deepundergroundpoetry.com
`Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind[s]´ of JohnnyBlaze & Co*
Before an aide-memoire existed, there was poetic form;
oral transmission through
ancient civilization:
The preservation of priceless
Tradition and familiar Lore
containing Ancestral secrets;
ways of Life otherwise lost
amidst generations of the World:
Hundreds of centuries
have long set sail since
'The Tale of the Shipwrecked Sailor'
crash-landed upon the annals
of cultural and literary History
2500 years before the Christian era.
From this resting place of Beginning
would return Armadas of Word bearing
all languages from the four corners
of the Earth
Captained by well-seasoned Poets
charged with the preservation
of priceless Poetic forms.
Various hybrids were conceived
retracing the journey by sailors on leave,
born of wayward affairs of the Heart
upon islands of Crete
and other foreign countries.
Sired by Captains of Sonnets,
First Mates of Meter
and deckhands of Rhyme,
they were rejected by traditionalists
as bastards only to become
the Masters of Modernistic
and Confessional Verse.
Throughout evolving generations,
Death after Death of physical existence
from poverty and disease manifested,
until only an epitaphed lineage
of Legacy remained in Words.
( For there is no money in Poetry
for the living sea of humanity. )
And the dying Poet vows ( again )
from his deathbed to a True Love,
"I'll come back a rich man
next time around, I promise;
give you all you deserve."
While the Poem sits by his side
loyally, unable to imagine
having more than they have now.
Because a Poet isn't of flesh
nor bone, nor of only one mind unto himself,
but a flowing Consciousness of Blood;
and Blood is a Life unto itself
that neither be directed nor controlled.
But, rather, controls the course
of its own fate to those worthy few.
Nor does it forget, or fail
to find its way back home.
Even if the Poet were to pay Charon
across the River Styx
that his memory to be erased
before each new Life,
his Blood would boil and lunge
upon meeting her star in season
a million miles from Origin
Rhyme, or Reason.
He would lose his Heart to Love
all over again, and die destitute
penning of her demure coquetry,
When face-to-face in the presence
Of pure Poetry.
~
* MaryWalker, PsycoticMastermind, Magnetron, and Anarchitect
Entered in the "DUP Gentlemen Appreciation Week".
oral transmission through
ancient civilization:
The preservation of priceless
Tradition and familiar Lore
containing Ancestral secrets;
ways of Life otherwise lost
amidst generations of the World:
Hundreds of centuries
have long set sail since
'The Tale of the Shipwrecked Sailor'
crash-landed upon the annals
of cultural and literary History
2500 years before the Christian era.
From this resting place of Beginning
would return Armadas of Word bearing
all languages from the four corners
of the Earth
Captained by well-seasoned Poets
charged with the preservation
of priceless Poetic forms.
Various hybrids were conceived
retracing the journey by sailors on leave,
born of wayward affairs of the Heart
upon islands of Crete
and other foreign countries.
Sired by Captains of Sonnets,
First Mates of Meter
and deckhands of Rhyme,
they were rejected by traditionalists
as bastards only to become
the Masters of Modernistic
and Confessional Verse.
Throughout evolving generations,
Death after Death of physical existence
from poverty and disease manifested,
until only an epitaphed lineage
of Legacy remained in Words.
( For there is no money in Poetry
for the living sea of humanity. )
And the dying Poet vows ( again )
from his deathbed to a True Love,
"I'll come back a rich man
next time around, I promise;
give you all you deserve."
While the Poem sits by his side
loyally, unable to imagine
having more than they have now.
Because a Poet isn't of flesh
nor bone, nor of only one mind unto himself,
but a flowing Consciousness of Blood;
and Blood is a Life unto itself
that neither be directed nor controlled.
But, rather, controls the course
of its own fate to those worthy few.
Nor does it forget, or fail
to find its way back home.
Even if the Poet were to pay Charon
across the River Styx
that his memory to be erased
before each new Life,
his Blood would boil and lunge
upon meeting her star in season
a million miles from Origin
Rhyme, or Reason.
He would lose his Heart to Love
all over again, and die destitute
penning of her demure coquetry,
When face-to-face in the presence
Of pure Poetry.
~
* MaryWalker, PsycoticMastermind, Magnetron, and Anarchitect
Entered in the "DUP Gentlemen Appreciation Week".
Published 22nd Apr 2017
| Edited 24th Apr 2017
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 12
reading list entries 4
comments 13
reads 1486
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
22nd Apr 2017 2:55pm
22nd Apr 2017 3:36pm
Outstanding train of thought & delivery lovely lady..
the poets weavers of magic..
love Brenda
the poets weavers of magic..
love Brenda
22nd Apr 2017 4:31pm
22nd Apr 2017 4:18pm
Fascinating, engaging, intriguing, amazing, wonderful - congratulations.
"Sired by Captains of Sonnets,
First Mates of Meter
and deckhands of Rhyme,
they were rejected by traditionalists
as bastards only to become
the Masters of Modernistic
and Confessional Verse." ...
... superb.
"( For there is no money in Poetry" ... and there's no poetry in money, either (Robert Graves) {I want to prove him wrong}
"that niether be directed nor controlled." (is that American spelling of 'neither'?)
"Sired by Captains of Sonnets,
First Mates of Meter
and deckhands of Rhyme,
they were rejected by traditionalists
as bastards only to become
the Masters of Modernistic
and Confessional Verse." ...
... superb.
"( For there is no money in Poetry" ... and there's no poetry in money, either (Robert Graves) {I want to prove him wrong}
"that niether be directed nor controlled." (is that American spelling of 'neither'?)
(is that American spelling of 'neither'?)
No; it's the dyslexic. Thank you (and, thank you).
No; it's the dyslexic. Thank you (and, thank you).
22nd Apr 2017 6:00pm
hit me like a deja vu Sage One- am sure I read this but in pieces in several places- never in one piece! You've delivered it like a Medium! Tribute- some tribute!
Anonymous
22nd Apr 2017 9:28pm
I, or should I say, We are humbled and appreciative to have such a good friend who is encouraging and not afraid to say what is on her mind. What better company could poets ask for along the journey?
22nd Apr 2017 9:48pm
This has a wonderfully brewed balance of playfulness and gravitas. A hard balance to strike, but you make it seem effortless with your practiced hand. You do the art and your fellow artists much honor. Namaste.
22nd Apr 2017 11:49pm
24th Apr 2017 1:19am
Anonymous
- Edited 17th Mar 2019 11:58am
17th Mar 2019 11:57am
Why is this not on my Reading List?!?
Now I see so much more to this poem than I ever did before.
Poetry is in my blood.
You are in my Heart.
And I will keep coming back to rediscover both again and again, as many times as possibly allowed.
I Love You. 💜💏💋
Now I see so much more to this poem than I ever did before.
Poetry is in my blood.
You are in my Heart.
And I will keep coming back to rediscover both again and again, as many times as possibly allowed.
I Love You. 💜💏💋
17th Mar 2019 1:41pm
