Note 1: Weaving Eternal Shroud
Being in the middle of a blizzard is pathetically melodic;
Do you sense shivers of a growing distance
while following tracks
that can’t ever lead back
to the initiation moment
once kiss was missed
and rejected acceptance of granted forgiveness?
Now wind hurls and freezes
the misplaced visage of someone
who sinks with serendipity of notes
weaving a burial shroud over and over
while past buys present clock ticks and future instants
to interlace more extended seconds and times
never to end clothed eternity
hidden in a new moment of present harmony
that cuts throats of the demonic, inner unruly suitors.
Garage door stuck in the blizzard.
I hammered the chain and wheels; I don’t need to rewire.
What a relief.
Note 2: Whiteout
Does a silent whiteout
whisper what is the essence
Of snow heighten rhymes
turning feelings into a sensed presence
that suddenly buds
set of flashbacks in a brooding ode
not yet written,
but hummed with a feverish tear abode?
I’am crackling fire
in your soul,
but I lost any ambition
to consume any more.
Note 3: Zero Point Dream
Do you hear nested future
when the zero point of a dream
ripples canyon cracks of the past
and blends with a gray present
turning both into a chasm
collapsed under the pressure
of an unexplained distance abysm,
where the last sun ray fizzles
into a twisted red solstice gleam?
Note 4: Stringing
Do you still string colored notes
longing for an early summer night
to suddenly burst in cello’s heights
that hold us tight
in the union of an intense piano dissonance,
while we disperse all weary feelings
into a million of stars
and crack the whippoorwills’ coded call
as an unscripted story
circling around infinitely lost love
that griefs in loneliness
and can’t prevent growth
of an endless carcinogenic wall?
Note 5: Forest of Hunted Memories
Your hope blooms despite ice crunches
and crossing imprints, both parting away;
Does your heart fall apart
surrendering everything you’ve ever known
to dull, slow, infinity of a gray intense horizon?
Do you recognize allure of memories
that transposition the light into sighed, early dark?
Are they now blind in the wild
And empty of meaning,
Surrendered to the forest,
hit by arrows of sorrow
like a hunted target
that bleeds to an expression
of the utter end
with wide gaping razor stare?
Note 6: Hearing Silence
Do you hear silence
nesting in coffee dreads
where you reach for a blooming rose
recognizing all is lost by now
in an overflowing cup
full of too tense Odysseus’s thoughts;
“Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of twists and turns
driven time and again off course,
once he had plundered the hallowed heights of Troy.”
Thanks to Yo-Yo Ma and his inspiring lecture who reminded me on “eternal” allure of Olivier Messiaen’s “Louange à l’Éternité de Jésus”! Wile listening his virtuoso performance of this piece I heard and painted the poem.