Landscape With The Fall of Icarus
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According to Brueghel when Icarus fell it was spring a farmer was ploughing his field the whole pageantry of the year was awake tingling near the edge of the sea concerned with itself sweating in the sun that melted the wings' wax unsignificantly off the coast there was a splash quite unnoticed this was Icarus drowning
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William Carlos Williams
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The shadow streamed into the wall-
The wall, break-shadow in the blast;
We lingered wordless while a tall
Shade enclouded the shadow’s cast.
The torrent of the reaching shade
Broke shadow into all its parts,
What then had been of shadow made
Found exigence in fits and starts
Where nothing properly had name
Save that still element the air,
Burnt sea of universal frame
In which impounded now we were:
I took her hand, I shut her eyes
And all her shadow cleft with shade,
Shadow was crushed beyond disguise
But, being fear, was unafraid.
I asked fair shadow at my side:
What more shall fiery shade require?
We lay long in the immense tide
Of shade and shadowy desire
And saw the dusk assail the wall,
The black surge, mounting, crash the stone!
Companion of this lust, we fall,
I said, lest we should die alone.
I came upon a stream that flows and bends
Below the still blue sky. The leaves that drift
Along the current slide silent and swift
Across the silver surface as if friends.
They travel how the current recommends.
The waste of Fall, abundant leavings sift
Through shallow waters, rapids, rocky rifts.
The countless fallen leaves indeed transcend.
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Against the sun, in my reflection cast,
I find myself remembering the past
When I was young and trusting of my dreams.
I thought that I’d forever hang and float
Above descending truths that sail like boats.
Instead the change in season sates the stream.
On this day in history,
Clark calls to Lewis to claim a coast,
And across the still blue sea -
A century-and-some currents past -
A People’s Republic is framed
While I, with white skin in red bars,
Swim ‘neath a quintet of gold stars.
One whispers to one,
“Something there and nothing here”;
One hears nothing in the darkness.
Box one holds two hull-tickets.
A politic junket to queries of
Who sinks ships at Sekaku.
In Box number two,
De profundis
Pronouncements bubble
Ad infinitum –
Gurgling lost languages.
Time after time,
“Reactionaries are paper tigers.”
It is an open secret that Mao is an armoir –
All arms crossed in closed chests.
“The superior man ordinarily considers
The left hand
The most honourable place,
But in time of war
The right hand.”
I wade waist-high in the wasted water,
Right hand and left hand
Cupping our connector.
-Poem structured from Uutpoetry’s Logopoetics (II).
The lips my lips
Left last left
Again them
Only lonely -
Bereft.
Stolen breath.
Silver saliva still
Clinging to your cleft.
Dream Caused by the Flight of a Bee Around a Pomegranate a Second Before Awakening (1944) by Salvador Dali
(via klaerification)
After the rain I walked in the streets -
Watched the reflections float at my feet -
Windows in clouds & lights in shining blackness
Slide by my sight as I sidle beside them.
words on words on words on words
poem structured after Uut Poetry’s Logopoetics (II)
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On this day in history, in Eighteen-Hundred and Nine,
Alfred Lord Tennyson was born, and I,
I again fell asleep on a coarse-leather couch.
Things loved, and things lost, everything repeated in time.
Box Eleven contains the origins of all rhymes -
Sound overslaughing sense.
In box number twelve, more characters ad nauseum.
Because no battle is ever won he said.
They are not even fought.
Quentin is the cog, but
What is meant by speaking thus of favour and disgrace?
Gods are granted and gears are ground as
Old things are forever found.
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