Poetry — Sacred Earth Art

The Curator of Empty Spaces


The blank page wears a deceptive neutrality,

Words, configured in perplexity, sign in. unsolicited.

Absolutes metabolize in atoms informaticized.

Absolutes metabolize in atoms informaticized?

Without warning, nonsense syllables waltz the blue line.

        Obsequious Demetrius

        Impervious Delervious

 Funny things, words!

Strung together like ornamental lights

Decorating, resonating phonemes.

        We look at the world through semantical     eyes

         And it’s constantly changing in hue.

        Incongruous mysteries are truths in disguise

        With an ambience quick to subdue.

My pencil scrolls earnestly and I indulge.

Divergent decisiveness stokes paper. 

Squiggly lines sent by some secluded muse

Inspire with their irrelevance, 

Ambivalent intelligence.

        Sometimes we cling to illusions

        Eluding those worldly demands

        And sometimes the struggle’s confusing

        But the soul recognizes a plan.

These syllabic strands of utterance

Scribed in holographic harmony.  

The interloper has strange urges.

I’m dancing with an unseen partner

Who tells me to be gentle.

        Don’t worry that you’re mostly empty space.


        She who has a fleeting thought of the sublime

        Touches upon her own divinity.

        She who concretizes that fleeting thought

        Touches upon the divinity in others.

Words of wisdom waiting patiently

Or are these just fantasies?

Can a word replace a single blade of grass?

Sometimes I think just wanting to write is enough,

The aimlessness of my un-poem

Energy in flux.

It’s the nimble notions lost that keeps me focused. 

It’s the words I cannot find that call my name.

         Which way to go?

         Into the whispers or out to the world?

        Back to the dreams or into the dance?

Hearing a story I won’t understand

An ancient novel in a timeless voice

With a universal cadence

Emanating subtle fragrance.

The drama/dance duality

Augments dimensionality.

Each wounding an opportunity

To see beyond blame

Each stroke of the pen meditation.

It’s a win-win window with a charismatic view.

As I am seduced by an unseen bard

Isn’t the entire cosmos at play?

        Though I've lost many poems to the postmen

        Who march toward supply and demand

        My favorites still drop by to tease me

        Knowing things only they understand.




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