An Event

[Poem XXIX]

Subatomic particles collide and the event is cosmological.
I first see her walking through the door and the event is ontogenetic.

        In both, the consequence of the event is
        the celestial motion of philosophical churnings.

    ---

Your life can be defined as a sequence of discrete events,
or it can be defined as one continuous event.

                    I don't know which I prefer.

The editor's scissors are sharp and his skill is said to be unparalleled,
but
entirety of this entity is inherently unique:

        The celestial motion of philosophical churnings.


                                           —Here are essays of philosophic artistry!

M.M. — Iulius MMXII

An Artist Answers His Muse

[Ex Tempore XXI]

Beauty....
Beauty is a moment—
however fleeting or seemingly enduring—
in which you are thrust into an unknown,
an unknown with an instantly recognisable feel,
where you marvel and need and love.

My art will remain ever unfulfilled, and
your beauty will continue,
because every new moment with you is
a moment where I am stolen away to
a new reverie or idea:

Your eyes: the entire history of 24 years;
your smile: what becomes of moribund suns;
your movement: the infinite rhythms of nature;

you: indefiniteness.

M.M. — Iulius MMXII

"Fallen Star" to be published

"Fallen Star" will be featured in the July edition of The Poetry Box Horror & Dark Poetry Magazine Monthly. This follows my being awarded first prize in The Poetry Box's Silver Cup Trophy Competition for "Ode to Night".

Copies of the magazine can be purchased here. The July edition is set for release at the end of the month.


Fallen Star

[Poem XIX]

 Ja komet król - a duch się we mnie wichrzy
jak pył pustyni w zwiewną piramidę -
ja piorun burz - a od grobowca cichszy
mogił swych kryję trupiość i ochydę.


Left to wither on this sea
Coloured a fatal mercury
Cast down from high above
What have they done to me?

I dared a glimpse far too long
Dreamt too well to that song
The face and voice of the Sun
So scorned by wingèd throng

Now my back is raw and burnt
Sovereignty imparted: a lesson learnt
From spire to ire I have fallen
And naught but ignominy have I earned

Where evernight holds I now dwell
Where resounds the fell death knell
In cavern and pit, by lake and river
My abode and realm, my eternal Hell

I once stood upon peaks and lofty heights
Whence I gained my defiant sight
Espied love of self and untempered potential
But now I wonder at but rock and stalagmite

Though better to rule here than serve in Heaven
Under the auspices of a tempestuous leaven
Brooding madly on new designs and signs
As six aspires becoming greater than seven

I am the first great deviant
The admonished miscreant
Fated to strive against my lot
Ever unsettled this rebel malcontent

My light-blinded peers now me revile
They who flung me into bleak exile
And, then, when I turned back for a final glance
I saw my stolen glory, fronted by their smiles

But their triumph is premature
Their victory far from sure
From the deep I shall ascend
Right and might to meet my cure

Forth I extend my brand and arm
A gift for them worse than harm
They shall see before they reel
The enticing sway of my charm

Up I will soar with vengeance in train
Upon a mare of night with fiery mane
Leading the bellicose apostate host
My kith and kin will see the welkin stained

But when I once again see the Sun
When God is slain and my war is won
When I exalt my stars above His throne
Will then, at last, my pent tears run?

M.M. — November MMIX; Ianuarius-Martius, Maius MMXI

"Where are you?" to be published

Another poem has been chosen for publication by Forward Poetry. Set to be published in September, "Where are you?" will be included in the anthology Aspects of Love: A Collection of Poetry.

This particular piece was completed and self-published on this blog on Valentine's Day 2011.


"Where are you?"
  
[Poem XVIII] 

Where are you?
What, at this moment, do you do?
Do you think of me?
Do you think of me as I do of you?
Are your dreams also filled with the same things you wish were true?
How does the sky above appear to you?
Does it speak to you of love, or make you cry?
Perhaps it seeks to make you sigh?
It takes me away, that much I can say,
To places where I can wonder, as I often do of your face:
Moments that can tear me asunder.
And the fear, through the years, has not been quite absent;
But always present, even if at times out of mind, is regret,
My closest friend who lets me never forget;
Who, true-blue, will make all this a tale without end,
Subsisting gratuitously—or maybe graciously?
Is it I who insists on this? Do I wish it to continue?
Because it has been you?
Will always be you?
I would much like that I knew for certain,
That the haze raised, this heavy curtain before me.

M.M. — September MMX; Februarius MMXI