Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 78

Voice in the head;
But fear in the throat,
And then nothing gets said.
Words are dictated to oneself
By oneself. If the words are true,
They born seed in verse to flower
Into poetry. If words are common,
They'll fall into prose, a meaner art.

Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 77

We have become a split people
Of a difference. A divide between
Us has occurred. Maybe an evolution;
Maybe a devolution, and maybe both.
Half of us belong and cling to the past.
Half pursue and aspire to the future.
But. None now belong to the present.

Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 76

Amoeba, that's eating away at the Will
Of the Nation is avarice; is the fat slug
Of the grub for greed, is the tapeworm
Of ambition for immediate possession;
For the here and now, that diminishes;
That makes small; that starves venture
For further, ever further for the farther
Far Frontiers.

Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 75

The significance is everything.
Though what we do appears
Without purpose, looks absent
From all reason, devoid of logic;
What is in us gradually shall
Advance to the fore; then,
A revelation happens as
We become who we are.

Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 74

Lust and greed, avarice of desire,
Drive the politics of the nation.
Politicians will speak of change
While voters sleep unawares.
Arguments among the parties
Engaged in politics are skewed
To determine which castes will
Rule to control the peoples.

Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 73

Strawberry moon, berry red,
Shining in the short night of
Solstice colors the river in
Winter, smears it in blood;
As slow cascades of silent
Black waves slash on its
Snow-filled white shores,
Sounding a warning crash
To no one there in the dark.

Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 72

It burns you. It consumes you.
Visions of works you still got to do.
The songs. The poems. Those films
There still there hiding in the head.
Growing larger. Crowding together.
Pushing forward waiting to be born.

Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 71

Purpose of life is:
To bend Time; to
Fold it, to sustain
Chords from Past
Into a far Future.
If what we did in
Life has relevance
To generations to
Come; has impact,
Life wasn't wasted.

Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 70

In a strange place
In a strange time,
Pale light from a gold
Moon, shines in slivers;
In cold silver, chaining,
Night to sleep; locking in,
Far distant suns of vision;
Tangling in ropes of doubt:
What are we, but dreams?

Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 69

Deserted woods,
Silent of voice of birds;
A Land of Death.
Nothing moves here.
Nothing stirs here.
Desert of desiccation;
Dry trees droop
In limbs bare of leaf;
Broken branches.
We started as Hope;
We have ended up
As being Despair.

Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 68

Light-stepping man,
Gravity of care eludes
You now. It will all change.
Burden of responsibility shall
Weigh you down. You'll soon
Shall see your father in your
Mirror whenever you'll shave.
You've become your own ghost.

Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 67

Education is an erasure of everything;
Of those tools that could set us free.
Taught to have our faith in a State
That never has cared for us; except
As vessels for exploitation, to use,
To serve for its imperial needs.
We've forgotten of our own;
To be WE.

Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 66

Scales upon our eyes
Are cataracts of faiths
Blinding, depriving us
Of vision. What seems
So obvious to believers;
To zealots of the faiths;
Appears to us distorted,
As astigmatic to reality.
To other observers; to
Outsiders, to outcasts
From belief: Step back.
Stop. Pause. Consider.
We live in dangerous times.

Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 65

The cavity of doubt
Is drilled by experience;
Is abscessed, impacted,
By any promising a truth
Not provable by reason.
Non-verified statement
Eats away at the enamel
Of logic; tries to crumble it,
Seeks to destroy it; till all
That is left of life is Fear.

Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 64

Revelation spawns new civilizations,
By giving birth to hope for humanity;
For that which has been made known
To ourselves by and from ourselves;
Bypassing the strictures of societies,
Is that what makes for the future. 

Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 63

To the dead we owe deliverance;
To those who've gone before us,
Bearing their pains of existence,
Enduring it, without complaints,
As to how cruel unfair all of it is.
They did it for us, our ancestors;
They, who were our forebears.

Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 62

Spell tomorrow
By the magic of our yesterdays.
The relay race of civilization is run,
By passing the baton of experience
To our successors; in handing it over.
Our day is done and they shall carry
It forward. What was will always be
If the pace is still kept.

Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 61

Groan for this Nation of the Night.
It's been given over to dark walkers.
It needs no Moon for them to see by;
For, in their silent trudging, head bent
Forward and down, deafness stepping;
Not knowing each other, ignoring each
Other; they glide through life by a thin
Light from off their beaming cell phone.

Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 60

Sculpture your verse to make it be
Electric in memory. Poetry should
Look good as well as sound good.
The more senses it engages and
Elicits, the more powerful it is.
Words should smell and taste.
Words ought move and dance.
Meaning is last.

Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 59

To have a validity;
To have good logic in your opinion,
Facts must be sought, must be known;
Must be stated in a format, promoting
Fostering perception of the argument.
The obscure is an excuse for meaningless;
So say it always in the common tongue.
Not like this.

Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 58

Word may make for Flesh,
Because absent words,
There is no humanity.
But beneath both Word and Flesh
Is the very same Number
And beneath that Number
Is the Void, from which The Three:
Word and Flesh and Number, spring.
Beneath Void, there is The Nothingness;
The No-Thing. It is that which makes the rest.

Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 57

We're all of us
Born too soon;
Way before our time.
If only we'd been born later;
Then, maybe, just maybe,
We would perhaps, have been recognized; Maybe lauded for what we truly were. But. Maybe not.

Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 56

There are prime people.
There are sub-prime people.
There are they who can and do;
Have great credit, are creative.
There are they who said they could;
Who said they would; got bad credit,
And those are the real Americans;
Like us.