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WAY OF THE SEVEN STARS


Response To That Final Question:

Ignorance is the Bane of Man.
At a distance removed,
Dimly remembered, and
Still not seen distinct,
But yet somehow felt;
What we do sense
Is not reality; is not the Real Thing.
This World is hologram.
Then; for lucid sleep;
For it's just a dream
Within another dream
And we are not awake.

Seven Stars' Song of Revelation

Ignorance is a jail where no escape
Is possible but through knowledge.
Don't fear nor spurn. Dare to learn:

Assent to and accept this world as it is
Before attempting ascent to any world
Aspired to or wished for. Life's glorious!

That That Is can be known but by few.
Not space, not time, not gravity exists;
But as Extension from Field of Thought.

Be subject to neither church nor crown.

Dread naught. Disdain none: Not One!
Absent That That Is, there's Nothing.

That That Is, IS. That That's Not, IS, too.
That That's Not makes That That Is: IS.
That That Is makes That That's Not BE.

By rowing to That That Is, I become "I."
Wind + Water = Wave. As THOUGHT is
The Heart and The Nave of The Wheel.

Worlds are created from Thought alone.
That which we will do is because of that
What we are. We'll become who we are.

Charity, courtesy, civility, compassion,
Are cardinal spokes making civilization;
Chivalry forms center, hub's circle core.

IS is! Be not the slave of some other's I.
This, Creed of our Seven Stars Society;
This, The Teaching of the Seven Stars:

No man can be happy if he should choose
To be exile from his own nature and soul.
ALL IS THOUGHT ILLUMINATING BEING

Precognitive Prescient Prophetic Poetry by WILLIAM O'CONNOR

Thursday, September 29, 2011

Tap-Dance

Roiling clouds of feet pounding on wooden decks to hornpipe of the heart;
To skeins of stories sold on rooftops and on fire-escapes of this here City;
To the rock and rolling of slats from shifting grates under pounding boots,
On the streets; on the streets; yeah, on these streets, streets of New York.

Saturday, September 24, 2011

Chess

They play with the lives of men like counters upon a board of chess.
Howl hurricanes of storm. Small ships of state are tossed upon seas.
Politicians are deliberating nonsense while the world tumbles to war.


Blue bonnets, their blossoms waving in the breezes of vast prairies,
Show ripples of remembrance, swaying leaning from passing winds,
Stretching forever, grasses of such green the eyes water with them.


What does it matter what these slick-trousered, shiny-bottomed men
Deliberate upon?  Soil will soon forget the inane deliberation of them.
Flowers shall feast upon the bones, fertilizer made from bureaucrats.


Tired of them; tired of dispositions of dilettantes who perjured them! 

Skin

Skin and the shiver upon it, stretching sensations into stunned silences;
There is much in the fingering upon a fiddle, from an E string to A string,
That gives a mournful salute and fond farewell, a satisfaction to ending:
A sweetness is intensified and a savagery slumbered by the art of song. 

Saturday, September 17, 2011

Black Waters

Sounds of a stretched saturation, songs of despair; softens the mornings; quiets the evenings, with those sprays, from their never-ending plunges, plangent to the end, cuticle of streams eating at the sands' black waters.


Torn heart, throw down in your well of tears to drown in black waters.
Drowning in black waters. No one to dance with anymore. Drowned in
Black Waters.
Black waters, they be for drowning me, drowning me, in black waters.


Waves of trouble descend in murky trembling one down upon another.
Drowning in black waters. No monies in my pants pockets. Drowned in
Black Waters.
Black waters, they be for drowning me, drowning me, in black waters.


Long time traveler on the moon-tides, of the surging crests of breakers, of their spumed shaking blasts onto beaches; I am the top of the wave; I am surfer of oceans and rivers: Still-standing pile in the swirl of black waters. 

Thursday, September 15, 2011

October Skies

October skies spurn the soft sighs of Summer's solicitations.
Settle down and shelter in your stiff parkas of forgetfulness.
A storm is coming. It is coming fast upon us from the South.
Sleep the deep sleep of hibernation. Spring will come again.

Saturday, September 10, 2011

Derivative

Derided and despised, every revolution originates in a resentment,
A frown and a displeasure.  Contentment doesn't build barricades.


The shape of the thing unformed shall exist prior to its beginning;
Almost as a separate thing, a shadow of that self still yet to come.


Peoples of the old countries have made loud refusals to their states:
No taxes for less services; a wonder here they've not done the same.


Their silence means an animosity is forming, a surly discontent which
Shall sourly build; surely rise in insurrection, with secession its result.


States that become threats, not helps to the people, ought be replaced.

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Bingo

Bingo is a secret numerology of Torah calling forth numerals and letters.
Calling of the places on the cards has as much validity and as much art
As do surahs and verses of sacred text and shares as much a certainty.
Brown bread and butter and bitter beer has more sustenance and solace.
Holiness isn't found in deluded books, but in your heart there's a divinity.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Agony of Air

Not knowing is the cruelest thing. Worse can be faced.
Nothing there; just empty box of sun contains the soul,
But not even the sky could hold the heart's expansion.


Beneath every laugh lies a grimace and complaint, an
Aggression.  A world of smiles hides a world of hurts:
Mouth set and still. Throat holding in an agony of air.


No reply may be made.  Smirk lead to silence forever.

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Leverage

Debt is a dagger, a stiletto poised to stab, and pierce the soul;
A long gamble on deflation and shorted bet against the future.
A demon is this debt, ensnaring populace in anxiety and doubt.


Leverage states shall employ to stifle liberties from their peoples
Is to sit the stone of sovereign debt on them, till no breath is left.

Sunday, September 4, 2011

Schools

Serfs taught by serfs, these are the teachers of our schools;
Scoundrels tutoring scoundrels, to be servants of the State.
Each day that's spent in school in learning not to learn robs
The young of their vitality and steals their youth from them;
Makes them compliant to adult belief, and stifles creativity:
Colleges for dunces churning out more dunces in the world.

WILLIAM O'CONNOR

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