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2022, 8*, action, architecture, balance, black, blindness, Boris Johnson, Bowie, cause and effect, cave, daughter, desert, Donald Trump, female, God, gods, heart, history, internet, invisible, king, land, lies, Life on Mars?, love, male, Manjushri, market, noise, notice, others, people, plateau, Plato, poem, power, prayer, proliferation, propaganda, quiet, resource, rhetorical interrogative, Russia, science, self, serendipity, slave, smile, soap, soap-opera, springs, stranger, sword, throat, time, tragedy, truth, Ukraine, value, Vladimir Putin, war, windows, wisdom
the simple prayer
may quiet springs of
value-in-other always disperse
the black and grimy history
of power-over-other
like soap
—~~~\\\ ” sp ” ///~~~—
the tattered poem
may …
over millennia
between peppered millions
at surprise times and sad
across rolling lands
and conserved desert
and steppèd plateau
quiet springs
everywhere
serendipitous
hand-cupped chin, lipless
smile, no-halt act, surge
`tween heart and throat
unnoticed invisible
daughter stranger slave;
the black and grime of
history of power over other
storeyed and high-
windowed, cacophonous
and market-squared
rhetorically interrogative
aside truth:
… may they disperse
this impossible tension
like soap
—~~~\\\ ” tp ” ///~~~—
the bitter lament
“may” is a petition – to a god, to God or to ‘let it be’, it doesn’t matter as long as it is beyond ‘self’ – a directing of hearts (the only armaments that don’t cost a nation), a massing of resource (as-yet untapped and unexploited), a manoeuvring of cause and effect (the only true use of science), a discernment of love like the sharpest of flaming swords; “other” is anything or anyone which is not “myself” and, like a tragic farce played out on the widest of stages, cast of a thousand-thousand “myself”-s (hurry – for one aeon only; apply for auditions here), proliferates inponentially to the power of blind-folded distinction; “history” – I don’t want to know the history that led up to the invasion of Ukraine by Russia, it is a soap-opera that I have seen “ten times or more”, not sure if “I’ve wrote it ten times or more”, “it’s about to be writ again” and I’ve long since abandoned any hope that an original line is to be found anywhere in the entire web of the universe; “power” is male, but male woefully out of balance, to act, to control, to make, to command on the basis of a wobble-board, the king of the castle chanting empty rhymes, unbalanced with respect to “other” and with respect to what-is without blindfolds, a spoilt child who smirks what he wants, a Johnson who dares what he deceives, a Trump who deceives what he wants, a Putin deceived by empty rhymes, so involuted that even before they think to open their mouths have been lying for generations within centuries; “prayer”, “poem”, “lament” is “female”, which is never mentioned, it is “wisdom” (which is never used), it is the balance to male (which is never considered – ‘too impractical’), it is the reference to “other” and the reference to “what-is” (whether “what-is” is blind-folded or not), it is not the replacement of male (that would make it … male), it is the heart-surge of care empty of all self-reference which, unfortunately, has been left in a cave, somewhere, some say in chains, and entertained with flickering lights on the back-wall, for millennia …
————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–
architecture wormhole: despite all / depiction
balance wormhole: the balance necessary between
black wormhole: nowhere / that can be seen
daughter wormhole: looking ahead
history & time & war wormhole: mirror
love wormhole: ‘she shook the sweets…’
others wormhole: ‘the practice &…’
power wormhole: eyes like petals
quiet wormhole: – creak –
resource wormhole: the Apple
smile wormhole: light of all interaction
windows wormhole: YOUNG WOMAN AT A WINDOW by William Carlos Williams
mlewisredford 
Shall ponder the enticing intricate here.
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namaste
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To quote you at the end, which tied up the piece both neatly and profoundly for this reader:
“prayer”, “poem”, “lament” is “female”, which is never mentioned, it is “wisdom” (which is never used), it is the balance to male (which is never considered – ‘too impractical’), it is the reference to “other” and the reference to “what-is” (whether “what-is” is blind-folded or not), it is not the replacement of male (that would make it … male), it is the heart-surge of care empty of all self-reference which, unfortunately, has been left in a cave, somewhere, some say in chains, and entertained with flickering lights on the back-wall, for millennia …
Isn’t justice a woman wearing a blindfold, and is that what you are touching on? Or maybe a Venus figurine hidden at Lascaux or somewhere else continental? Deep in Germany or France, maybe……
I just so love your definitions, most especially “may” and “other”.
Dear God, I just really love this poem.
Would it bother you to be compared to e.e. cummings? How do you feel about his poetry? I am myself a bit triggered by it–and in love with his work–both are true for me in my own little marbled oyster. Maybe I find him too optimistic (as does Johnny)? He is to me the mystery of laughter. What does that mean?
I don’t know. There’s simply a lot in this piece–so dense, so true–that hit me rather bludgingly this evening.
“between peppered millions/
at surprise times and sad”
C’est moi. C’est vrai. C’est trop dificile.
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the blind-fold is tied around our own head every time we strive to establish our self in some contra-distinction to an other – the harder we try to establish it (our (male- and female-gendered) over-reaching male), the tighter the blind-fold, the tighter the desperate identity and history stretched over what actually is; the male- and female-gendered female (our female) is still in Plato’s cave, chained there since the dawn of civilisation because we had to play some Progress Game, most of us leave her there, some of us visit her in dreams but never loose the chains for fear of ending the world-as-we-know-it, we placate ourselves with a few winsome symbols but usually stop short by showing them semi-naked
I’ll take any comparison to a poet: I remember being taken by his non-use of capital letters when wading through poetry classes at school; that was it; when I started writing myself it just felt right to not use capitals much, like putting on a glove; I read a biography about him a decade or so back but I haven’t read much of his poetry, I didn’t find any mineral resonance that would have me pursue (dig?) deeper (and I do find reading poetry very difficult without a resonance, or at least a hook); however you have possibly given me a key: “the mystery of laughter” (is the mystery a break-through of our female wisdom which sees things as they is amid the toppled columns of our hubris – the only response is ‘ha’ … ‘ha’)
so sorry and pleased to have bludgeoned you that evening, but thank you for your bruised response
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Fantastic. The simple prayer is wonderful. I will be spending some more time with the tattered poem…so much going on here.
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gassho
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