OPEDE
-
In silhouette full
future stands,
Hollow, rooted deep,
In human grief.
-
Here lay tomorrow,
Fragile as the unborn soul
Within each person waiting.
-
Tradition,
Life's certain repetition,
There in pieces
Forming shadows past,
Ready to build once more
With your spirit Opede -
An ashen bird rising
At dawn to day,
a fragment of love
Sometimes whole,
Chained to final link
present.
-
(Opede, I was once told, is a town in France destroyed in World War II.
The town was later reinhabited and rebuilt by refugees.)
-
ESPERANZA
-
Besieged personalities.
Favored essences.
Light transparent not.
-
Witness to the light and splendor was she.
Before fame that she bore.
Became shame that she wore.
Mixed with Truth.
Bitter harmony.
-
Wise man make a vision.
Out of darkness's spite.
Wise man make provision.
Lest heaven pierce gloom's night.
And like some faded Greek tale.
Wears a mask that fits all too easily.
-
There comes a point when all the art.
Is nothing more than anger.
-
To this less than all too mortal world.
A final scene is written.
-
And Esperanza speaks.
No. Esperanza weeps.
For the sorrow that he brought.
For the morrow that he wrought.
False idols to did he pray?
Gone now. Shattered clay.
-
( It is said on the night of his mother's death; Oscar Wilde had a vision of her
in his jail cell. I take poetic license with her pen name Speranza and add an E.
The Spanish word esperanza translates as expectancy and or hope.)
-
INNISFREE
-
In Innisfree upon the lake
Frosted in morning haze
There hides a shrine on magic isle
That misses the gaze of day.
-
In temple forgotten by time
An ancient secret abides
While slowly it sits
In calm and stately decay
Beneath faded gilt tiles of clay.
-
No lock bars the doors
Ready to open wide
No person but self
Can look inside to see
A secret true here reside
And touch a formless majesty.
-
Wherein doth lie
A sacred orb of light.
A center set firm and right.
By creator's quest
in search for inner sight.
Amid the threads
Of mortal tapestry.
-
(At a certain angle and with certain light and low lying clouds, I saw magic
one day as I viewed the tops of three buildings in downtown Manhattan from
a sixteenth story window. The Golden Boy on top of the old ATT building
mixed with the wedding cake and gilt statues of the Municipal Services Building
along with the temple looking top of the old Federal Court Building. They all seemed
to be floating on an island cloud and I was reminded of some lines by Yeats.)
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