Halo

January 12, 2009 at 6:28 pm | Posted in poetry, writing | 14 Comments
Tags: , , ,

Somewhere where
words ‘n music merge
fracturing light thru language
like elementary candelabra
through circumstance, accidents
and incidents, Cezanne
chaosrainbows crescent
the true prismatic architecture
of jewellery, crown

’emotion in miniature,

when a tiny thief giggling
wings like a dragon
flies in whispering
due to dues owed,
happenstance, ‘appiness
and incidents,
she is within this light
weddinged and bounded
and boundaried by bliss.

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14 Comments »

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  1. i absolutely love this music. fascinating paul! wow!

  2. I see a kind of Parisian ballroon, late nineteenth century.
    And your thief swings, like the phantom up amonst the chandeliers, watching her, radiant, the centrepiece of it all…

  3. So beautiful:

    “wings like a dragon
    flies in whispering
    due to dues owed,”

  4. the sculpted body of the poem, like footsteps right pause left, fascinating and ever so exquisite as a sparkling jewel, magical

  5. magical incantation, to be chanted over and over

  6. I don’t know art, but I know what I like

  7. it looks more like dragonfliy wings than a halo but it is a very nice hello

  8. This is like an angel dancing on the tip of a crystal ornament, adorning the room with pure white light.

  9. I want to eat the word “chaosrainbows” – take it into my system and see how it transforms me. I love it.

  10. The formatting is delicate and perfect for the context of the poem. Flickers of magic make this jewellery sparkle… totally.

  11. I shall not speak of gravity
    But wrap my thoughts in levity
    For what goes up surely must come down
    To rest upon the sordid ground
    Sir Isaac Newton would be displeased
    Rubbing his head ‘neath the apple tree
    To see one make light of his theory
    So light it sails upon the breeze
    I fear this seed shall bear no fruit
    Except to leave the poet mute
    And what will be left to mark his sum?
    Here lies the man who sought more room
    But nerves of articulation numb
    Did strike the fellow deaf and dumb
    Now his repose rests in aplomb
    Who carried prose right to the tomb

    Another day, another poem, another time.

  12. I shall not speak of gravity
    But wrap my thoughts in levity
    I fear this seed shall bear no fruit
    Except to leave the poet mute
    Sir Isaac Newton would be displeased
    Scratching his head neath the apple tree
    To see one make light of his theory
    So light it floats upon the breeze
    How shall we mark the final sum
    Here lies the fellow stricken dumb
    Whose quiet repose rests in aplomb
    He took his prose right to his tomb

    lol

  13. I like the second a little better.

  14. I like this very very much Paul!


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