An entry in my Journal seemed like ingredient for a poem: So... Finally waking up from a couple of days of bizarre depression. Fear actually.. Fearful depression. I suspect I’ll never know who I am, no how to behave. Worrying about it is futile, it is and always will be... Today in Literature I witness the fading of certain illusions. The realities in my fantasies sometimes come into focus and it came rather closer in the case of one of my little dreams. In any case, that little dream has faded and I’m feeling much better and the two are completely unrelated.
There she is again…
This distance disguises her height, but
not her majesty.
She has such
a Cold face.
Even from here,
her stone facade delivers
the impression of
Her crags, I’ve
From the back she is much more inviting.
Many make the ascent from the rear.
On her back is the nature much kinder.
From her summit, I’ve seen her face clear.
I’ve probed every alternate tactic.
to use when the time does appear.
Any mistake could prove tragic!
…Nobody has done this before.
Getting the best of her will not be easy
One thing she is not,
is a whore.
I again gaze up at her
Her face it is still… cold, and white.
But now not of her nature.
No, instead, that my wait may have made her
but a conquest for my dreams at night.
Some of us are thankful for freedom
Others for big brother’s purse.
I’m thankful for Jefferson’s wisdom
And thankful things aren’t even worse.
I’m thankful for my little sister
Souls bleed but this is obverse.
Children, grandchildren, the National Anthem
The ability to converse.
To who is it we are to be thankful?
Who was it that lit the big bang?
What was it that up and exploded?
From what origin does that one hang?
Jesus? God? Allah?
Or is it Caballa?
Perhaps just a useful harangue.
Ultimately it doesn’t matter
The fact is that thanks does exist.
Whatever it is, this “creator”
Will not go by me unkissed.
I guess it’s not odd if I call it God
And I’m thankful too for this tryst.
Old longings nomadic leap,
Chafing at custom’s chain;
Again from its brumal sleep
Wakens the ferine strain.
Helots of houses no more,
Let us be out, be free;
Fragrance through window and door
Wafts from the woods, the sea.
After the torpor of will,
Morbid with inner strife.
Welcome the animal thrill,
Lending a rest to life
Banish the volumes revered,
Sever from centuries dead;
Ceilings the lamp flicker cheered
Barter for stars instead.
Temple thy dreams with the trees,
Nature thy god alone;
Worship the sun and the breeze,
Altars where none atone.
Voices of solitude call,
Whisper of sedge and stream;
Loosen the fetters that gall,
Back to the primal scheme.
Feel the great throbbing terrene
Pulse in they body beat.
Conscious again of the green
Verdure beneath the feet.
Callous to pain as the rose,
Breathe with instinct’s delight;
Live the existence that goes
Soulless into the night.
~John Myers O’Hara