Sometimes

[Mark]

.
Sometimes in poetry

I listen to resonance ring
in ingots slung upon anvils.
I witness images slip inside
hesitant visions of dualities
and trace words from lips
unkissed by this reality.

No, that will not do -

So what of these swirling waves
wielded by the seas... perhaps
wind patterns in wheat fields,  
or the summer-warm stones
in some forlorn churchyard  
lonely as bony Mondays?

No, not that…

Numbers rotate unscathed
in their mysterious dance
upon cellular divisions of infinity.
Giant cog wheels of history
roll into the seas and rust.
In polarized inversion
wintry midnight suns
throw no shadow of ego.
Somewhere on Earth
a drop of vanilla ice-cream
falls between sandy toes.

No…

I feel warm winds lofted on liquid birdsong. I see
people unwind their temporal chains as God
wanders through cardboard stage-props
taking names. And any loose intuition
is just a collective echo of thoughts
scribbled across an ad-libbed reality.

Zen is observation. Chi follows the wind.


 

[Sharon Leigh]

Mark, I'm liking this... It's fun to follow, pulls the eye smoothly down the page, a feast of device as you go. It's handled well and not obtrusive. That the author had fun writing it is evident, despite the negations between. The conclusion is soothing after the smorgasbord of the earlier stanzas. Much enjoyed

[Mark]

Thanks for your nice comments, Sharon. An expansion of an older piece.

[Matty11]

Dazzling write Mark.

Somewhere on Earth
a drop of vanilla ice-cream
falls between sandy toes.

Love that. Triggers a picture, but resonates in the context if the reader wants to net a loose intuition and scribble a meaning

cheers

matty

[Mark]

Thanks matty, glad you enjoyed the read.