Freudian Slips

Does poetry flow out of reason or the imagination, or both?

Reason is a temper, logic a guide
but only here, in this finite Earth where
that harness, a straitjacket binds us
as truly illusions can do in the domain
of duality, do good and evil make
sense, in the absence of which either
one doesn't.

Or confounds us in a
dream doubly pretended.

You and I calling out to God in pain, in
deliriousness, have made us children of
the lesser gods, when we aren't. Alas,
the physical world draws and continues
to draw boundaries as we move along,
of right and wrong, good and
evil which, like sand-castles we have
built, we destroy tomorrow as new horizons
we start to delineate with depraved analysis.

The Scientific Method -- Of Limitation

Myopic has been your standards
when you see real poetry of life with no
symmetry, without rhyme or reason:
without your reflections to dignify your
limits within your limitations that you
see, then blame your instruments
not any less than the truths we see
with our naked eyes.

The Waterfalls Of Creativity And Imagination

At a standstill, our minds are one of serenity,
in a trance where clarity of vision supreme
like images peeled away truly as a soul reborn.
Imagination is extended field of vision, having
no limits because we're infinite. It is a panorama
of life recorded within, to mystify religion itself
which thinks knows better than the enigma
unmasked in the individual mind.

Much as the weary-worn stars connive to attest
to that truth...

September 11, 2011

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