jump to navigation

Three More Doom Sonnets with Preface May 22, 2009

Posted by frostwolftfirerose in Uncategorized.
Tags: , ,
trackback

Even though I’ve named these poems “Doom Sonnets,” I really see them as a mix of “Raptured, Fractured Visions of Now–Yay!” and  “Post-Doom Celebration Poems (in Advance).”  OK, OK, stuff is happening.  I get it.  I also get that we need to keep ourselves focused on simple and small acts.  To try and find the Zwischenzuegen that will have the deepest and most eloquent and far-reaching impact in our lives.  It is somewhat in that spirit that I write these “Doom Sonnets.” 

It’s all falling apart.  HOORAY!  This is good news.  We’re getting our feelings and our bodies back, even though some of us (most of us?) will kick and scream and throw temper tantrums (and die) along the way.

Anyway, here are three more for collective enjoyment.

#17

A simple pleasure, sitting in sunlight
on a joyous May afternoon.  A feather
shimmering, deep aqua, hidden in plain sight
under Pearl and State Street bench. This breather
of mid-day repast I might have foresworn,
or have foregone buying water bottled
(for shame, the plastic!) which on seating, fell
off the wood and into street.  I’d not dawdled
retrieving it. There blue-lightness lay.  Spell
of Dian-y-Glas weaving his airy touch?
The dove in the chalice, spring’s friendly god
in eternal dance with red god, ye flush
Shaitan, serpent in the earth, wielding rod

#18

I feel so alive—grudgingly.  Crises
pulls my skin awake, damn it!  Serious
matter? In scheme of things this surprise is
no catastrophe.  Double scheduled space
causing a radical altering
of itinerary does not appraise
higher than Dow Jones’ untethering
economic from the ecologic
and subsequent calamities’ cascade
toward dreaded slippery slope/slide tragic
off a deluded pinnacle betrayed
by positive feedback loop-da-loops.
This space, thank Goddess, stands far from such swoops.

#19

’Tis true, I’m apprentice to a willow.
She stands regal near a pond, surrounded
by profuse verdance.  Her branches billow
even as her roots seek waters deep grounded,
feed her thirsty tendrils mid fertile earth.
While I sit ’neath her generous fronds green—
seek to understand the ongoing birth
of Gaia, our relation as between
epochs tectonic indeed—in I breathe
delicious breeze, floral sex aromaed,
and my child-self Andú shares how wreathed
in glad connection this God is.  Nomad
visions spring forth, bypassing Talker,
from when best, brightest Me shall walk here.

 

Advertisements

Comments»

No comments yet — be the first.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: