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Lofty Incantations in drear morning light

May 14, 2013

I have written many poems over the last couple of years as part of some of these silly internet poetry games where we are assigned topics each day in a designated month — & sometimes I have even have written some real “poems” in these exercises.

But the most strange & beautiful poems I have written have been those that I suddenly spoke as I lay awake at night, so beautiful & strange that I did not think of writing them down, & then in the morning they vanished.  I am reminded of Allen Ginsberg’s words, “… who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations which in the drear light of morning were stanzas of pure gibberish…”

Yet — & yet — these poems festered inside me, like a splinter gathering pus, like a cancer summoning recruits.  Sometimes those lines come back to me while reading some poet, or while pondering the thoughts of a dead philosopher or mythical saint, or while walking at sunset along the briny beach, or when I held Clea, or Lisa, or someone whose real name I never knew, in my arms.

Certainly it is hard for us to find this track of the divine in the midst of this life we lead, in this mundane, empty life of of spiritual blindness, its cold architecture, its rapacious business, its corrupt politics, its clueless people going about their aimless business.

This, of course, includes me.  I haven’t written in months.


From → Ponderings, Prompts

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