Monday, October 20, 2008

Untitled Poem

In a land of our making

Subterranean

Subtlefuse and fuselage

Quagmires and waterfalls

My own Ecclesiastes


Can you know enlightenment,

without first starting at its polar

Can you know anything,

without first knowing what it is not


If I slide through this land

Of my own making

Within the white, white, white

Within the black, black, black

Tis a season


That approaches through

this land of my own making

Within the gold, the regal, the fallen

Fallen down and bare


Stark the stand before you

Slumbering some watchful mostly

Can you remember one within the sameness

Do you worry of the eternal


Subtlefuse and fuselage

Quagmires and waterfalls

Subterranean

Land of my making

My own Ecclesiastes

7 comments:

Lee said...

JS, Grew again reading this. I love that! The repeat of the beginning at the end is nicely cyclical and "Can you know enlightenment...without first knowing what it is not" really resonates with me. The whole thing makes me think I see a life path through the trees of experience.

Peace!

alt said...

I like this one a lot, though you shouldn’t be afraid of the gray, gray, gray.

jsd said...

alt: lol...ah, that gray, slowly my friend, slowly.

lee: i am glad it resonated and opened something within you.

murat11 said...

jsd: I like the slip-sliding quality of this poem: it mirrors, I would think, your journey, where polars blend into their opposites at a moment's turn, from quagmire to waterfall and back...

And back again...

jsd said...

murat: i think i'd have to agree :)

San said...

I can't help it.

"You're living in your own private Ecclesiastes." Sung by the B52s to the tune of "Private Idaho." That's what I kept hearing as I read this. And yes, it worked.

jsd said...

san: lol, that's great...I can hear it too :-)