"somewhither" poems
Southern Icarus
by Michael R. Burch
Windborne, lover of heights,
unspooled from the truck’s wildly lurching embrace
you climb, skittish kite ...
What do you know of the world’s despair,
gliding in vast solitariness there
so that all that remains is to
fall?
Only a little longer the wind invests its sighs;
you stall
spread-eagled as the canvas snaps
and ***** its white rebellious wings,
and all
the houses watch with baffled eyes.
Originally published by Poetry Porch. Keywords/Tags: Icarus, flight, flying, hang-gliding, kite, glider, wind, canvas, South, southern, truck, unspooled
Note: The following poem unites Icarus with Tom O'Bedlam in a final, magical quest ...
Finally to Burn
(the Fall and Resurrection of Icarus)
by Michael R. Burch
I.
Athena takes me
sometimes by the hand
and we go levitating
through strange Dreamlands
where Apollo sleeps
in his dark forgetting
and Passion seems
like a wise bloodletting
and all I remember
—upon awaking—
is: to Love sometimes
is like forsaking
one’s Being—to glide
heroically beyond thought,
forsaking the here
for the There and the Not.
II.
O, finally to Burn,
gravity beyond escaping!
To plummet is Bliss
when the blisters breaking
rain down red scabs
on the earth’s mudpuddle...
Feathers and wax
and the watchers huddle...
Flocculent sheep,
O, and innocent lambs!
I will rock me to sleep
on the waves’ iambs.
III.
To Sleep, that is Bliss
in Love’s recursive Dream,
for the Night has Wings
pallid as moonbeams—
they will flit me to Life,
like a huge-eyed Phoenix
fluttering off
to quarry the Sphinx.
IV.
Riddlemethis,
riddlemethat,
Rynosseross,
throw out the Welcome Mat.
Quixotic, I seek Love
amid the tarnished
rusted-out steel
when to live is varnish.
To Dream—that’s the thing!
Aye, that Genie I’ll rub,
soak by the candle,
aflame in the tub.
V.
Riddlemethis,
riddlemethat,
Rynosseross,
throw out the Welcome Mat.
Somewhither, somewhither
aglitter and strange,
we must moult off all knowledge
or perish caged.
VI.
I am reconciled to Life
somewhere beyond thought—
I’ll Live in the There,
I’ll Dream of the Naught.
Methinks it no journey;
to tarry’s a waste,
so fatten the oxen;
make a nice baste.
I’m coming, Fool Tom,
we have Somewhere to Go,
though we injure noone,
ourselves wildaglow.
Apr 14, 2020
Apr 14, 2020 at 3:57 AM UTC
Let us go hence: the night is now at hand;
The day is overworn, the birds all flown;
And we have reaped the crops the gods have sown;
Despair and death; deep darkness o'er the land,
Broods like an owl; we cannot understand
Laughter or tears, for we have only known
Surpassing vanity: vain things alone
Have driven our perverse and aimless band.
Let us go hence, somewhither strange and cold,
To Hollow Lands where just men and unjust
Find end of labour, where's rest for the old,
Freedom to all from love and fear and lust.
Twine our torn hands! O pray the earth enfold
Our life-sick hearts and turn them into dust.
2k
Somewhither, we wilt meet,
Whether afore mine
Ending; maybe in the
Hereafter's passage,
gramercy to god,
babes once again
Reborn in the
Perfection of
Love-
None struggling to
Survive, nor push
And shove; we'll
Be happy to gaze
At the exquisite
shimmer's. Ourn
Thought's wilt
Burst of unearthly
Features. With un-
Earthly teacher's we'll
Meet along the way,
Abraham, Issac and
Jacob; Paul, Daniel,
Ezekiel to. Enoch to
Sit the riverbanks of
Life, whilst the seraph's
Sway to ancient live tunes.
None mockery of yeshua
Christ, inside this holy
Place- many mock him now,
And the Prophet's yell loud,
Though many shut their ear's,
As their fear's they eat on
Dog's puked up plates.
I sayest lift up thy voices
Oracle's, prophesy to the
End's of the gates, the time
Is now, the day of salvation
Is today. Jane, ourn lord
Wilt call, with Gabriel's horn to
Be the precursor; of mankind's
Fate. A heavenly date it shalt be.
O' a heavenly date;
2016.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Prophetic poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedicated( agapi-mou)
Aug 29, 2016
Aug 29, 2016 at 10:10 PM UTC
What dost thou hope in, O' lost man,
Materials, the temporal; castles of
Sand?
Wherein is thy hope, O' children of
Hopelessness, in good deals, fast
Meals; lust of the filthy rich.
What dost thou hope in, being free
From labored chains? Art thou
Burdened with bloodied stains,
From the pains thou hast given
And taken.
What is thy hope? Liberated ***
Bags of dope, needles, hard liquor
To make thee sicker with needle
Pokes.
Wherein is thy hope, somewhither
Beyond the stars, with razors to
Release the angers and pains,
Cutting wrists making pools
Of blood to feel alive
Once again.
Wherein is thy hope, for hope thou
Canst hath, from the free gift of
Christ's blood that was shed,
From the crown of thorns
Placed on his head. From
The holes by nails driven
Through his hands and
Feet, by his tears in the
Garden he didst weep.
By the eternal life he
Didst offer; even to
His murderers, to
His scoffers and
Mockers.
If thou art a lawyer, or a doctor,
Or peasant or slave, one man,
God's son, died for all men,
Yeshua hamashiach, (Jesus
The Messiah is his name).
So all may enter heaven,
Yet only by his name, if
Thou shalt confess him
As Lord, open thy hearts
Door to let him in thou
Shalt be saved. Romans
10:9-10, go read that
Hopeless reader, and
John 3:16, he gives life,
As tis he's the son
Of the creator.
Wherein O' writer is thy hope?
Is it the world that is hopeless?
Or Christ Jesus who arose.
Wherein O' reader is thy
Hope? I tell thee today
Jesus Christ offers
Thee eternal life.
Where thou shalt
Never thirst again; wherein
Thou shalt be with Christ in heaven
After this dreadful life.
© Brandon nagley
© Lonesome poet's poetry
©Hope series
Apr 18, 2017
Apr 18, 2017 at 7:24 PM UTC
I met thee,on 1st of September
we glanced at each other,it was a moment to remember.
In a short time we fell in love
and we fitted,like hand in a glove.
Our passion endured for 7 months,
and love for thee,still hunts.(me)
For three months segregated we were,
thy warmth,was replaced by fur. (oh,if only)
Betimes our love paths encountered eft,
it was a swith of my heart theft.
-This time our love persevered more,
but it terminated,because it was not strong as afore.
Inevitable,our separation was
but neither of us,could find a cause. -
Time was passing,and we weren't together
Thy love slipped,as if it was a feather.
All we needed was that, true glance,
and eyes shall say 'we ought to have another chance'.
Our love blossomed once again,
i believe we are said to be insane
Sith we are soothly happy now,
i offer to love you for ever,if you allow!
*Somewhither on the sky,far away -
Picasso drew our pathway.
All along it was only one road,
we just needed to unbind the node.*
Sep 9, 2011
Sep 9, 2011 at 10:42 AM UTC
Winter. What a beautiful part of the year. The times you look out the window and see how beautifully snow falls. When the whole ground is beneath the white bedsheet. Snow covers ***** cities full of sinners. Snow hides flaws, our most dreadful nooks and corners.
Winter is the best time to fall in love like you have never. Ever. When everything seems so cold instead of your lover's heart that can warm you. When everyone seems so cold but in your lover's arms everything gets better somehow.
Nothing could be better than keep warm under a white blanket with someone. Or look upon skyes with nothern lights and dimly lightening stars breathing in the deapth of cold space but shine to warm others eyes.
There is nothing better than just soundessly listen to nature, your heartbeating and have a way somewhither.
Nothing can be better than fall in love with you...
Jun 4, 2019
Jun 4, 2019 at 7:36 AM UTC