CAGING REALITY IN PICKLING JARS

moth

The bewildered philosopher and

The master of discretion

At odds with one another

Had been since infinity was

Born an ellipse

The sublime contradiction

 

Thoughts imprisoned in time

Disguised as mere hints of

Something greater

Held sway

The master was on top of his game

Always had been

 

That was until the day

The dancing Princess of All Things

Tripped, stumbled and then fell

Into the flaming torch

The master had lit thus

Illuminating the grotto

 

Her beauty lost to

Dreadful hideous burns

Later scars adorned her

Once pretty face

Her nectarious body also

All before she had had the

Opportunity to experience

Love as a true thing

Love at all

 

As a moth to a flame

Servitude to the shadows

Such was the feeling of loss

The master and the philosopher

Became unlikely allies

 

For the philosopher this meant

The casting off of the

Shackles that bind

They were no more

 

It was then

Bewilderment gave way

To the blinding revelation of the light

Later to be shared with one and all

 

That day the master of discretion

Under the terms of the

Strange bedfellow’s alliance

The Treaty of All Things

Fell upon his own sword

An honourable act for

One inclined toward the

Injustice of caging slices of

Reality in pickling jars

Stored in impossible

Caves of chalk

Labelled randomly

As he saw fit

 

He had no choice as

He was the only one back then

Who could testify that

The girl; the dancing princess that is

Was of flesh and blood

 

As to his Last Will and Testament

He bequeathed his labelled jars

To the philosopher

And act of belated kinship?

 

Unbeknownst to the master

The dancer was with child

His child

 

The philosopher

So long in the dark

Raised her child as his own

The mother had died in childbirth

 

For the first time there was

Living proof of reality

The Dark Age had faded away and

With it the Magic

 

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37 thoughts on “CAGING REALITY IN PICKLING JARS

    1. Is there a market for poetry these days? I’m not sure you know. Whatever I thank you for a treasured comment.

      Also when doing a bit of LOMM housekeeping yesterday I noticed that the 3/4 likes I’d done on your blog the previous day were not showing so I did them again. Did they arrive at your blog this time?

      1. I got them today, thank you. Something weird is going on with WP… I liked someone else’s stuff all week, and went there today and not one of them showed up.

        I would think you would have an audience for your poetry (besides all of us here that admire you so). And since you already have so many written, what have you got to lose? 🙂

    1. Rather the consummate modern day philosopher – for that is what you are Sir. Having just read your three stupendous posts I am bound to say this, and those of many others does not compare; nor should it. For a competitive bloke such as I it is strange and most enjoyable that in reading your poetry I couldn’t care a jot about my own.

      1. Champagne! The curse of weddings and lottery wins. Me, I tend to go with rustic French reds as it happens. Hemingway’esque I write my poetry half cut and edit the next day no less!

      2. Fascinating subject is dyslexia – my youngest who has just got a first class music degree is both amazingly dyslexic and 80% colour blind. Can’t get a job though because he’s dyslexic and over qualified for most things. My curse is only seeing things logically which means I miss nuance.

  1. Brilliant, each and every word of it. Nothing more to add to it except to say you’ve become my favorite poet (granted, this comes from a guy who hardly ever read poetry, but I do admire some English speaking masters such as Tennyson or Yeats…and that’s not bad company to find oneself in, so by all means, congratulate yourself on your efforts. You’ve made a fan out of me!

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