like stripes across my side,
Mouth sewn shut, eyes open wide.
****** ocean yields ****** tide,
My wounds are getting hard to hide.
A tear runs down your reddened cheek,
You choke on sobs and try to speak.
You ask how I could be so weak,
My eyes, like yours, begin to leak.
The tiger tries to hold my tongue,
To keep my song of woe unsung.
I feel way too old to be this young,
I feel as though my heart’s been wrung.
Your sadness turns to mere disgust,
I quickly start to lose your trust.
All my hopes just fade to dust,
I wipe my tears and act nonplussed.
You shake your head and turn to leave,
For you the truth’s hard to believe.
As though I’m dead you start to grieve,
Your absence serves as my reprieve.
The tiger smiles, he knows he’s won,
I know his torments have just begun.
My heart feels like it weighs a ton,
All my life has come undone.
I wish you’d never gone away,
I wish I could have made you stay.
I know there’s nothing I can say,
To keep you here another day.
I know it’s too late to regret,
Keeping this tiger as my pet.
It’s not your fault, so please don’t fret,
Just say good bye, and then forget.
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 11:22 PM UTC
*being the topper in the class, he developed certain pride
that the envious derided, ignored flatterers on his side.*
the first bench was his permanent place
from where shone his haloed face
when the teachers spoke seemed it thus
there was only him in the whole class.
all questions he took the answers he knew
solved hardest sums others had no clue
not once an intruder could invade his space
he shined in glory of his flawlessness.
from him was never unfinished homework
ruthlessly made on exams his mark
was taken for granted he would win first place
the rest of the herd would just run the race.
the teachers indulged him the pride of the class
but you know all fame are fragile like glass
it so happened a new teacher joined the school
unbiased he was not to blindly toe the rule.
he asked the first boy if he had ever flown a kite
played marbles on road picked up a fight
if ever he had walked barefooted on the grass
stole a look at sky bunked even one class.
if he had ever chosen to close the book
hid him alone in the scariest of nook
scanned the horizon to catch first moonrise
counted the stars bamboo grove's fireflies.
he looked nonplussed didn't utter a word
anything than studies he hardly bothered
had he answered it would all have been no
to him most precious was his place at front row.
he bowed his head down with ashen face
for the first time in class he failed to impress
what happened next was no riddle to guess
that teacher was gone without a trace.
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 9:51 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
I’m not buying
What he’s selling
He should whisper
‘Stead of yelling
He’s the greatest
From what he’s telling
Which is the ego trap
That he fell in
Who’s the best
Let me guess
Could it be Kanye West
Is it no or is it yes
Some might say
He’s so much less
But sing his praises
Nonetheless
I realize
He was a gift
When it comes to
Taylor Swift
But he didn’t make her famous
That’s a myth
Nor is he a *****
That she’d get with
Kanye’s clearly out his mind
He proves that time after time
What a megalomaniac paradigm
With an outsized ego short of a crime
He’s convinced himself that Yessus
Is a walk on water short of Jesus
Raise the dead and he might please us
Short of that I am nonplussed
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2016. All rights reserved.
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 2:01 AM UTC
That was a jay
Jane said
that bird
we've just seen
it belongs
to the crow family
it's an Eurasian Jay
I was listening to her
but taking in
the line of her jaw
as she spoke
the lips
opening and closing
as the words flowed
it's a lovely bird
I said
what colour eggs?
she told me
and we were
walking up the drive
up the Downs
trees on either side
birds calling
rooks and crows
and the sound
of pheasants
from the fields
and cows mooing
and her hand
was near mine
as she spoke
I wanted to hold it
and put it to my cheek
and feel
the softness of her
but I let my hand
stay just an inch away
and I could smell
the scent of her
apple and hay
and something
she'd borrowed
from her mother
(I'd smelt it
when I was
at her parents house
the other day
for the tea)
what do your parents
think of me
after the third degree
the other day?
I said
we stopped and she said
they like you
and trust you
she said
they trust me anyway
but it is you
they were unsure about
but yes they have
taken you as trustworthy
she added smiling
I smiled too
glad I'd been thought
trustworthy
especially after
her mother's
scrutiny of me
the questions
she had asked
just on the border of things
that Lizbeth's a different sort
Jane said
she and ***
go together
like cheese and onion
but I am not like that
I don't mean to
sound prudish but
I couldn't not
before marriage
I nodded my head
and was nonplussed
about it all
we walked on
she talked of the man
her father knew
whose daughter
had got herself pregnant
and she was only 14
and there was hell to pay
and they left the area
and the girl
was taken some place
and it has worried Father
ever since
I see
I said
and she took my hand
and it was soft
and I sensed her
skin and warmth
and her body near mine
and there was sounds
of rooks above our heads
in the tall trees
and knew Lizbeth
wouldn't talk
of birds or such
she liked her ideas
of *** too much.
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 2:01 AM UTC
it wasn't all about
the proverbial lighting of the post-coital cigarette
the white sheets wrapped around inseparable sweaty bodies
holding hands, tangled legs
staring
at the ceiling
these sheets all tucked around my ******* his waist
it was the mediocre
it was the scurry across cold plastic floors
to go *** quickly,
so I wouldn't start ******* blood 20 or so hours later
and forcing myself to ***
and splashing water to stop dripping *** across the floors
while I looked in the mirror
nonplussed
but
hair mussed
sticky with sweat
dripping with goo
thinking
man,
that felt really good
and reveling in that brief, delightful feeling
of a man's weight
on your chest
breathing heavily after ******* inside you
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 1:51 AM UTC
Why is there so much distrust,
Fueling hatred, malice and lust?
We're caught up in every scam's gust
Leaving many financially bust
Including telemarketers' thrusts
Continuously feeding disgust
We're riding social media's cusp
Allowing real friendships to rust
Causing us to constantly adjust
Leaving us completely nonplussed
Making too many tasks a must
Till we nigh spontaneously combust
Perhaps leaving God's Word thus,
On the shelf gathering dust
This matter needs to be sussed
Not with haphazard zeal but robust
By a brotherhood of people we can trust
With a worldwide campaign to discuss
Preventing impending zero-sum bust
Before we're all planetary dust
Oct 23, 2019
Oct 23, 2019 at 7:17 PM UTC
Yes, I think it would be fine to say we are the
Sun and the Moon, respectively.
The world and sky of our disparate souls
nicely encapsulated.
To simple metaphor.
Yes. But it is incomplete, you know.
For sun may never touch moon,
and Day has no place in
the dominion of the nocturnal.
And the moon can have no adequate
view (but a sidelong glance) at
man and Earth in the sun's hand.
No,
I can touch you and you me.
Still more, I can see you and grow familiar
with what you beam upon;
Lie with the subtlety of a new night's
descent with my eyes twinkling
nonplussed to the crux of neck and shoulder.
Yes. We are, you and I, the Sun and the Moon,
if you say we are.
For you cast back the dark and shun the
dark places.
And the thin veil and living line that keeps
days apart, the Night, is the one corner
upon which I fear you shall never
Intrude.
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 6:40 PM UTC