The future ain't what it used to be.

Yogi Berra
MAY 24, 2012 11:41AM

Origins, Journeys, Destinations

Rate: 23 Flag

 

 

Finish 

 

EVOLUTION

 The dream of universe

Is filled with shoals of stars

That caress

With fingers of gravity

Light years long.

In qualities more compact,

Strands of thought pull softly

Through the dream.

Chromas of love and hate

And curiosity

Become textured rainbows,

Colored smokes, twirling tornados,

Dancing miasmas, rolling fogs

That change and spin and change again

And coalesce to flicker

Into you and me,

Momentarily,

And then roll on, roll on

In waves of multitudes

Streaming out in threads of strangeness

So bizarre

As to crack to dust

The memory of us

That no longer resonates

Through the corridors of reality.

 

TOUCH

 These fingers touch the world for me.

They know the feel of bark.

They know a tree from head to knee

But cannot know a park.

They communicate with leaves and grass

Within a six foot reach

But great plains are truly strange

As is a glowing beach.

Whose parts like shells and sand and wet

Can nest into my palm

Which tells me sharp or smooth or cold

But nothing about young or old,

Or when the sun has set.

For this they whisper in their night

For knowingness from brother sight

         

 

SHORN

 At birth we are capacities untried.

Nature prunes off potentialities.

Our culture directs where effort is applied

To create subsets of realities.

But deep within us lies machineries

To plug into the strange pariah world

Where people sprout, like plants, with greeneries

And ideas snap like silver flags unfurled.

Here do dragons prowl through golden caverns

And starships sail through orange colored skies

While knights and elves sport in smoky taverns

And all dark corners harbor wild surprise.

Society constrains to mundane ends,-

Confers a job, a family and friends

            

 

SPELUNKING THE PSYCHE

 All hard lines, strong shapes

Bright colors, make escapes

To leave remains behind closed lids.

Dark sparkles, vague circles, pyramids

And glaucus forms that shimmer, shake

To part and make the path to snake

In tempting curves that beckon in -

Into miasmas, rubbled trails, widdershin

In halls of bone where eyes, where touch,

Where sound and smell sum to not much

To orient direction. Palaces of psyche here

Erect their towers. Powers form and disappear.

We have arrived at the gates

Where mind mingles with the fates.

 

Threads of silver, threads of gold,

Threads of diamond strung to hold

Baskets of conception, full

Of dripping luscious fruits that pull

Forth visions ...blues and reds and greens,

Subtle shades, inbetweens

Encasing passions, joys and frights,

Sleepy loves, circus sights,

Twirling parasols and braying beasts,

Horrid things at nauseous feasts,

Dusty sawdust , acrid smells,

Crunchy berms of peanut shells.

Stacks of baskets packed with stones,

With crystal shapes, jagged bones,

Where shafts of light spear the air,

Ricochet in facet glare,

Speed away into sensation,

Pain diffused to adumbration,

Hints of chaos, hints of hell,

Cacophonic ringing bell

Tolling failure, soft confusion,

Flabby thoughts, odd illusion.

Sliding shapes, found or flat...

Not quite this, nor even that.

Susserations hiss the walls.

Spectral sounds, muffled calls

Echo in, echo out,

Boosting murmurs to a shout.

Away from sounds, around the bend,

Tentacles of stench extend

And split and subdivide

To where fragrances reside.

Filaments of succulence

Explode to flocculence

Of dripping luscious fruits that pull

Forth visions ...blues and reds and greens,

Subtle shades, inbetweens

Encasing passions, joys and frights,

Sleepy loves, circus sights,

Twirling parasols and braying beasts,

Horrid things at nauseous feasts,

Dusty sawdust , acrid smells,

Crunchy berms of peanut shells.

Stacks of baskets packed with stones,

With crystal shapes, jagged bones,

Where shafts of light spear the air,

Ricochet in facet glare,

Speed away into sensation,

Pain diffused to adumbration,

Hints of chaos, hints of hell,

Cacophonic ringing bell

Tolling failure, soft confusion,

Flabby thoughts, odd illusion.

Sliding shapes, found or flat...

Not quite this, nor even that.

Susserations hiss the walls.

Spectral sounds, muffled calls

Echo in, echo out,

Boosting murmurs to a shout.

Away from sounds, around the bend,

Tentacles of stench extend

And split and subdivide

To where fragrances reside.

Filaments of succulence

Explode to flocculence


Which shock through inhibitions

To reminiscent exhibitions

Where shattered memories clatter to the floor.

Sludges of nostalgia to shuffle through, ignore.

The final destination disolves in fuzzy mist

For the locus of the self, a point, does not exist.

It=s thoroughly distributed,

The sum of all contributed.

A holographic spatter

Of activated matter

That cannot be dissected

From the meat where it=s erected.

So we tumble back out into the Sun

Not far from the point where we=ve begun.

 

 

NOCTURNE

 When Earth dons

Night=s black helmet

With the heavy sunball

Swinging from the chinstrap

In pursuit of tomorrows

Expectations, hopes and deaths,

Half the world lies paralyzed in dreams.

Silver moonshafts fall

Through sieves of black leaves

Transforming all familiar things

To shapeless threats that clothe themselves

In myths; specters, bloodsucking ghouls,

Dark predators of tooth and claw,

Icy souls yearning for life=s heat.

Then emerge the tiny furry beasts of timidity,

Sharp spears of fear

To garner crumbs of sustenance

In midnight mini-mayhem.

Round yellow eyes and green lumenescences

Comet through the black.

Hooked claws on whooshing wings

Zero in on buzzing trails.

Furious, the tumbles of pursuer and pursued

>Til morning=s thumb tilts back

Night=s helmet to the raucous cries

Of birds in symphony,

Lullaby to things of night.

 

NIGHTMARE

 Gargoyles from the sea come in

And drift the streets at night.

With iron claws and dripping jaws

And eyes all milky white,

Their freezing breath

Is plain pure death

Committed in low moans

To terrify and petrify

Down to the blood and bones.

Their shadows fall on walk and wall.

They sniff for warm red blood

To liquify and purify

Their veins, which run with mud

All full of worms and stinking germs

Mixed with pus and piss

Which make the gargoyles itch and twitch.


  They breathe in rasping hiss.

  Into the cellar windows crawl

  Or lie flat on the lawn,

  Waiting with their white spark eyes

  Until the gray of dawn.

  Then, slowly, dribble back again

  To depths beneath the waves

  To wait the rise of night and dark

  In murky deep sea caves.

 

 

WEDNESDAY

 The middle of the week

Wherein I balance on one foot

On the crack, the leak

Where past dribbles into future

And entropy sucks life

From activity. This suture

Healing memory to possibility

So compacted failures might

Form nourishment for hopes

To solidify my life to something bright.

 

Today a meteor, a diamond big

As a cabbage should come to fly

In my back yard to swipe a tree and dig

Itself half down to wink at me with stony eye.

 

Today I shall discover bumps upon my shoulder blades

Which undoubtedly will presage further sprout

And, in short time, to accolades,

Full blown wings will pop out

 

Today a knock upon my front door

Will announce a gorgeous girl who smiles

And indicates that I qualify, more

Than adequate to match her sexy wiles.

 

Today my local community will phone

To appoint me as their sage,

Offer me a seat in Congress where, alone,

I can lead my constituents to a golden age.

 

Today fourteen big eyed aliens will land

And offer me to be ambassador

To the galaxy. With friendly tentacles to my hand

We seal the deal and they depart in rocket roar.

 

The day is closing down.

I sit here to fiddle with my computer.

Nothing of immense renown

Could be muter.

Soon Thursday will emerge

Stifling the Wednesday manic.

One cannot stem time=s surge.

 

But still, no need to panic.

Wednesday awaits a week from now.

Who knows what it might endow?

  

 

 

FALL, HELSINKI

 The first cool hint of winter

Came this Sunday morning

From a pale blue sky

To shine

With lemon light on yellow leaves


And fire up maple reds.

It jostled stiff brown stems

To rustle in the flower beds.

So frail and shy a creature

With the slightest touch

Transmutes the summer=s feature

By not much -

In such a gentle evil way

One does not even quail

To feel the softest brush

Of faint death=s tail.

 

Has this ghost pupa hatched

From out the extra hour

Set to sleep through summer

From the Spring?

Or merely tipped and spilled

From Time itself

Which wobbles

With the planet=s bobbles

In its sunswept swing?

 No matter.

 

Transparently

It glitters in the weakened sun

To stiffen out its membranes

With their needle spines.

Cooling breezes tease away

The heat of summer

Shed like a sunburned skin

To sweep like flying silken scarves

Far down to Africa.

 

It needs three months

To gnaw away the green to brown

And brown to black,

To fill its lungs with poison cold and ice

And crack the shell of life,

To spill the snow with frozen birds

And mice

And etch its black-white artistry

On dead gray clouds.

 

A moon-white sun

Awaits for when

The Earth slides down its path

To certain rendezvous with life

Begun again.

 

TAKE-OUT

 AI want,@

He said,

AWhen I

Am dead

To be most neatly kept.

My eyes

Just closed,

My frame

Relaxed

Just as if I slept.@

 

AAll rot

Must cease.

I=ll pay the fees.@

He cried, like King Canute.

AFor I must freeze

At two degrees

Cryogenic absolute!@

 

So, sure enough

His friends

Did stuff

Him in a vacuum bottle.

Stiff and blue

Was their last view,

With a cork stuck in his glottal.

 

The Sun

Did burn,

The Earth

Did turn

Two hundred million spins,

While time

Did pass,

Beneath the grass

Where our frozen friend still grins.

 

As species must,

Mankind was dust,

But mind must have a site.


So, dogs and cats

In hats and spats

became somewhat more bright.

 

A feline digger

Couldn’t figure

The frozen sarcophagus.

AWhat is this thing

Some ancient king

Sent through time to plague us?@

 

He did pop

The thermos top

And slid out frozen friend.

The flesh

Still fresh,

Turquoise skin

Like a djinn.

This could cat comprehend.

 

So, wrapped in foil

And fried in oil

Our friend turned crispy brown.

With vintage wine

The taste was fine

When feline gulped him down.

 

But doubt still gripped

This cryptic crypt.

The cat had not a hunch

Why mankind

Had so inclined

To send him a boxed lunch.

 

CAROUSEL

 The world is whirled in Space

And hurled in moving >round the place

Which centers on the Sun.

In golden light is rolled and spun

And bowled, this tiny fold

In Time, to chase

Itself in circled run

To heat and crack

Its peaks and caves

And tumble corpses

In their graves

Like some berserk psychotic clown

Who first builds up and

Then tears down.

A geoclastic schizophrenic,

Artist=s eye for the scenic,

Makes and breaks

In random spasm,

Seas and seasons,

Crag and chasm,

Elephant and

Microplasm.

Roiling, boiling, coiling, spoiling,

Unconcerned for good or bad.

Split with lightning, grumbled thunder -

Is it really any wonder

Humankind is plainly mad?

 

GAME

 I used to think that mystery

Hung somewhere out among the stars

Like silver bells and mirror balls

On the celestial Christmas tree.

 

But understanding changed my views.

To know how much you know reveals

That what is known is not too much,

And this is not too happy news.

 

So mystery crept here from night.

It rolled like mist up from the dusk

To blur and smear the sharp and clear,

Enticing with a subtle fright.

 

It did not hold out in the stars

But moved in close at breakfast time

To stare across the coffee pot

With one foot here and one on Mars.

 

Here its one-toothed finger points

To objects, thoughts, things solid, bright.

Sharp edges fuzz, ideas fall flat.

Frozen, I sit, world out of joint.

 

Yellow Eyes surveys my house

Where I have lived quite rigidly.

He turned construction into cheese

Transforming God to Mickey Mouse.

 

Now I play cards with Yellow Eyes.

The coffee pot has gone quite cold.

I sometimes, even, win a hand

To his chagrin and my surprise.

 

 

NOTES FROM AN OBSERVER

 I am not, as some claim,

A local resident. Many provinces

Less obscure than this, in this game,

Require myattention

You have been, to put it mildly,

Less than kind to my last representative.

Your proclivities vary wildly

From being rather clever, as a species,

To behaving with incredible stupidity.

You cannot even properly dispose of your own feces

Your planet was unusually abundant

In everything to help you do well,

But your slavery to your own fertility

Is rapidly sending it to hell.

In one respect, you have improved.

A larger part of your population

Has realized I am not behooved

You spend your time to kiss my ass.

But, otherwise, you stay benighted

Your appetite for cruelty is undiminished.

Your greed,taste for blood...I'm undelighted.

I think, perhaps, to put your whole damned species on the shelf.

But then, I'm not too concerned;

You are moving rapidly that way yourself.

 

 

 

OLD

 

The world is old, is old, is old,

Of broken stones

And splintered bones

And shattered shells

And dust.

 

The rivers clog with silted hopes

And fractured dreams

And stunted thoughts

And dated gods

And rust.

 

The fragments churn and drift to sea,

The trilobites

And dinosaurs

And Balshazaar

And you

And me.

 

 

 

 

 

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Comments

Type your comment below:
What an amazing array of poetry! I found Touch exceptionally brilliant!
Can I put some of these to music? Very nice Jan, definitely loved 'Game'; 'Old' ; and 'Nightmare'. Hope you are well my friend and as always my Best to you sir. older/exasperated
I really love these poems, Jan. Touch, Shorn, Wednesday, Evolution, Notes from an Observer...all of them. Thank you for sharing them with us!

I know some people with those bumps upon their shoulder blades, I'm pretty sure you have them too. :) The painting is so beautiful.
such ease between dark and delight...
After reading these, any words I use, even in recognition or praise, seem ill-fitted and knock-kneed.
This is a week's feast, Jan! I've dined on the first two and will savor the others at a more leisurely pace. Evolution enraptures me.
You are quite the poet Jan Sand.

I can't pick a favorite....
Love these all..
TY TY my friend....
Look at this audience again,Jan.
I fall into silence.
I happen to be in life's best concerts and I enjoy it profoundly.

~R~w.L.
"...the gates
Where mind mingles with the fates....."
Maestro, your orchestra of words assails the mind like an arrow to its target.
R
So much to read, so much to choose from... this is what caught my eye:
"To know how much you know reveals
That what is known is not too much,"

This was revealed to me when I was a young man recovering from wounds received in a one sided knife fight in 1973. It was an auditory hallucination, a voice from an empty room which said, "There is no knowledge, only assumptions based on redundancies and vague suspicions."
Jan,so many to read..so many to feel...so much to think..and a beautiful image to see.Thank you Jan for sharing..Nocturne and Carousel my favourites as "But understanding changed my views" and "For knowingness from brother sight".Beautiful work...
You write such brilliant and thoughtful poetry. I kept trying to decide which I liked best. Touch, Shorn, Game....impossible! r
spouting poetry as you reach the end of yr allotted yrs,
SandMan! I decided not five minutes ago to give u
this nickname. cuzza yr association with that
other european, Elzekar, whom i have anointed
"Mr spaghetti head".

this is my life history: thank you for finding words for it.
"

So, sure enough

His friends

Did stuff

Him in a vacuum bottle.

Stiff and blue

Was their last view,

With a cork stuck in his glottal."
........................

this too: "In Time, to chase

Itself in circled run"
........................

"shorn" seems to be your answer to Piaget & the developmental
psychologists:

"At birth we are capacities untried.

Nature prunes off potentialities.

Our culture directs where effort is applied

To create subsets of realities.

But deep within us lies machineries"

not so much differing from them, unless one wishes to
argue the definition of "machineries" to death.

mechanical, still a good word.
hell of a science.
got us to the moon! and back.
this is true, sort of:

"The world is whirled in Space

And hurled in moving >round the place

Which centers on the Sun.

In golden light is rolled and spun

And bowled, this tiny fold

In Time, to chase

Itself in circled run"

.............
ah but what is the sun centered on? for it too is moving.

circling, sort of.

circles are perfect, as Plato and his old lover Socrates proved.

.................

plato: "we are all half circles,seeking our other half"
.....................
nonsense.

but above his academy:
it said:
"no entrance for those who dont know math"
.....................

pythagoras is in the news these days. all these pre-socratics
are back in style.

where is socrates, tho?

tis he we need. not plato, with his weaving of theory.

just that old socratic method.
Rich. Deeply rich and compelling. I'm sucked right in to the stars, the fingers.......Thanks for this.
Though I write poetry and read lots of it (unusual unto itself these days I think), I often don't feel that it is accessible. Your's however is wonderfully so. thank you. Rated RRR
Love all, but especially Take Out!!!
Jan, I missed this when you posted all these richly textured poems. I only had time to read a few but I felt 'you' present in all i did read. You are a great poet even though I know you do not believe this. Tis true. Sending lots of love, R
When Earth dons
Night=s black helmet

That is how I feel about it too. gorgeous poetry. I'll be back for more. R for rhapsodic.
You deserve me with great thoughts , words and ideas like this!
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this haunts me, this:
"The rivers clog with silted hopes
And fractured dreams
And stunted thoughts
And dated gods
And rust."

i want new gods. got any?
sorry. meant
"it will be so when
all is a "gee/I am by most standards ...''
UH habueus corpus victim?
I see this has been here a while, and while I myself have mostly been gone. I was lonely. I wanted a conversation. I am practicing Access Consciousness, staying in the question instead of trying to be the answer. The very act of 'trying' being the block to the energy that brings forth. And - I had this conversation! You have some truly hoary imagery, but it is all exquisitely balanced with brightness, humor and hope. The painting, a summation of all contained herein, surreal and palpable. Aaaah... Thank you, Jan Sand; sooo well done! A marvelous collection, and a delicious glimpse into another poet's mindrhyme of depiction. Can I R each one?!
Deep, deep thoughts Jan! Each line to savor more than once. R
[r] Jan, what delicious poetry! bravo! will be back to finish reading thru!

from evolution particularly loved:

"As to crack to dust
The memory of us"

fun sound and thought! bravo! best, libby
For a very important clear analysis of why and how Obama is destroying the democracy of the USA and the long history of its occurrence see http://www.counterpunch.org/2013/02/01/how-to-sell-hard-choices/

Jan Sand
FEBRUARY 02, 2013 12:16 AM
they (you sir know 'them') often say,
'' i just cannot believe we were evolved from animals"
i say,
" well but why couldnt god have EVOLVED THE UNIVERSE?" in an utterly bored tone.

The dream of universe



Chromas of love and hate

And curiosity

Become textured rainbows,

Colored smokes, twirling tornados,

Dancing miasmas, rolling fogs"
they say, "hm i am no poet. i am just a believer in something more"
yeesh.

change and spin and change again



Through the corridors of reality.