Poetry is best in its omission.
It's in all those spaces that
Makes for splits, for jumps;
Empty spaces in every line that
Mirrors arcane symbols of maths
Underlying existence.
It's what not's there
That makes what's here;
What makes for the Real
For the True; for enduring.
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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
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.
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
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
Friday, October 28, 2016
Tuesday, October 25, 2016
Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 134
The skies judge us with its grays,
Its blues, its violets, and with
Its sometimes reds; they sentence us
To crimson salmons for the pollutions
Of our lives, which all together make
For such grand and glorious sunsets:
Purity is often overrated.
Its blues, its violets, and with
Its sometimes reds; they sentence us
To crimson salmons for the pollutions
Of our lives, which all together make
For such grand and glorious sunsets:
Purity is often overrated.
Thursday, October 20, 2016
Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 133
Brave speech, if bravely spoken,
Is what expression is all about;
Words composed in a rhythm
That'll cause a sunshine squint
In the eyes of its audiences.
Music of Verse burrows in brains;
Digs inside, way before they'll know
They've been invaded by Poetry.
Is what expression is all about;
Words composed in a rhythm
That'll cause a sunshine squint
In the eyes of its audiences.
Music of Verse burrows in brains;
Digs inside, way before they'll know
They've been invaded by Poetry.
Tuesday, October 18, 2016
Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 132
Sit. Be still. Stifle your indignation.
Scolds of the day can be carried,
With a pause, with an easy slight
Shrug of shoulders, or by a silent
Recognition; by the inclination of
The head; by bows to a mediocrity.
Stop to consider these critics lead
Metered lives; lives, ticketed for a
Boredom; for existences parked in
Zombie formations. In frozen time.
Scolds of the day can be carried,
With a pause, with an easy slight
Shrug of shoulders, or by a silent
Recognition; by the inclination of
The head; by bows to a mediocrity.
Stop to consider these critics lead
Metered lives; lives, ticketed for a
Boredom; for existences parked in
Zombie formations. In frozen time.
Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 131
Cold blue steel sky.
Unchanging weather.
No clouds. Just that big
Blind cataract Sun,
Glaring down at the city.
Don't see us. Don't care for us.
Don't even know we're here.
One-eyed blind stare.
War is coming soon.
Unchanging weather.
No clouds. Just that big
Blind cataract Sun,
Glaring down at the city.
Don't see us. Don't care for us.
Don't even know we're here.
One-eyed blind stare.
War is coming soon.
Saturday, October 15, 2016
Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 130
In that same worrisome way
We always have in thinking
Of all our troubles to come
Trampling on the morrow;
Yet with all of that anxiety,
With all that foreboding fear;
Still, still, we had our yesterdays,
And I have your smile. Still.
We always have in thinking
Of all our troubles to come
Trampling on the morrow;
Yet with all of 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:
It looked inevitable,
It seemed almost fated,
When viewed from the
Precipice of the present.
How could such actions happen;
Such belief in some moral superiority,
Again, resulting in the tragedy of war?
How then will our own fate be judged
When at mercy in courts of the future.
It seemed almost fated,
When viewed from the
Precipice of the present.
How could such actions happen;
Such belief in some moral superiority,
Again, resulting in the tragedy of war?
How then will our own fate be judged
When at mercy in courts of the future.
Friday, October 14, 2016
Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 128
That suitcase we carry with us
Containing clothes of our past
Weighs to stoop our shoulders,
As it bows to bend the spine;
Making each step into the future,
The sliding drag of the infirmed
And the heavy halt of the old.
Drop it. Leave it behind.
Containing clothes of our past
Weighs to stoop our shoulders,
As it bows to bend the spine;
Making each step into the future,
The sliding drag of the infirmed
And the heavy halt of the old.
Drop it. 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 by
The stupidity of politics.
These sad politicians, in
Seeking a salvation, by
Acquisition of powers
Over others; if we ever
Were to take seriously,
Will break our brains.
That holds the mind
Is soon shattered by
The stupidity of politics.
These sad politicians, in
Seeking a salvation, by
Acquisition of powers
Over others; if we ever
Were to take seriously,
Will break our brains.
Saturday, October 8, 2016
Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 126
All grows to dim in a winter twilight.
A slate-black glow from sinking Sun
Serves to illuminate deserted walks,
Emptied by dusk; street-lamps ignite:
Sulfur fires giving to a city's asphalt
Pavements a violet and violent hue.
A slate-black glow from sinking Sun
Serves to illuminate deserted walks,
Emptied by dusk; street-lamps ignite:
Sulfur fires giving to a city's asphalt
Pavements a violet and violent 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 smell of salt.
A fine November day, clean, crisp,
With a tang-snap of cold to come.
It shall prove to be a long Winter.
Spliced by white plumes of spray
Singeing the air with smell of salt.
A fine November day, clean, crisp,
With a tang-snap of cold to come.
It shall prove to be a long Winter.
Tuesday, October 4, 2016
Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 124
Serrated city, sliced by violence,
Sits frozen in fear of tomorrow,
Of what comes silent, stalking
Upon its streets. Winds push,
Lean against thin buildings; to
Prison those who've peered out
Behind their cracked blinds,
On gray, on crackling clouds,
Laced with lightning strikes;
Peering down on the stark,
Deserted, empty avenues,
Below.
Sits frozen in fear of tomorrow,
Of what comes silent, stalking
Upon its streets. Winds push,
Lean against thin buildings; to
Prison those who've peered out
Behind their cracked blinds,
On gray, on crackling clouds,
Laced with lightning strikes;
Peering down on the stark,
Deserted, empty avenues,
Below.
Sunday, October 2, 2016
Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 123
Aluminum sky merges with sea
In the gray-blue annealing light
Of the dawn. Neither sky nor sea,
Yet distinct; mist rolling forwards
In white wave, obscures the view.
Everything slows down; and even
The Sun seems dimmed, far away:
Diminished.
In the gray-blue annealing light
Of the dawn. Neither sky nor sea,
Yet distinct; mist rolling forwards
In white wave, obscures the view.
Everything slows down; and even
The Sun seems dimmed, far away:
Diminished.
Saturday, October 1, 2016
Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 122
Those great brave words
That so thrilled the soul,
That activated the spirit,
Are scarce spoken now;
Instead, one hears gibes
From the petty politicians
Who desecrate the past;
Who've made a mockery
Of the nobility of the dead.
That so thrilled the soul,
That activated the spirit,
Are scarce spoken now;
Instead, one hears gibes
From the petty politicians
Who desecrate the past;
Who've made a mockery
Of the nobility of the dead.
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WILLIAM O'CONNOR
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