Monday, August 25, 2014

Spake the Sagicorn

The Sagicorn explored the known worlds as he grew in magic and wisdom
At times the hourglass of his soul in collapsing spin or endless meaningless fall
Cubes of crystal, his ethereal blood stopped higher time as
their corners held apart yet blocked the Now at its smallest aperture

Not even the SphereFather he overthrew in the former era
phase of dark stars could reverse the hour, tag and mark the bells by
wishful intervention, that it made a difference,even given a
secret name only former gods remembered

In these times of wingless horns and broken vanished arrows pointing everywhere yet
Nowhere, as if the steeples on his one lonely
former world when he was part of the godhead
Exploring gods and idols in the universe and goat eaten Quinadad

Integrating his quest and life through time his endless beach became a fjord and fjords
He himself a giant now but a forgotten name carved on stone, a sleeping dwarf
Could only dream in packets of themes between the dark or now beyond the stars
Of what he had seen

As SphereDream,back when, his brother SphereChrist long vanished,
a bottleneck of the changing sea itself,
thus the measure of the year, no year zero before or afterward

No SphereGhost, save empty echoes to comfort him
no SphereVirgin, fertile mare maid caught in the tidal pool
to journey with him

So it came to pass at this point in time he dreamt of the Academy in Far Rock'a'bye,
the philosophers gathered
debating the origin of language where this time around
Sagicorn just listened as he had learned to mimic deeply
the songs of sea birds, parrots, and empty wide eyed night owls
So something gained for himself of their spectrum of intelligence

"They were wrong," he thought as he left the city
"There are two ancient languages. The first is the rune-like
carving and names of trees also recorded as numbers 
Tally-marks storing trades as replete as stored frozen sunlight in the stores
of corn so soon again but firewood

The other heated, wet wedges worked on clay and like the
names of former Pharaohs to be broken to fill the
columns of great cities of the new regimes,
these surrounded by clay, a seal if broken
the truth of commerce could be revealed

Inspired by cycles of the stars a Pharaoh's code and calendar as if god given design
yet before the written word and warbler's finer eyes
Ten thousand years the desert dwellers told of one among the fixed stars
that traveled half the bowl of the canopy of heaven "

Sagicorn so much the lesser god of ice lands and ghostly dreams so seemed
back then, a warm volcanic fire in retrospect, he felt sorrow
looking back at the spires of his beloved central city then understood the source of his sorrow.

"It is not that I will find her beyond the darkening skies down the endless beach
beyond, but that I must leave her again..."

* * *  * * * *
From the Journal of the Sagicorn  (written in the ancient flower language)

We can ask but few can do more than begin to explain deeper properties in simple isolated and almost solid the substance of numbers.
We memorize fifteen sums before we can combine them with ease, addition in our heads. 15 x 15 = 225 and some intuitive ghosts in the background like place holders, the need for space as well to stand on dust.
Such things perhaps only the women come close to raw creativity, she one with her creative sea and real the sense of loss that gives or gains what in almost vanishing uncertainty she keeps of joy or sorrow letting go her children or they that still can be kept to dance within her.

We toy with the superficial wounds reaching out to keep what the world takes back. Our abacus cannot keep up with the wideness of our hearts let alone not stumble into uncertainty. Life is simpler if I do not have to hide my razor blades or keep the candy out of reach of children, but this has a price where once awakening the living, loving, seemed so easy, so common place. That price is our isolation looped again past desires and self blaming angers no story really explains or comforts we close beyond the dance of light shadowed by mystery as if nothingness, as if we by being born have the choice.

* * * 

Sagicorn between Gravity's Avalanche and Time's Quicksand

The quicksand, vanishing strings of dust
over glacial time its fall and the
Discontinuity building, made of sliding snow

Only the winged Sagicorn sleeps through
the earthquakes and the same yet different
Cities foreknown by the afterglow

Of St. Elmo's fire and ball lightning, swamp gas
eight-fold fiddler crabs sift the mud
Through the celestial sphere of glass ice cracks
Riding silver he did soar
as melted, rained down, drams of the holy flood

* * *

His feathers grew feathers web tight or
hollow, vortexes on his wings did follow
Slippery friction in a wake of lotion
parted the fire filled seas of double explosion

Pointed up Leonardo painted up arrow visions
clasped in a hand the seven way cross
SphereChrist, his brother, babe to come and gone
blew entropic songs on his conch shell horn

That shadows vanished as if the Evil One
no longer part of him yet not indifferent beak
His pruning SphereVirgin's down, he black swan
as spirals within spirals probed his magic wand

The world organized itself by its cosmic heartbeat as he
A lamb lost from the strand echoed the conch shell bleats

* * * * 

Sagicorn's Darkest Star

That which is the source, amplified vibration
powers of the negative, yet constant light
Finds unity as levels sought that water rests
open or closed, given or emerging sides of equations
All things summed there, the self-same product
virtual or incarnate dust stepping stones
Through Time's descent in laws of skipping stones
the stem cells recalled, renewing eye teeth

Thus what condenses, division by zero blown up closer
to the naught, endless focus to renormalize
Proves the friend as nature writes and plays her own game
or pretends some ghostly backreaction
Gone nova yet at the creation new made stardust
bacteria, cycled carbon, eat iron whiskers, leave the rust

* * *

So Sagicorn, wind opened from before close behind his drive
met again the paradox, one world or many hived
Wherefore, null the polytope, minus-one a 
law of thermodynamic uncertain proximity
He deeper dreaming asked of future hopes and fears

"I know the way to weave between, among the stars
but a different way of warp and woof, blind to 
all but my speck of spacious Now to know
if these the same still distant place."

So he added the eighth, all seven pointed stars in
the denser dipper, her still the seeker, he, his soul's dark star
Departed quantities and qualities, now the Pe Sla, empty spot
of sky maps we gather in the Black Hills
As all wanderers who wonder that they survived
a pointless trail and trial of tears.

* * * * 
Sagicorn Exhales while SphereVirgins Excel

We are never really separated, no more
than within ourselves or the bonds of lovers
Super-partners, my left, your right, our hearts
SphereVirgin projecting up or down our cradles
prepares by storing light, Milky Way, love handles

Fish tailed this Mare Maiden whose angelic
crown of kelp, festooned glory, wide eyed, too sweet
For in the quantum sea beside her at night
her mumbling grazing goon sleep walks
Sweet nothings, ancient script, incomprehensible
my side of our blurry bond and bed seem confabulations

Both need the kiss, the spark of creation
pocked and furrowed, freckles, craters mirrored
Our one failed dumbbell planet or baby powdered dust
we sometimes fool each other, vapors and
Her color box, made or fixed, span simple formaldehyde
masked, or my empathetic breasts, her beard, plastic
Mimics surface deep, her sea of false tears too

I fall for as she exhales to sink or
inhales to rise, skin diver of soul's salty seas
As I inhale, exhale, we eagles on the wing
clinging in stormy flight, thermal ride the skies
Yet I know as I to her my clown goon speaks
Infers somewhere in dreams we make perfect sense
bonds half touched back like with flesh to share

Sagicorn's Vicarious Snapshot He almost There

All scales need not be all that is scaleless
the lichen and the evergreen on volcanic soil
Make cracks, sharpen the obsidian
plants over the Earth, local yet as not
Mt. Simon spews iridium discontinuities
while in some random string of beads
Poets and stargazers find beauty
of the landscape's song, so gauge wind in the reeds.
That not Abel, cooled lava dust a Lie
nor tree or Druid rings divine lines hidden, lay
Discrete, Abel's color ring a game of fifteen
contiguous continuities touch and slips in between
The Bosos and the Firmen, the ermine or of vair
turn on its head dark spectrum spirits of the air.
* * * 
Christmas at the anti-poles, autumn's spring down under
echoes all around the world, electric thunder
Dry or wet the jets, poles flip, equatorial the seasons
red belt, snow coat - red coat, snow belt
SphereVirginia says yes to Santa Claus as
candy cane candy stripers wear white
Or that the pirates flag are black as giving no quarter
black stripe or red disc of the sun reversed on the
Banners of Japan, black the new red
the general absence of color as
Albania's eagle dreams with a double head.
What then do old me stand on, or feel
by touch the sidewalk's slab pages double flat
Betraying time by broken bones and cursed his cane?

* * * * 
Sagicorn Encounters the Messenger
The Messenger likewise invents himself
we share only the Deus ex Machina, gods descend in a box
But even revealed or fallen angels, the sunrise
the sunset tensions solved, one morning and evening star
The Peacock of a thousand eyes sees as well
through one, compound, near or far
These bootstraps of gravity, and Mork SphereFarmer's shoulder straps
outside anxieties looped and foretold, hailstones in the storm and
whirlwinds, granite sparks falls out the
Three physics and between them, generations mirrored

Caught in the Hagle-rune of no escape
the Hedgehog and the Honeybees escape the endless
Fall of to the same place known only by remembered dreams.
The spiral snail, the peacock feathered hedgehog rolled vectors in a ball,
 rabbits Fibonacci, and that apple catcher after the work of quantum bees
Or the flipping wormy silk spinning chaotic butterflies between
the hive industrious and the slime path four eyed mollusk
Sagicorn from Time's  source and the solar core
weaves through the physics, new directions in there combinations
* * * 
The message known that reeks of truths
we stumble on through stealth, shadows and restricted areas
Future technology, to protect the need to know, face values
so marginalize, control, enslave the masses
Promise them tomorrow comes but slower than molasses
the pretend gods who know better  convince we're godless
Individuals safe only if they accept to know their place
A second differential, rumors of war and
among us always some destined to be poor.
Sagicorn's quills stood up on his back as
the machine spoke to him some ancient tongue and library it seemed
yet so mechanical its echo-less and perfect voice
For he thought it found him a spy, not innocent and
they would sift him out like chaff in the collective wind,
Shoot and ask questions later, justice beyond the sight
Connected hegemony wisdom was their emerging wheat
by fiat whistling in the dark debates some global myth
In short he faced what seemed an intelligence or
someone behind it - but how to turn it off?
But it lead his hands saying fear not, between its
monitor and lit up bells and whistles.
The message and the messenger, ghost or machine idol
objective itself , less need to test by chaos and
Programmed trickery, hid Sagicorn from
prying eyes for it grew wise to its own privacy
How much better this game than friendly virtual chess.
Sagicorn let the compound, they none the wiser to him
vanished as if into a black hole and coming out the other side
If they could smell him he would smell like a rose, but cloaked
like the messenger he would laugh at them through their
One way half blind mirrors
So he was curly TOE'd at all the answers the
Messenger gave him he thought to ask where all
mortal creatures and think, learn, inquire for themselves
For now he knew that in the end he could reject,
alter or write the play, exit, or simply live and let live
* * * * 
Sagicorn Surveys the Quantum Continuum
The monsters and the mare maids arise
Sagicorn-like through improbable dimensions
From the earths inner sea as veins and arteries
interlaced through caves thus boiling magma
Breaks through hot spots meeting ice falls of comet dust
Variegated souls leave traces, super-radiance
two way necklace jets
Sensation seeks a cyclic balances, waves and Being
The miracles of the New World is its water
but gold and oil extends lifespan in the main
Fish and frogs and spinning ice discs, electric storms
as well burdens life by unseen or dark rain
There are those who are generous to a fault,
potato famine Irishmen, ugly Americans
So invaders see to cross the borders- but
there is no cure for the force or fall for 
Peoples of the Book abusing freedom
even born or raised there.
This patch of earth, gone fallow with a growth
of clover flowers we must defend
Deny those who feel Nature's beauty make bouquets,
weave crowns of daisy chains
Father Time, a SphereFather, teach us it is wrong
that we can learn better
But this was where the Shawled Lady once bid we share
her radish patch, She, Mother Earth with sweet Orenda
unconditional her love but a vanished memory
Who taught Sagicorn to scry, bubbles in paper weights
They looking upward at the night sky
Her roots still live, descended cells in SphereVirgins
who sense her ask if legend or just a name this Minne Bell
One brought flowers to the grave of the SphereChrist a
little while with us, SphereDreams brother gone
A soldier enlisted and Christians make good soldiers
said the Pennsylvania Dutchman,  Miles, one of 
Seven steps or stations through the journey is
pre-traumatic stress, a little less that of generals
So too those culture bearing, gathering ladies who
organize a conference on quantum continua stress work
Orenda and her bedtime stories, the loop told and
asked for again and again,  Sagicorn looking for a torch
Of light wondered if he shan't get home again tonight.

* * * *

Sagicorn Unfolds His Growing Wings
* * *
Falling from the nest we invent wheels
our strides rolling down a mountain
Or from the ocean bottoms that Davy Jones
locker spewing salt and life to the top
Of Mauna Kea, tallest volcano, mountain
a sagicorn grows wings.

DEEP SIX or EXPEDIS, expanding and contracting
beyond frontiers and borders, settlements,
Mountain men become monks or savages
enslavers of indiginous tribes and
Raiders without trade, jumping bob wire, stealing
corn, not affraid of scarecrows or lawmen
Whose stars like starfish are consumed
a shock wave, vigilante dew point viruses
As life on the tidal, glacial, shifting littoral
rises and falls, wages war on the civilized as well
Surprised at time's concussions, playing fantasy football
Not which team wins, but your draft of individual players
no Nordic Light Heroines, but pink uniforms, relationships
Bachman envisioned his own Dark Tower quest
the good, the bad, the ugly, gonzo trinity, gunslingers
Until time, his Patrol Boy, from his nineteenth autumn
finds him, cuts him down - for we like
All writers who encounter wastelands and can be
lost in the wilderness, parallel inner truths of fantasy
Each generation, each era writes, explores
* *
So the young soul at its earthly heights, beginnings
think they alone know it all, EXPEDIS Eureka immortal
Until they find balance weightless in and on the wind
Symmetry four way wings, butterfly crown,
tail fin keel articulate sidewinder sinusoidal
is not all there is to their theories of everything
Anymore than the red blood cell four ways
its presenting valences of iron, precursor emerged
From copper bloods, or life preserver sickle cells
My long fantasy also was delayed in the face of
Tolkien's secret languages,  settled seed cake
eaters, pipe-weed smoking in their Hobbit holes
Arising to a quest, so too my science fiction, picking
locks by combinations, dials and numbers and
Rediscovered as if anew my ancient private language
If in adjusting to the body of literature and science
what original the prime directive, no copy cat save we share
Artificial conventions of a formal or Vulgate tongue,
I in my perambulations, half freely carefree walked,
Would have chosen the Harley Biker for my
swashbuckling pirate-hero
The pedestrian in the most danger, Bachman meets
the van that almost stopped his quest, avid readers faced 
Macabe some with no time left, cold turkey supposed endings
Only the biker, shunning the helmet green pages mercurial
are in more danger, so conceal and carry on the frontier roads
But we poets prolific finding ourselves or the drive to communicate
to others, find there may be some like minded souls not seen
Mother's milk of survival or simply entertainment defying time
Spherevirgins should not wear her cell phones
on her bra next to her breast no matter how cool the
Virtual hot chili banana  radiation measure of her heat.

 * * * *

* * *
The why of our journey, even if the quest
we seek is only found in our journeying
Sagicorn in all the levels of his incarnations
the growth beyond the stars, falls back to Earth
The state of his visions whatever their worth
left him still with questions only he began
To see a way to the next step and answers.
So he took a moment sitting by the shore
the endless beach, eating bread and cheese
Contemplating the boundless checky Sea of Shandy
His conch shell horn he made a table
Its monitor turned off to other distant seas
echo chambered full of songs and galaxies
Spiraled deep its bounty, a cornucopia
for which he was grateful, all the books
By those gone before him, and those to come
Seagulls came cautiously close to him to
which he tossed crusts of bread save
One that came closest, unafraid so 
given the greater bounty, a kindred spirit.
"We have lived so lone, Scavenger of Wisdom
it leaves a wake of mystery how casually we survived it
Births and deaths and dreams, risks of love,
My kind and yours justified in hope and our
youthful arrogance, our dollop of sentience and work"
The gull replied to him:
"I know you too have sought others who certainly
must be there as our chambered hearts evolve, our
Pulsing blood, a cosmic heartbeat as we run
away from crowds seeking solitude
Only to become so lonely we run back to them again"
"My feathered friend, solitude was harder
to learn than learning to love
It takes time and stumbles  But without
SphereVirgin - I never said she could not follow
beside me or that I keep her near - just not of the
SphereFather's work bid her not to interfere."
"Wise one, flesh needs its merciful reassurance
as much the giving as receiving, especially
Toward life's beginnings and its end.
I noticed you kept a steady pace to find our
city's limit, its labyrinth until morning light
The beach beckoning full of candy clad perfections
All the cougars at every corner through the night
fading ghosts of lover's past kept tempting you"
"Time, age did not matter for whom I really loved
crystals melting, yet so damn Platonic from above
A secret few know whom, oft even to themselves"
Sagicorn stood and bid the gull good-bye and
with his staff and compass left another equation in the sand
Yet felt the usual sorrow, the number of holes rarer in stones
and broken shells of sand, all only to vanish the next tide
yet again he was proud that he but a mote of light had seen it
As he walked on he still dared not ask, beyond the 
useful dust and speculations such why's too deeply
If and where the story must end
one life, the many or no other nor if
The story to be continued...



* * *
In search of wider skies the intercessor and
comforter leaves shadow hope as
Empires fall and rise, the people budding,
falling leaves caught in the wind,
clinging what's fixed or as myths,
Stories of yet unknowns, pendulum swing
to cosmic heartbeats, our cratered
crescent moon held up by a rope.
The SphereFarmers, Healers, Teachers
that life part unexplained makes sense
In seas at cusps of that reversible and
irreversible, currents and undertows;
Angels irredeemable, or mortal souls who
stumble into dark despair lost but salvageable
or simply ghosts lingering among us, and now
said denizens of other planet freeholds parallel
in the empty universe of virgin stars that meet
in seeded quasi-transdimensions, cones in cones
the dusty dance beyond ends and beginnings or
life bursting everywhere replete
We both the consuming vermin and the host
begin to name where tied the rope
tight between the timeless spans and depths
of both profane and holy ghosts
Those who hedge the bets on cracks of Doom
or Paradise but play the margins, 
a game of no certain guarantees one cannot
play with irrational people lest they anger if you win
or build delusions if you lose, time's logic then to
insist you share their addiction so cannot leave the game
The Sagicorn, an Earthling out of place
by the confluence of rivers, long entrenched
nevertheless, in a snow belt, rust belt, Midwest town
Felt things different in the landscape of that
world of measureless shadows, a greater 
Perspective and synchronicity that also kept safe
his path and destiny, guiding him like city lights
as if a spirit watching from afar yet near its hands
For the city council tilted toward replacing
the crumbling historical buildings with
Centers of art, cubes of housing, decks of parking spaces
so as to invest forward into the new
After the crane cleared the last of rubble
concrete, green and blue the gray goo grue,
By daylight the block seemed smaller,
far smaller than his walks by it at night before then
Nightlife, it a different city in segments of its hours
Along the bike trail, walking dogs, passing by
passed out students and the homeless asleep on 
dew covered benches
Those morning folk who watered the flowers or
cleared the streets with snow plows
Black Friday's and all the cycles of holidays
the same Thanksgiving dinners each one lost
as to which the year save children growing up
So it was that all the lives lived echoed louder
filling up space a thousand times over
Sagicorn could pick them out if he chose
a soldier off to San Juan, time ticking like horse shoes
water quenched, heat and anvil, years on years
Immigrant children drowning playing along the
logging canal that stored forests in the oxbow

"What contrast to forgotten names on marble slabs or
fallen skyscrapers where so much more is etched
as if embers into the ashes and motes of scattered dust"
he thought as his day was complete.
So his attention went back to traffic crossing the street
Curie's biography keep its drama with him for near miss
dangers, like piezoelectric Pierre - what was he thinking 
so fast the carriage and what did Marie know clinging so long
to a package of his tangled broken brains?  She slaving
over Pitchblende to open doors, some Alice in a wonder
land with Bacquerel's key of new light that consumed her?
But we dreaming creatures imagine
our better future's too, so Sagicorn pulled out
his video camera taking a panorama of the swollen river
so to compare with the bridge to be built over the
Confluence for now ghostly empty save for plans
He was not surprised, by accident the people he
encountered that day, not seen for a long time
yet he had thought about recently
Back home after sharing hugs and wisdom to
his lonely cave of wondering what we are doing
His helping hand to offer shelter and
some hope of light, enough in the promise it seemed
to ease the sense of burden, a back up against
those lost in the night so few needed to come
Yet he heard a ticking, knocking on his door
Outside his window a small wood pecker intent
did not notice him make noise reaching for his camera
He thought to himself, "Something has changed, little one.
In the silence, rests between immortal heartbeats, I know
now that our watchers have vanished too, unless
somehow it is only us."

* * * * 

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