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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.

Precognitive Prescient Prophetic Poetry by WILLIAM O'CONNOR

Friday, October 28, 2016

Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 135

Poetry is omission; those spaces that make for splits and jumps empty in every line mirror the arcane symbols of the maths underlying truth. It's what not's there which makes what's there real, enduring.

Tuesday, October 25, 2016

Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 134

The skies judge us all with its grays, its blues, its violets and with its sometimes reds, crimson salmons of our existence; pollutions of our lives which make for such glorious sunsets: Purity is often overrated.

Thursday, October 20, 2016

Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 133

Brave speech bravely spoken is what poetry is all about; words in such a rhythm they cause a sunshine squint in eyes of listeners, cause earache of verse to burrow brain; dug before they'll know of invasion.

Tuesday, October 18, 2016

Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 132

Scolds of the day can be carried with an ease, with an easy slight shrug in recognition, in pausing to consider critics lead metered lives ticketed for mediocrity; parked frozen lines in zombie formations.

Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 131

Cold blue steel sky of unchanging weather. No clouds. Just this big blind cataract sun glaring down on our city. Doesn't see us at all. Doesn't care for us at all. Doesn't know we're here. One-eyed blind stare.

Saturday, October 15, 2016

Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 130

In that same worrisome way, we always have; thinking of the troubles to come on the morrow, with all that anxiety, with all that foreboding fear; still, still, we had our yesterdays, and I have your smile still.

Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 129:

Everything looks easy, viewed from prejudices of the present; how could such actions happen, such belief followed resulting in a tragedy of war: How then shall our own faith be judged by the future?

Friday, October 14, 2016

Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 128

The suitcase we carry with us containing clothes of our past weighs to stoop shoulders, to bow the spine, to make every step into the future, the sliding drag of the infirmed and old. Leave it behind. 

Sunday, October 9, 2016

Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 127

The clay pot of skull that holds the mind is soon shattered in the competitions of politics. These sad politicians seeking salvation by an acquisition of power over others; if taken seriously, break brains.

Saturday, October 8, 2016

Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 126

All grows dim in a winter twilight. A slate-black glow from sinking Sun is serving to illuminate deserted walks emptied by dusk; street-lamps igniting to sulphur fires giving to asphalt pavements a violet hue.

Wednesday, October 5, 2016

Blue Sun Series:Confluence: Verse 125

Pewter waves rolling into shore spliced by white plumes of spray, singeing the air with the smell of salt. A fine October day, clean, crisp and with the tang-snap of cold to come; it will prove to be a long Winter.

Tuesday, October 4, 2016

Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 124

Serrated city, cut with violence, Chicago sits in fear of tomorrow, of what comes silent stalking on the morrow. Winds push, lean against thin buildings; to prison those who peer out upon crackling clouds. 

Sunday, October 2, 2016

Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 123

Aluminum skies merge with seas in gray-blue annealing light this dawn; neither sky nor sea distinct, mist rolling forwards in white waves, obscuring everything; even the Sun seems dimmed, diminished.

Saturday, October 1, 2016

Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 122

The great brave words that so thrill the soul and activate the spirit are scare spoken now; instead, one gets gibes from petty politicians who desecrate the past to make a mockery of the nobility of the dead.


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