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Archive for the ‘poetry’ Category

In Imitation of Dante’s Divine Comedy

Much was my confusion simulated
By dream within the life and yet the three
Stood a solemn wake about by the bedstead. 48

‘Why three’, I spoke, ‘and perhaps my soul free
Ranging in his sphere did send you hither
Or unbidden, least on truth shall we agree? 51

Choose what theme, although I may yet gather
from discourse what dreams do speak are fleeting
Its substance being laid neither here nor there’. 54

‘Why three?’, Why not five or one for asking
If you concede soul its circumference
Why settle for form and not unbound nothing? 57

In Conception what form you place summons
shades o’ meaning to which soul is but token,
As windswept clouds can toss pell mell a sense- 60

From shapes the eye will find names well spoken
But the wind casts it spell,- and what you read
Yet will vary, but fall within your ken. 63

The Sibyl spoke truly and she my rede
forestalled with words, ‘Look in your mirror
If we be the three Graces,- you concede 66

So much for the soul, it tells no error-
In the glass what form you would take
Paris must fit and here is our answer: 69

Art must but choose chaos so I would make
Names Raphael Michelangelo but
Two digits o’ selfsame Hand from it rake: 72

And so are we One in three forms strut
Imagination without Hand a lie
And without Art, we,- No more than a slut 75.

(To be continued)

Benny

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Sleep is nature’s cure when body has run
His weary rounds, a bed is just the thing;
Still is the body but his soul moves on; 30

Between being and un-being sleep holds something
A balancing act where a starry heaven
To the measure o’ man, but is this soul thing? 33

Death must with sleep settle in dimension
Altogether new for which leave my soul
To know worth and reckon the best bargain. 36

Soul must arbiter for all who their goal,
Being bonded for life and beyond, serves man
A pole star, to lift man out of his hole. 39

Thus it was with me one night when sleep had
Taken ease, I suspect my soul sent the three
Fates of Attic shape who before me stood, 42

The dream with Sibyls set my confines free
As though I lay beneath the vault of Sistine
And the three had stepped out on a spree! 45

(To be continued)
Benny

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A walk to the park
in a drizzle unhurried,
Oh, the heave about my throat
is gone.
And the asphalt gleams with desire-
My feet may slosh through
A puddle or two,-never mind
But autumn is at my feet:
The greens are gold and
Red flushed with fleeting clouds
Overhead.
Intimations
Of winter tousle my hair
Even as geese glides to their tryst,
Silent before a world gone to sleep.
Benny

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Where shall my excess baggage go
When death sends my spirit as such
On a carousal beyond farthest reach?

My spirit has its sphinx-like riddle:
Never shall my lips tattletale carry,
My soul shall have his will.

No matter something of vision I leave
placid lakes mirror rolling face of heaven
It is as though I have come unbidden;

Well seek not where wind blows leaves
Plucked out of its nest by violence:
Consider it as though in remembrance
Done for one for whom death came by chance.

Benny

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This gun can kill one,-
Loaded but my trigger wont
jerk at another jerk.
2.
Blessed toy in hand
Is my glock- no holy gow
But self winding glock.
3.
Pittsburg synagogue,
Prayer all stopped because
A Schmuck with his gun sprayed.

Benny

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Weary of visions the sun must unburden,
So must unwind the mind’s vaunted peregrination;
Drowsy beat of twilight
Gather dust from ups and lows
In heaps call their dead: No footfall be there:

Chanson de nuit, for which I am born
Weariness shall not dull the ear;
Nor the promise of day still its refrain
Chanson de nuit has come for me.

Benny

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There are many ways to turn one hour
In millions of vexations,
Paring nano-seconds in their nexus
And never knowing the loss:
My oneness is all set and complete
Past telling points of man-made laws:
Go west, for what I ask myself
And it avails neither
With east, south or north.
There are many ways to turn one life
In millions of pretenses,
Each one more bizarre to fit the hour
And never knowing the loss:
My oneness is all set and complete
And sound hollow to fit customs of men:
Go west, for what I ask myself
And it avails neither
With east, south or north:
My soul is drawn from One True Silence
And everything else is jingle
The motley crew of fools may worship
As many gods, but I remain aloof.
Benny

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