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Architect

My 4th trisect poem, inspired by none other than the Lego building blocks system. Segment one depicts the building blocks themselves. Segment two depicts the various creations that can be made from those building blocks. And segment three depicts the imaginative play involved in making those creations.

Architect

The Elements

Modeled after brick and stone,
the cinderblocks and dolomites
that long have kept our ancient homes
half hidden from the crush of night,

a simple notion binds itself to form
in varied shapes of molded polymers
that—scattered out like remnants of a ruin—
tease the mind with possibilities.

Quarried from the realm of thought,
hewn from enigmatic veins,
abundant with the priceless ore
of nascent creativity,

each hollow cube is made to interlock
with all the many others of its kind,
magic puzzle pieces crafted such
that they will build whatever comes to mind.
 

Of Invention

Imagination rises up
to form a towered ring of walls,
ramparts crowned with parapets
that guard a nest of dens and halls.

Or simple village structures manifest
from deep within the wells of memory,
little homes around a market place,
a chapel standing quaintly in the midst.

Bridges arch above the spread
of nonexistent waterways;
modern superstructures scrape
against conceptions of the sky.

Even ships from other worlds emerge
to travel all throughout the universe,
forever redesigned in the docks
of varied moon or planetary bases.
 

At Play

Individual colors snap
together in a bold array,
absorbed into a growing sense
of cognizance and clarity.

Nimble fingers probe and rearrange
impressionist expressions of the mind,
each sculpture an accomplished masterpiece
comprised of cubist rectangles and squares.

Walls and rooftops recombine
as various disasters strike;
rigs develop stronger frames,
evolving after every wreck.

Experimental joists and joints explore
the art of bearing loads and distribution,
each new creation more elaborate,
expanding with the will to learn and grow.

When the segment subtitles are joined together, you have “The elements of invention at play.” This wasn’t by accident.

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Disparity

This was written as I reflected on some of the stark disparities between myself and a well-known poet and musician, Leonard Cohen. I would actually sing a lot of my poems, if I could. There is a problem with my throat that prevents me from being able to explore that side of my craft. This problem also makes it difficult for me to recite my poems at poetry readings.

Disparity

i’ve never seen such a cross
between whisk and wood
rod and rood

your words portray such
longing for the very thing
in your arms

what drove you to spatter
prolific patterns of thought
into sylleptic song

was it really the tenderness
you found beneath blue skirts
or was it g-ds

no i have a feeling it was just
the same old question
that manifests us all

stranger we both wear black
yours stylish and dapper
mine rotting and threadbare

and stranger we both bear songs
yours in starbucks cafes
mine hushed dead in my throat

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Three Ravens

This, my 3rd trisect poem, is the second of four related poems that each connect with a powerful dream I had in 2001. The other three, in the order they were written, are “oak dream,” “markers,” and “oak touch.”

The dream itself is pretty well laid out in “markers.” Some of the experiences surrounding the dream are talked about in “oak touch.” This poem focuses specifically on the three raven representations that occur within the dream.

Three Ravens

Likeness

a shadow-figure bounces limb to limb
dropped from high within a lobe-leafed crown
to settle in sere blades of weedy grass

cast from a dreamtime archetype
with lifelike detailed lifelessness
the image shines absorbing light

motionless by roots that vanish deep
it stares face-up awaiting scrutiny
with all the passion of an obelisk

no hint of air disturbs its place
those steady strands that broke its fall
as if to catch a secret prize
 

Presence

concealed in part by leaf and limb
a single pair of talons scratch
against imperfect plates of bark

a shard of rough obsidian regards
the hidden topside of a sturdy branch
where unseen from the ground an icon lures

all that stirs the careful air
is feathered curiosity
that taps and probes a private find

shelled by billowed tufts of nimbus green
the living marker cocks desultory glances
working to unlock its mystery
 

Metamorphosis

human arms reach out to merge with wings
that beat and glide within a canyon formed
by sprawling concrete towers gray with age

human legs press back against the quills
that turn their flight down narrow lanes of stone
led by blindsight to a courtyard park

and here within there stands and spreads
the only living structure found
amidst this city lost to time
amid the dreamscapes of the mind

and in the shade of gaze and bough
one hand holds a figurine
that splits along its downy breast
where silver light shines from its depths

The three representations of the raven are as follows:

First, explored in segment three, was myself. In the dream I was part raven, part my normal human self. What made this especially intense is that I flew with those great raven wings from the outskirts of the city to its central park where the old oak grew.

Second, explored in segment two, was an actual raven, perched high in that same oak.

Third, explored in segment one, was a raven figurine, dropped by the raven from high within the massive old oak. Near the end of the dream, as I began to fly up into the branches of the oak to see what that raven was fiddling with, it nudged this undefined object over the edge of the branch it was on. I flew back down to investigate, and found it to be a raven figurine. As I studied it, in all its miniature feathered realism, its chest split open to reveal a light-emitting cross within.