While the universe is ever-expanding
life on earth becomes even more demanding
despite a few one or two
world-shattering improvements
man is still wallowing
in the proverbial primordial
and if this road he insists on following
our future looks severely bleak
as where once we were happy winning
we're now all on a losing streak
yet history has taught him nothing
that and his memory is short
no thanks to his stupidity
between rocks on a hard place we are caught
but what about our children
those innocents who go unsung
there's not a lot for them to look forward to
that bell can't be unrung
as the genie is out of the bottle
what with plastic and fossil fuels
here's one last thought
I'm glad I won't be around to witness
the final endgame result
of what we silly fools hath wrought
No matter what you think or do
That bell you know, does toll for you
Once unrung, it never rings true
The past is done, the die's been cast
Phony claims, cannot ever last
Glad that time has finally past
Walk carefully where you have tread
Look far ahead, deny the dread
Right the wrongs, those things left unsaid
How did you ever fall off track
Some clamor, thinking to go back
Should you return, you'll get no slack
79 words 12 lines
monorhyming triplets
For the rush of water through pipes
For the sounds of Saviour's screaming
For the gentle touch of night
It is a play toy for madmen
With children's voices silenced
Listen
For a door silently closing
A neighbor's defiant cry
Or a baby weeping in the sullen
darkness
Listen
For the unrung phone
For spiders crawling
Across yesterday's destiny
For a drunkard's slurred voice
When he falls
Listen
For the knocking of souls
And the plaudits of martyrs
Silenced
Age is just a number,
a countdown of life.
The time of wide-eyed wonder,
to that of conflict and strife.
It is a span of years,
that we think we own.
It is not as it appears,
time is not given, it's a loan.
Striving to live for today,
but still seeking tomorrow.
It is with hope, we pray,
that we find joy, not sorrow.
The young, wish to be older,
hoping time will fly.
Efforts become bolder,
as childhood passes by.
Youth, wasted on the young,
for they are unaware.
Like a bell left unrung,
with no music to share.
Amber of golden flakes wither to a crisp
And green vines slither up the tree's limb.
Hills flourish up around like a wind's cold wisp
That leaves nothing more than this Grim.
Wrenched cries have eternalized
Its great wrath to say the very least.
How must this loving soul be fertilised?
For faults subsided have been released.
Vast gray savannas gloom the soul's tongue.
Rolling fogs cross lands, fearing nothing to bloom.
A deep abyss that cleanses your minds of gloom,
Fork the everglades to trench the spirit unrung.
A wise elm tree of branches sprout out
To a lovely painted sky in a mass of clouds.
Treasures granted to surprise in no doubt
Carnaging every figure it endures and allows.
Freeing the birds grip of the electric wire
And easing a great love that you conspire.
How many more were there to forecast?
Though these were the things that passed.
The pretty girl of lace
And her intruding pace,
Cowers and lovingly completes her task
Covering an adorning face under that mask.
A continuing motion forces the views:
A faint dash of green paint upon the grass.
To the lazy lemon tree dropping tangy dews
That caresses a taste of tongue I could use.
To my right holds art strung in the hands
Of a dear with curling locks of licorice.
Buying the thought she surely commands,
She knows all else but her is gibberish.
Upon arrival to the house under a hill,
A youthful Japanese-Maple has sprung.
Surrounded in a barrier of grass embroidering
A beige cast that glooms your mood unrung.
Yet these treasures wont stay for everlast,
These were the things that passed.
To sing the unsung melody;
To ring the unrung bell ??…
Amidst the hungry poets
Starved and naked with pens poised …
To be awake amongst the sleeping;
To feel rain that has sobbed itself dry;
To the archer with only a toy arrow
He will come by and by …!
( Naomi Rainbow )
I've since forgotten nearly now
All my schooling, my meditations
I am where I am, my tracks all gone
Gurus, the sentients, seers, sages
Enlightened speakers through the ages
Only conclusions, refrains remain
I hear loud voices along the way
Their slogans, sayings, mere repetitions
Arguments of logic: Descartes, Sartre
Shadowy souls of philosophy past
Silent statues sounding shallow words
In corridors of museums of thought
Feeling a self-imposed island
Then who to turn to, except myself
Comforts of ego, identity once known
Deception consumes my reality
It's lonely here - onliest here
The place of no illusion, no paths
Letting go, one of the toughest things
Cannot say what benefits it brings
My trail, my wake, has dissipated
No one to see my self dissolution
Allay fears, dry my tears, prod my peers
This, the unique uncommon moment
Now is the time for my commitment
Observing for me has long been done
Every solitary step: best be brave
The ringing bell can't be unrung
Reality's song can't be unsung
Reality has no forward or back
No such thing as time, only being
Just me to face, the onliest place
10/20
1.
“FOR whom the bell tolls…?
COVID death toll rises…
Bells can’t be unrung…
2.
Passover full moon…
CORONA VIRUS lurking…
Facemasks ape closed doors
3.
CORONAVIRUS…
Graphic death curve flattening;
Death toll still rises…
My heart is bursting
We've got the worse thing
The ups and downs.
These types of feelings
The wanting the yearning
The bleeding it's the real thing
The reeling a love Jones
Unrung phone the deal
The time on the line
Spin on the dime
Trying for a start
Hoping to touch your heart
We're both hoping for
A start I'm thinking
You're thinking no
Pretending its nothing
Off the subject
Search the beginning
of the relationship
The edge of the page
There are no strings
Oh, how we've aged
So we rave this is
Something a rollercoaster
Of emotions can't be
Up staged the reeling
The feeling a thirsting
The bursting the jerking
And lurching its working
We're slowing the first thing
Back to the beginning
We're wiser and knowing
When I’ve gone
to the place
where my fathers’
have gone before me
and the last tribute
has been paid to my memory,
may my singing words
crack the silence with clanging echoes.
May the clanging echoes
excite starving eyes
and taut wrinkled eardrums—
both to awareness—
guiding them
to actions of liberation
yet to come.
May clanging echoes
wake-up sleeping souls suffering
uncertainties of tyrannical rule,
slobbering from political absurdities,
drooling from mouths of misguided evil
diagnostic odysseys—peddling false hope
to precariously lost wanderers.
May my clanging echoes echo ringing
bells of freedom that can’t be unrung:
“Oh death where is thy sting?”
“Oh grave, where is thy victory?”
Poets will die;
but the ringing chords
of their words will live long lives:
Echoing clanging echoes…
I revisit the Sound of Silence
Every now and again
To recover my lost Zen
And to try and reach down deep inside
And find my quiet place within.
It is hard to shut down my mind.
When the chaos of my thoughts
Rage eternally inside
Like the powerful forces of a hurricane.
But even from within
The great storm’s eye
There can be quiet from the din
Where a certain silence doth reside.
Inside, inside, inside.
It’s the sound of silence that I crave
Like the darkness of a cave
Like the quietness of a sacred bell
Unrung above the Nave.
Waiting to be rung
It’s melody perfectly unsung,
But waiting for its much desired release.
Copyright Christine A Kysely 2010 November 26, 2010
(c) Copyright 2010 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved