Glyphs And Cryptographic Chance
Red rocks; blue skies; a snooze and air refreshed
A handful of Mah-Jongh tiles gripped so tight
That only insolence could break the bones
Into a million shivering pieces, then reassemble,
As if instructed by some higher force
Beyond our ken, their brokenness
Reflects our fractured selves. Betime
Shall we re-enter, then, the sceptred regions
Or fly away, like angels, haloes tossed?
The bell sounds; set the coffee pot to boil
And measure out your life in sweeteners
Renewing at the vortex all your chi
Until the hazy sweetness dims again undimmed,
And claims its errand from the masque of time.
Such is the magick, the rapture and the pain
Of the happenstances of fate
Clenched again, the fists, the very eyes
That spoke to Moses - or his friend -
If only men of sense could make it known
In decasyllables of nameless charm
As if constructed from some higher verse
Than graces any tonsil here tonight
Shall we resent her, then, the septic virgin
Tyrannous behind her sylvan forge
Luring prey with her mournful smile
Yet deaf to all entreaties for deliv'rance
Impervious to all but her bland self
Enrobed though she is in golden fancies?
Until the lazy singer hymns again
The tumbril cadences of o so serene,
Transformations. Shiva, deaf to our paeans
Is now casting the final die
| Contributors: | Beefy, Roland, P, Apsley, F, Kansas Sam, TG, N, Grayman. |
| Poem finished: | 18th November 2003 by Anon.. |