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Showing posts from July, 2009

Must We ? (Revised)

Must We? Standing on the hard ground of my own center I have discarded the desire to prove myself right. In a similar, yet vastly more strenuous task, I have wrenched away from my heart the choice called; prove others wrong. What is this need for evidence? How does proof, prove anything? Are we better for it? Without previous malice in his heart, our brother, after reading scripture, has been instructed to hurl a stone at his sister. Someone “wiser” than he, has told him it must be this way. I find it odd, scary, frightening even, that our sister, filled with anger fueled by years of violent hatred, can read the same scripture, and choose to put down the brick, that she had already intended to heave at her brother. I ask you, is this an example of proper evidence, for either behavior? Let’s be honest here. Do we really need some document, historic, sacred, profane or otherwise to tell us what we already know? Simply put, why waste our time looking for justification to bash each other

In the Middle of Central (Revised)

In the Middle of Central Gracious and grand convenient and central. Spacious. Splendid. Station. Busier than, ... (sorry) Swarming pan-directional legions. Thousands swell to tens of thousands. Myriads of wasps from the ivory towers above mingle with the phalanx of army ants from the canyons below A tsunami of work-a-day burst through every door. North. East. South. West. They come! They Crowd! They mass! 5:03 Flash Mob, five days a week. They are HERE! Shuffle step, one forward, two to the right tightly bound still fiercely independent forage they must the tunnels of ordinary sameness; Lackawanna, Chappaqua, Mahopac, Webatuck, Naugatuck, Wappingers Falls, Ossining, Matamoras! Departing in two minutes! Close, so very close. Too close. Aqua- Velva mixes with Chanel shaken and stirred, trenchant, pedestrian, urban sweat! Throngingly, the mobile mosh pit must run Boob to back & nut to butt, daily they make their quest for home.

The Way of Verse 21 (Revised)

The way of verse 21 Those who proclaim to know the way have obliterated it, and become lost. The delicate weave of a spider’s web carried on the breeze rewards the patient ones with beauty. Unraveling that which is already complete, the luminous hues of delicate tapestry transfigures into useless chaotic threads. The unskilled attempt to build more of what is already too much. Skill innovates from the not yet imagined. Surrounded by the present. The empty, the not present, the infinite void caresses the midwife of creation. It is common to name a child at birth. Can we be certain that the Name is water for a seed and not the first death knell sounding? Every day we murder each other in dispute over ideas. Time now, for some ideas to die.

A Scorcher (revised)

A Scorcher I sweat Ahelgany and Monongahela scorch down my face. My lungs toil as woefully inadequate bellows enslaved in the blacksmith's forge. Air is exchanged Breathing but a memory, as the Sun continues its aggressive  interrogation. My body blunted in somber devotion chisels fiery granite blocks of heat with each lethargic step I take. Pressed to my brow water and rocks fill the goblet. Precious droplets of well chilled soothing elixir Water. More precious than Sovereigns. More intoxicating than Absynthe. Truckee and Shasta resuscitate my soul.

Random? (revised)

Random? none empty one two Three, six sixty-four Stardust from the elders wraps a delicate living thread of yarrow. unnoticed. Powerful. weaving together the disregarded past into now. At harvest they were lemon green yellow. Coarse to the touch flexible. Through my fingers they run, stiff rose petal soft after two decades of hard labor. Fortuity engages serendipity. The fifty yarrow stalks and my mind in elegant precision dance right hand to left hand and back again. Synchronizing the treasure of the ancestors into the now. Assimilated. Seeding metamorphosis. Turbulent water above Calm still mountain below Thirty-nine Swift rapids rushing obstacles The mountain must focus remain still in active silent watching ever changing flow. one empty none Note: The time honored casting of the Yi Jing while typically done with a simple and expedient coin toss, has for thousands of years been done through the manipulation of fifty thin stalks made of yarrow. In the poem the hexagram is number thir

In the Middle of Central

In the Middle of Central Gracious and grand convenient and central Spacious. Splendid. Station. Busier than, ... (sorry, unavoidable) Swarming pan-directional legions. Thousands swell to tens of thousands. Myriads of wasps from the ivory towers above mingle with the phalanx of army ants from the canyons below A tsunami of work-a-day burst through every door. North. East. South. West. They come! They Crowd! They mass! 5:03 Flash Mob, five days a week. They are HERE! Shuffle step, one forward, two to the right tightly bound still fiercely independent. forage they must the tunnels of ordinary sameness; Lackawanna, Chappaqua, Mahopac, Webatuck, Naugatuck, Wappingers Falls, Ossining, Matamoras! Departing in two minutes! Close, so very close. Too close. Aqua- Velva mixes with Channel in delicate melange’. Shaken and stirred, with vibrant sadly memorable, pedestrian, urban sweat! Throngingly, the mobile mosh pit must run Boob to back & nut to butt, daily they make their quest for home.

The way of verse 21

The way of verse 21 Those who proclaim to know the way have obliterated it, and become lost. The delicate weave of a spiders web carried on the breeze rewards the patient ones with beauty. Unraveling that which is already complete, the intricate tapestry transfigures into useless chaotic threads. The unskilled attempt to build more of what is already too much. Skill innovates from the not yet imagined. Surrounded by the present. The empty, the not present, the infinite void caresses the midwife of creation. It is common to name a child at birth. Can we be certain that the Name is water for a seed and not the first coffin nail? Every day we murder each other in dispute over ideas. It is time for some ideas to die instead.

Copyright a new word.

Magnisplendit © : To be magnificent and resplendent at the same time. Moses motored his magnisplendit monorail about the moat. Moly and the Mochacinnos Moses motored his magnispleindit © monorail of molybdenum about the moat in a thoroughly modern fashion. Imbibing his mocha. His mostly monogamous minions moistened their mohawks whilst gaining momentum and moaning of monotonous mobility meandering past the mortuary. Quite moronic were their monocles and their modular monochrome mohair motorcycles. Magnisplendit © is a a copyrighted work of art. Copyright © 2009 William A. York. All rights reserved.

Math Poem

Calculus at 7 am Smoosh and smash Push, even Frenetic button bash Busy, ... d/dx = 29 cos(5 ∏ + 3) Cold creaminess mixed with crisp crunchiness morning cereal. Too early for tasting The last woman’s scent screams out at me from the pages of QA 152.3.K44 2008 Musk of dank mildew Rough, unkempt, cheap paper scratches at my finger tips Tappity-tappity only, lonely sound in the empty library Fresh sheet Clean green engineer paper 3. d/dx = 29 cos(5 ∏ + 3)

Poem: A Scorcher

A Scorcher I sweat Ahelgany and Monongahela scorch down my face. My lungs toil as woefully inadequate bellows enslaved in the blacksmith's forge. Air is exchanged Breathing but a memory, as the Sun continues its aggressive  interrogation. My body a blunt lethargic chisel carves out with somber devotion hot iridescent granite blocks of heat with each step I take. Pressed to my brow water and rocks fill the goblet. Precious droplets of well chilled soothing elixir resuscitate my soul. Water. More precious than Sovereigns. More intoxicating than Absynthe. Sigh.