Mudcat Poetry Corner

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Jim Lad
Date: 03 Mar 07 - 01:43 PM

Where's the right place to deposit some of my songs?

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Hawker
Date: 03 Mar 07 - 01:44 PM

On a CD?
;0) Lucy

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Jim Lad
Date: 03 Mar 07 - 01:46 PM

Heh, heh! You're too quick!

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: AJR
Date: 03 Mar 07 - 01:57 PM

two flowers
1 Her excellency the High Commissioner
picked dandelions for her silver vase
not knowing they were only weeds
knowing only they were strong, slender. sun-golden.
We sneered

2 in the black muzzle of my Mauser
she planted her red rose
saying "peace, peace"
Nor knowing my gun is my manhood
knowing only her soft superficial certainties.
I shot her

(inspired by two newsitems. the first after the first Indian high commissioner had arrived, the second on a university campus in USA in 1968}

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Jim Lad
Date: 03 Mar 07 - 05:01 PM

So where on Mudcat does one place song lyrics which are already deposited on a CD somewhere?

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: katlaughing
Date: 03 Mar 07 - 05:15 PM

Jim Lad, one usually would start a "LYR ADD" thread for each individual song, with lyrics, etc. listed. Or, in the case of a CD, maybe a single thread for the CD, with each song listed in a separate posting, with the appropriate info in the heading of that posting, i.e. "LYD ADD - Name of Song and Artist." That would probably be the best thing to do, one thread for the whole CD with each song listed.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Jim Lad
Date: 03 Mar 07 - 05:27 PM

Always looking after folks, Kat. Put it on my tab.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Bee
Date: 03 Mar 07 - 05:48 PM

Abandoned Farmhouse

Nobody lives here anymore
25 years ago she left
To live with her widowed sister
- Two old women with no old men
To look after anymore.

Nobody wanted the farm
Couldn't make a living
And the girls went to the City
Neighbour didn't need the hay that year
The barn long gone.

She took a last look around
Walked out the front door and turned the key
Slipped it in her purse, she couldn't tell why
Stepped away down the two flat stone stairs
Between the lilacs and the daylily beds.

In a hot dry summer
I found her house
Hidden in the spruce and fir that took the hayfields
Saw the barn foundation, a hollow full of brambles
Ringed with wild cherry and leaning apple trees.

The lilacs were blooming
Their scent was heavy around me
A stranger peering into the dark front hall
The peeling blue-painted door's still locked
A yellow rag of lace rotting in its window.

I'm a country woman, though
I know to walk around
Past the stone well
To the never-locked backdoor
Straight into her cool dim kitchen.

Flowered worn linoleum growing moss
Cluster flies on the dusty window sills
Chipped and rusting cast-iron sink in the corner
And I'm thinking of the dishes she did up
And the babies she washed there.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Jim Lad
Date: 03 Mar 07 - 05:53 PM

You took me there.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Bee
Date: 03 Mar 07 - 06:18 PM

Thank you, Jimlad. Took a bit of courage to put it up. Wrote it about five years ago, never showed it to anyone.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Jim Lad
Date: 03 Mar 07 - 06:46 PM

I followed you from the flat stone stairs. You got me in the eyes with some shrubbery as I followed you round to the back door. Got to watch that when you're breaking trail, you know!

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: katlaughing
Date: 03 Mar 07 - 07:59 PM

Beautiful, Bee! It reminded me of a spoken piece by Jean Mackie, which Jean Redpath has on a CD. There's a personal note from her (Redpath) and the words to it on THIS THREAD. They both evoke along ago time and memories. Lucky us that you shared it!

Jim Lad, they didn't used to call me "Mamakat" for nothing.:-) I meant to tell you I love your poem, too...should be a song, I agree!

To late I've come to tell you
To late for love to flourish
The bairns all gone from the land now
The old too frail for gathering.

Once up and down the valley
The sounds of work rang out
Clearly spelling the prosperity
Of all who lived and loved.

To late, now, for any renewal
To late to lift your brow
To start from old which is not there
To late to even care.

(not sure where that came from! Must be channelling some sad old soul.)

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 03 Mar 07 - 08:18 PM

To late or not to late, that is the question....

Very nice images, all of you!


A

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Bee
Date: 03 Mar 07 - 09:15 PM

Kat, thanks for steering me to that Ritchie piece - it is lovely.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: frogprince
Date: 03 Mar 07 - 11:54 PM

Always like to see a little more spun on this thread. Yes, Jim Lad, that one so begs to be sung. And Bee, I've explored that same old house several times, in several states many miles apart; you gave me chills.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amergin
Date: 03 Mar 07 - 11:57 PM

Not exactly a poem but here is one.

The Silent Watcher

The plastic tree stood next to the seemingly empty chair, reaching out to provide her ghostly form shade. The tiny green and yellow leaves swayed with each cool breath of the air conditioner, whispering inaudible songs into her ears. She sat and listened as she had for the last twenty years.
She looked around the room, empty and barren but for the chairs, couch and coffee table organised almost haphazardly around the muted television set. She was waiting for them to come home, yearning to watch over them again, guarding them with her love. The tree told her all that has been happening to them since she left. Since she died, she reminds herself. It told her of the birth of her great grandchildren, now four and five and the deaths of her two sons. She wished she could hold the young ones in her arms, on her lap, but of course she could not. At least she could murmer songs to them as they slept, silent and helpless in the dark. She sat and listened to the tree, as it sang in harmony with the cool music of the A/C, tapping her foot onto the shining hardwood floor as she succumbed to the memories of her life, long over,some sad, some happy, but none of it would she ever change. Suddenly she heard the footsteps creaking and stomping across the floor, closer and closer. The air conditioner stopped and the tree grew quiet. However, it did not matter, not really. They were home. She was happy.

nt

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 04 Mar 07 - 08:21 PM

The Drums on Television

I overheard another boy
in gym class say
"he" was shot in Texas
not knowing who they spoke of
and later the intercom
Principle Williams said "Listen,
you'll hear a bit of history"
and Walter Cronkite told my English class
The President was dead
Crouching on the street corner
Lenny and I folded the papers tight
the headlines leaving our fingertips
smudged in black
A man walked by
and asked us what we thought
about the assassination
I remember Lenny and I looked at each other
burst into raucous laughter
too jaded at 12 to feel pain
at a great man's death
And my parents speaking in undertones
Grandparents coming to town
as if Death had visited our own family
Down that road the plumed horses
The caissons
The White Horse riderless
Down that road they took him
as they have taken my grandparents
Principle Williams, my parents
until in my mind those days, too, lie entombed
painted in wet gray tones
framed in barren branches
but most of all
at the dark end of my twelfth year
there was pumped into my soul the cadence of drums
that for hours on end beat from televisions

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: GUEST,LD
Date: 05 Mar 07 - 02:54 AM

'Come walk with me, come talk with me'
is what you said to me
When, way back, once upon a time
you stilled my urge to flee

I'd been alone through many years
watched seasons rolling by
Encased my heart in sheets of ice
Once bitten and twice shy

I'd reinforced this heart of mine
to see in love but pain
You thawed my heart and made me want
to trust in love again

I took a leap of faith with you
I left my native land
I reached towards an outstretched hand
A strange, yet well-known man

You caught me, held me, loved me sweet
that sunny autumn morn
Then held me gently through my sleep
I felt as if reborn

But things were catching up with you
The call of home held sway
You told me then you'd thought again
you would no longer stray

You chose to walk that well-trod path
and leave me standing there
'I'll miss you' were your parting words
My dreams were but of air

Now all I have is memories
is longing, tears and pain
Believe me, love, I wish you luck
- wish I dared love again

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: black walnut
Date: 05 Mar 07 - 02:03 PM

That's gorgeous, and soulful, LD. Wow.
~b.w.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Jim Lad
Date: 05 Mar 07 - 02:14 PM

LD just did a mind job on me! Heartfelt. Thank you.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: GUEST,slowerairs
Date: 05 Mar 07 - 06:32 PM

Towards Eternity


Against all odds the creature stands
Recording deeds of men
Those hidden from all human eyes
Revealed with strokes of pen

The list is never ending for
The wrongs of men are great
Take heed and change those evil ways
Before it is too late.

For when at last we leave this life
As darkness takes our sight
Let each one search his soul and ask
What did the creature write?

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: katlaughing
Date: 05 Mar 07 - 06:37 PM

What beautiful, talented writers you all are.

LeeJdarlin'...a resonance struck the Me who remembers that day, too. Haunting still those of us who were. Thanks for the beauty of your words.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Joe_F
Date: 05 Mar 07 - 08:41 PM

Always some flakes rise
but it is correct to say
The snow is falling.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: GUEST,LD
Date: 07 Mar 07 - 04:30 AM

Thank you, I'm glad you liked my poem. It means a lot to me.

There are many nice poems in here. I like reading them.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: GUEST,slowerairs
Date: 07 Mar 07 - 06:44 PM

UNDER DAWN'S CLOAK

Take care, my dearest love, for time may rob

Thy loving eyes of beauty, the heart of peace

Remember dearest, this our only night

Oh sad are they, denied their right to love.


Hasten you now my love, here comes the day

The clock it chimes, for dawn is drawing near

Farewell my love, forever let this be

My precious night, that I once shared with thee.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Jim Lad
Date: 07 Mar 07 - 07:57 PM

Slowerairs: Says a lot and yet leaves so much to the imagination. I can relate to this one.

Magic!

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: slowerairs
Date: 08 Mar 07 - 05:33 PM

Many thanks Jim Lad. Nice to know, someone is out there.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Jim Lad
Date: 08 Mar 07 - 05:59 PM

I'm not "Out There" you know.
I'm just shy.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 16 Mar 07 - 10:10 PM

In memoriam for Cathy-Cat, who sang folk-songs from many countries:

Gone From My Sight

I am standing upon the seashore.
A ship at my side spreads her white sails
to the morning breeze
and starts for the blue ocean.

She is an object of beauty and strength.
I stand and watch her until at length
she hangs like a speck of white cloud
just where the sea and sky come
to mingle with each other.

Then, someone at my side says;
"There, she is gone!"
"Gone where?"
Gone from my sight. That is all.

She is just as large in mast and hull
and spar as she was when she left my side
and she is just as able to bear her
load of living freight to her destined port.

Her diminished size is in me, not in her.
And just at the moment when someone
at my side says, "There, she is gone!"

There are other eyes watching her coming,
and other voices ready to take up the glad
shout;

"Here she comes!"

And that is dying.



by Henry Van Dyke, a 19th Century clergyman, educator, poet, and religious writer.
----------------------

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: GUEST,cmt49
Date: 17 Mar 07 - 08:46 PM

Sorry about komputeral ineptitood. Here's one for the cat lovers:

Familiar.
( To be whispered into the ear of a black cat.)


Birds with no wings.
Smiling mice caress your claws
my silent one,
my midnight.
Moons of polished amber
hold the ages of dark knowledge
in your eyes.
Essence of sensual pride,
I shall dream for you
a bath of curling ermine.
Milk of Isis to your possessing tongue,
my love,
my black remembrance of Egypt.

Birds with no wings....

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 19 Jun 07 - 12:23 AM

Haiku for Amos

The people come here unclothed
and take what they leave.
This
is the best thread

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amergin
Date: 19 Jun 07 - 02:00 AM

Letter to Jacinta

I use to believe I hated Christmas most of all the dreaded lonesome holidays, as I imagined you waking up that summer morning with the early sun oozing hot warnings of the coming heat through the Queensland sky, small blue eyes glistening as you squealed and laughed, blonde hair bouncing with each giggling jump, with childish anticipation at the wrapped presents mounted below the plastic tree. But now, I realise it is Father's Day, whether it be in June or September, that drives the dagger home through my already shattered heart as I imagine scenes of what might have been. Your small gentle arms wrapped tightly around my throat, as you leap into my eager arms and yell out, "Daddy!" when I slowly open the door after a long tired day at work. You lying in your bed, smiling at playful dreams of doggies, lavender flowers, and koala bears, as I kneel down, softly brush the yellow strands of hair from your face, and lay my lips on your warm sweet forehead after a late night at the pub writing. You sitting in my lap still as a little girl could be, listening to me read you poetry, either my own, or by those whose footsteps I follow, including that sweet sad poem you were named for, or I would regale you with tales of knights and dragons, dwarves and elves, the heroic deeds of Fionn mac Cumhaill and Cu Chullainn, or my own travels and adventures in Tir na nOg and my years spent with the sidhe. Hearing your Australian voice whisper, "I love you, Daddy" as you caress the red fur on my face with your loving lips with a loud and decisive smack. I gaze at your pictures and my heart aches as I wonder, am I just an abstract figure in a hazy photograph, which you are told is your daddy? A strange American voice over the telephone telling you "I Love you, Jacinta"? A mere ghost at the edge of your tiny existence as formless as the morning mist? What am I to you? Know this, Jacinta, I will always love you and hold you tightly in my heart, and that although I may not be standing beside you or holding you tightly to my breast, softly singing, soothing your hurts and fears, that I will still be there. Slan go foill, a chuisle mo chroi. See you in my dreams.

nt

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Ythanside
Date: 19 Jun 07 - 08:08 AM

OUCH         

Poets all should have long hair,
Dark haunted eyes and broken hearts,
Should languish long in dark despair,
Recording pain and sorrow's darts.

'Suffering', their watchword be;
Consumptive, with dry wracking cough,
Self-crucified for you and me
'Til, premature, they're carried off.

Thus their gifted lines are wrought,
That touch our souls and make us weep,
Their lofty station dearly bought-
Now vile usurpers on them creep.

These upstarts in their pinstripe suits
With simple style create distress;
Their lines, as soft as hobnailed boots,
That all begin 'Dear Sir, unless......!'


(Must have been bill-paying time when I cobbled this together some 30 years ago) :-D

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 19 Jun 07 - 12:14 PM

LEJ:

Thanks. I am touchéd. :D

Keep up the excellent work, you-all!


A

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Jim Lad
Date: 19 Jun 07 - 12:38 PM

Amergin: What a gift you have in your writing. I have to let your letter run its course before moving on to Ythanside's contribution. That only happens once in a while.
Regards.
Jim

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: katlaughing
Date: 19 Jun 07 - 01:41 PM

{{{{Amergin}}}}}

Ythanside, well done!

My daughter called me the other night to ask me to write a poem for her friend whose almost one year old baby drowned while having a bath. She was a beautiful little baby, two months premature with some problems but growing and bring smiles to everyone. She was in her bath seat when the mom turned away to get a towel and turned back to find her drowned.

I did not know her or my daughter's friend, but I said I'd give it a try. I sent the following to the friend and her seven year old son who loved his baby sister. Apparently it hit the spot and I am grateful.

Jasmyn, little Jasmyn,
Your Spirit shines so bright.
You brought us Love and Beauty
Then left too early in the night.

Jasmyn, little Jasmyn
Your brother loves you so.
Please help him understand
Just why you had to go.

Jasmyn, beautiful Jasmyn,
Be safe, be well, be free
Our lives you touched forever
May we know Peace, let it be.

Subject: Lyr Add: A SONG: I once met the poet (Bob Clayton)
From: GUEST,Songster Bob
Date: 19 Jun 07 - 03:21 PM

I don't know where this came from, though I did meet a poet in a Metro station once, and took it from there.        


A Song

I once met the poet in the subway station
(I'd seen him before, so I knew him, you see).
He was standing in line for his daily blues ration,
The same as the other commuters like me.
Packed into the cars, we roared 'neath the earth
Ignoring the people around where we sat,
When the poet fixed me with an eye full of mirth
And sang me the song of the hole in his hat.

I once met a busker while mailing a letter;
I tipped him a quarter and gave him a nod,
And allowed as how he could play so much better
Than most of the other street buskers, by God!
He played on his fife for all he was worth,
Depending on coins in the cup where he sat,
So, fixing me with an eye full of mirth,
Played me the song of the hole in his hat.

So, if you happen to see me someplace
(Now that you've met me, you'll know me, you see),
Don't be surprised by the look on my face,
For poets are known to be somewhat like me.
I may talk about football, or music, or news;
I well may debate the place of the cat,
When, suddenly struck by my musical muse,
I might sing you the song of the hole in my hat!



© 1991, Bob Clayton, Silver Spring, MD

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 19 Jun 07 - 11:20 PM

Kat, simple and sweet.

cmt, that says much about the nature of the cat, a mystery sleeping on the door mat.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 11 Oct 07 - 07:00 PM

Secretly Phoning Out Hate

I -- who ride the swallow's back,
Whooping through the trees and swooping the green lawned limbs --
Who breathes the chill mist that shocks maiden-nipples in the sun's
first hour--
Who sucks the sea-foam from the storm-mouth, drunk to live,
And blinks the sun's own fire in a glance – I, still,
Cannot walk but uneasy past the eyes of the hate in churches. I
Flinch to taste the bitter strings that foul the large halls of man-doing.
What does the tide-maker rhythm feel, falling from the moon into the
sea?
The day-baking fire hand that lights the screaming dark boulevard
from Sun to Earth?
Nothing as mean as one good ugly soul,
Daring only to reform others in the night,
Secretly phoning out,
Phoning out the hate.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Joe_F
Date: 11 Oct 07 - 09:17 PM

Spontaneous symmetry-breaking,
exits from loops,
limiting processes making
infs go to sups,
a little irritable tissue,
pairwise unlinked rings --
a friend will wish you
all those good things.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: katlaughing
Date: 12 Oct 07 - 06:00 PM

Widening Circle

Two friends met
Shared lives and loves
Spread their net
Cast wide and low.

Two friends saw
An open life
Torn and raw
They held it close.

Two friends held
The hurt one
'til love's dealt
Healing was done.

Three friends met...

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 12 Apr 08 - 03:58 PM

Memory Ahead

Stepping off the curb, scaring the random pigeon
Approaching a conversation in an early city evening,
Do you draw the face, the tremble of the fingers, in his colors?
Choose the palette for pain to seep down, after leaving?

Is it a fade, from grays to black,
Or brilliant in real incandescen restaurant hues?
How will it seem, when it comes back,
Some day, when you are shopping for new shoes,
Or cleaning up after a dinner,
Happy with remarks about dessert,
And how you look (younger; thinner).

Then will the colors intrude, answering some subtle sign?
Whites supplanted with that faded low-
Light tinge of pigeon-gray
And fear in chiaroscuro?
And was this some spiritual design,
Mapping a way across the street,
With older shoes, on earlier feet?

A step across the line dividing you
From infinite changes and reminding
Is a fine grained memory Ð too fine
To built a public mind upon, though true.
But, when memoryÕs moment clocks in, blinding Ð
The face, and trembling fingers, in their native colors.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 16 Jul 08 - 05:10 PM

Stone and Moss

Both time and timelessness are easy errors
To an eye bewildered,
And a mind too crowded,
Or ears betrayed by sounds.

Sapphire beginnings; hard
Ends of gold, feverish
Days of penitence, shivered
By hours made too loud
For any heart to arise.

In this maddened vise
Between each minute and its loss
Nothing is truly seen
Neither the cold stone nor the soft moss.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Megan L
Date: 16 Jul 08 - 05:28 PM

In 1983 my new husband and I stood in a small churchyard in Wales looking sadly at a row of shiny gravestones each had the age of the young man each one had been on the Galahad. I remembered thinking that somewhere in Argentina someone could be standing beside a row of graves or a memorial for equally young lads from the Belgrano.


War dead

See my name all you who pass by
As you are now so once was I.
I was a son whose mother wept
I was the husband whose wife kept
A light in the window lest I should come
To find my way once more back home.
I was the brother whose sisters tears
shall wash my stone
I was the lover who will not come
the one who left you here alone.
I am your love
the memory that will not die
My name it matters not anymore
Rhys or Ramone we are the same
In death, a memory and nothing more

MHTBL

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 16 Jul 08 - 06:42 PM

Even though the clouds may fly,
On high on such a beauteous day.
Tis not that I will be out there,
I'll be on Mudcat, far away.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 16 Jul 08 - 08:27 PM

Me and Don

By the convenience store he sat
his feet propped on rusted breast plate
inverted helmet inviting help.
"The windmills of my mind" he sighed
"are by my own intellect o'erthrown!"
Inspired by irony I smiled and said
"And you find yourself here alas
o Knight of the Tarnished Mirrors
in the shadow of a slain dragon
transformed by wizards into the guise of a dumpster"
He only stared in silence
and so I walked away
until his choked whisper split the silence
"Sancho?"

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 17 Jul 08 - 12:10 AM

Oh, Lonsesome, ya done caught me off guard with that last line. Big grin, but a torn heart, too.


A

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: katlaughing
Date: 17 Jul 08 - 03:18 PM

Me, too, LeeJ. Inspired and so poignant!

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Jay777
Date: 18 Jul 08 - 04:43 AM

As a teenager in the late 60s, I lived near USAF Greenham Common. My family befriended many of the servicemen based there. This poem was written by one of them, whilst he was serving in Vietnam. He went back there, and we never saw or heard of him again. I thought it deserved a wider airing.

AMMO by AFC 18756330 Ronald Brown, 1969

I work with bombs both day and night,
And stand and shake with awful fright.
My past is short, my future's bleak,
I'll never last another week.
My friends are dead or dying fast,
I don't know how long my luck will last.
Death may come in several ways,
From gas or bombs with short delays,
There's Sarin gas or TNT,
Or fragment bombs to murder me.
They say that nerve gas works just great,
Five short minutes and it's too late,
Of course blood gas isn't so fast,
Fifteen minutes you can last,
There's white phospherous and thermate too,
They just sear and burn holes in you.
You know that you are bound to lose,
So you get a bottle and start to booze.
You drink all day and drink all night,
You go on duty still half tight.
If the bombs don't do it, just wait and see,
THIS DAMNED BOTTLE WILL FINISH ME!!!!!!!!!!

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 07 Sep 08 - 09:07 PM

Aged Dust

Shattered, without hope in the wind,
Whirling where the world's face ends
Itself coldly ended without power of naming
Any future, or caring how to name -- knowing
That one and another are not preferred
But are same. Not even glumness shadows
The lost decision from which complete indifference seems
Eminently respectable.

And fire not even a memory to the face, and the world's
Face so over-remembered, it is a loss to try
To tell one from another past, or pry futures apart.
Paint it, and it stays painted; deny, and it will
Oblige by disappearing. Call it and it will be.
Be one with it and it will color you so gray
That your name will be arbitrary and your
Face vanish in the world.

Fight it and it will oblige endlessly. These
Are the molecules that will not disperse nor harden but
Will endlessly prove the barren ice of time.
How it stretches into the horizon, telling nothing because
Nothing is.

This is the heart of dying, hell
Beyond the hope of measure, f
For space is denied. But,
What mastery within! To make so little from so much,
To so completely nullify, must be the handiwork
Of a truly great machine.

So dust has its master, and if you only
Congratulate him, he will withdraw,
Sated with your precious admiration.
You who command admiration command all things
And dust's dry dominion dwindles to your light.