Miscellany Us

by Hack Ryder

 

 

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gone bad for good

 

 

wind blows

in

from the canyon.

Since the stars

will never shine

tonight,

time has come

for me

to lean against

the willow

weeping...

 

 

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life span

 

 

yesterday

a mayfly

and i

faced each other,

sharing

a short breath.

she looked

me in the eye

and turned away

to die.

tonight the stars

and I

faced each other;

i looked them

in the eye

and turned away.

 

 

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now

 

 

It is the week

of present life,

of dancing the day,

of touching the hour,

of meditating the moment.

Live it

now

or spend afflicted

zombie yesterdays

and numb tomorrows

in exile

from your

Self.

 

 

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Wholly Trinity

 

 

If poetry is life condensed,

death, love and music

love, death and music

death, music and love

music, death and love

love, music and death

music, love and death,

then life is poetry sensed:

where some see

noise, sex and violence

the poet feels and lives

music, love and death

as they roam freely,

barbed but unfenced.

 

 

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New Hegelian Dialectics

 

 

pain shadows a distant star,

painting every moment dark and darker --

your steps retreat

until they cease

to be steps

for my ear.

 

joy is the cool sun

of spring,

cool because it's fresh,

sun because it's been so long in the firmament,

taken for granted.

 

 

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The Angel of Silesia (Angelus Silesius)

 

 

tell me,

angel of silesia,

if god cannot exist without you

(nor you without god),

why not put it to the test

by praying hourly

to your mystic

union

in the holy words

of descartes

as adapted

by popeye:

"i think,

therefore

i yam what i yam."

 

 

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Self-Recursion

 

Raphael

beats on the shell

recursively

of a turtle

mathematically

with Goedel.

 

A dutch graphic

artist in swirling traffic

takes pleasure

in drawings of Escher.

 

a german composer,

white as chalk,

listens to fugues

by J.S.Bach.

 

I hear my ear.

I feel my touch.

I reek my smell.

I taste my buds.

I see my sight..

 

And sometimes even sleep at night.

 

 

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that dancing god

 

 

i could only believe

in a god

who dances

among mortals

now and then

and who stumbles

out of sympathy

or out of faith

in the existence

of imperfection.

 

what she does

on her own time

among angelic hordes

is not of interest.

 

 

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"brothers under the skin"

 

 

in a perpendicular universe

each living thing

has nerve endings

and emotions

attached to those

of every other living thing

by means of biosensual modem.

 

when muthark strikes out in anger

at a krawtum,

she feels

pain and anger

tear at her own

proto-

plasm.

 

when cosabell

verbally shames punarum,

his own self-esteem plummets

and he feels himself

a social outcast.

 

muthark and cosabell

are children,

learning to accept others

totally

as a path to inner peace.

 

their parents have not seen

 

war

 

crime

 

rape

 

neglect,

 

nor heard of such.