Stagnation

When the river dries and bed is bare
And into the night sky for the thousandth time stare
When the summit’s attained and the prize is gained
What’s left?

Should one seek new heights and more apexes to touch
More chasms to cross or rivers to ford
Records to break, increase the stakes
or bring recklessness to the fore?

Is the value in adventure or finishing the quest?
Is it fighting the war or the wisdom of regret?
Each achievement mundane, drudgery in the sane
Yet pleasure abounding, accounts for nothing
Because novelty falls in pattern again

To assent, to dissent, rejoice or lament
Ecstasy or agony, order and anarchy
Makes no difference, all is unified at a distance
Neither pattern or chaos succeeds to arouse
Nothing profound, nothing astounds
Everywhere, somewhere, nowhere; ‘don’t care
Can’t titillate, can’t stimulate, just dissipate, stagnate.

Keats
01-13-09

Adamantine

Here I am in the dark, unseen
I, myself am dark, of rotten composition,
Cannot tell which way is up
Unknown is my position

Deep, dark, deposited, down
Burried beneath bedrock bunkers
Pressed—pressures piling
Waiting, wondering, when will wasting wane?

Futher pressing, crushing constricting
Finding no line to traverse
But into my universe
No way out but in
Turning squeezing, turning changing
From coal to crystalline
Brittle to adamantine

Born of tribulation
Son of adversity
Conceived while rotten
(Brittle black)
Born non-living, hard
Sparkling
Adamantine

Remnants of life
Further killed
Crushed to indestructibility
Adamantine

Inflexible, unbending
Obdurate, adamant
Undaunting
Coldness and lifeless
Haunting

Born from death
Thing of no breath
Thing of beauty (eerie)
Personification of dead immortality

False immortality
Preserved in death
Suspended animation
Life and death in contention

But nothing endures forever
The horizon can be reached
Wine ceases improving
Quality declines
Remains rot
Fire burns away
Metal tarnishes or gathers rust
Adamantine cleaves and turns to dust

(Kedge) Keats
2 Jan 1999

Sparkle

Heaven’s melancholy
A teardrop dries
A goddess’ tears, held here

From deep darkness to open light
Taken from the pit of night
Precious value concealed
From all but a seeking eye

Whatever the substance
No matter the cut
All brilliance is worth naught
In the dark, in a box,
Not one quid, not one buck

What beauty is there with no eyes to admire?
What value is there with no heart to desire?
What is a sparkle in the absence of light?
Where is the glimmer in the dead of night?

Bring out the gem let it be stole
For in the dark ‘tis no better than coal
Let beauty be admired and value desired
For while a thing of beauty lasts forever
Beauty is wasted if appreciated never

Keats
03-08-09

North Star

Awoken rudely by drops of rain
Stiff and sore I loathe this pain
Out cold for hours, still heavy with sleep
Yet I feel no rest, adrift in the deep

The scorching sun has baked my skin
Body and soul have both worn thin
The salty spray has filled my lungs
My bottle’s dry my ration’s gone

The only hope to my salvation
Is my inept skill at navigation
Only Polaris is my guide
But on this raft I cannot steer, I ride

What good it does me is that I know
Where the tide brings me with it’s ebb and flow
I know not, if the shore be near or far
But I know it’s straight, so says the North Star

Keats
07-16-09

Prince

I am a prince, privileged not common
In a snap my servants I summon
Finery I have, palace, clothes, servants, wine
Yet they are my father's, they are not mine
Without him my title fades
For all a prince is, is a scion of a king.

Yet, of course I have intrinsic worth
Provided by nobility of birth
Royal blood in veins of blue
But in this pool of marble and floating petals
My nakedness shows me I am but mortal

Surely none else can enjoy my courts
Only those of my status may promenade
In the ballroom, the garden, the colonnade
Servants may never meet my gaze
For to them I am a demigod displayed

Yet princes there are of a higher tier
With whom I'm not even a peer
The crown prince of the empire I call sire
Though he calls me 'Lord prince' I'm seen as a squire

Pfah! Away with trappings away with names
Without which we are all the same
I seek a dignity beyond my office
I seek the validation of my own conscience

Pathetic cur, creature of discontent
No songs of joy, merely dirges of lament
Better the peasants such joy in their frolic
No palace, no servants, no titles, no courts
Just simple existence and a joy of sorts

Where am I to be? Where is there to go?
What is there to see? What is there to know?
I'm a solitary naked soul
Just a hollow, a void, a hole

Keats
04-04-09