Obsidian Eagle's Blasphemous Bazaar - author central, anti-poetry, indie author

Obsidian Eagle's

Blasphemous Bazaar


META-Poems For A New Millennium

<br>META-Poems For A New Millennium<br><br>

The Flagship of Anti-Poetry — est. 2010 (Author Central)





Logos Endiathetos

Note: This piece is the sister-poem to: Logos Prophorikos.



Logos Endiathetos

 

Far enough back, during ages now interred beneath historical sediment
Mankind hailed the transcendent, immanent Godhead
By regarding nature with an utmost degree of respect.


Mountains, forests, oceans, lakes and streams were held to be sacrosanct.
Likewise, animals were considered divine harbingers and our closest kith
While innocence afforded us a glimpse of the ineffable absolute.


Still, it gradually came to pass that men grew leery of each other...
Avaricious and fratricidal, they turned against one another
Christening barbarism a new virtue.
Yea, from that time forth every war has involved
Ravishing foreign virgins, pillaging rival nations and enslaving their offspring.


Having shed all compassion for his fellow hominids
Homo Erectus went on to domineer wild beasts
Touted "Steward of Earth" by vainglorious priests.


Homo Habilis followed suit; inventing flint implements
Which at first served as tools and then later as armaments
When Cro-Magnon slew Neanderthal, clearing way for we Sapiens.


Such were the days of our infancy, obscured nowadays by pretense at civility.
For we're loathe to admit that we've hardly hit puberty
Believing that we scale the very peaks of humanity.
Adept with legalese and the boons of technology
Yet inept in affairs that require much sympathy.


Knowing naught about providence but presumptuous theology
And estranged from the blatantly obvious reality:
To venerate one's own neighbor—is quintessentially holy!


The veil has been rent in the sanctum sanctorum
(little hope is there left for regaining decorum).
Lo, a world midst its throes of thermal shockwave alarum!


Logos Prophorikos

Logos Prophorikos


Humanity reveres the image, since it alone evades all-encompassing definitions of itself while still providing thoroughgoing explanations for everything else.

Entire civilizations are fashioned after the cutting edge visions of prophets, because they dare to dream much more vividly than the rest of us combined.

Panoramic vistas overbrim with sheer significance
finding resonance within the eyes of keen beholders.

Pictures in motion captivate our attention and lull one's intellect
as we gradually forget that cinema shares its esprit with real life.

But then there are those rare occasions when Icon speaks from two mouths; reconciling masculine noumenon to feminine phenomenon...

Amid a recurring interplay, of scrumtrulescent young actors.

A Dignified Death

A Dignified Death


Upon returning from the promised land
He took a stroll through the woods of his boyhood
Where deer tracks lay fresh within snow
Near trails hewn by blades o'er ice.

Trudging down a path he'd tread many a time
His sense of direction got muddled
Though that unrecognized tract sparked intrigue;
Alas, a felled pine waylaid him thereon.

'twas an august old fir
Whose enormous trunk stretched
Across its coniferous domain.
Younger timbers looked on in mourning...

Diffused through dense canopy
Solar flares slanted earthward
While chickadees darted
Over head of human bystander.

Left dumbstruck with awe
His own breath rose as mist
And he drew in the smell of that passing.
Heightened blood pumped blessedly then

Informed by those splendid surroundings:
"When majestic trees tumble—upright loners are called out to witness
 Because all living things, be they massive or small
 Can depart with immeasurable greatness!"

Second Syntax

"Did the universe really begin?";
and, "Is the theory of the big bang true?"
These are not really questions, although they sound like they are.
The real question is whether or not
the only syntax that exists
is the syntax that requires,
as statements of fact
"beginnings", "developments", and "ends".
Other syntaxes exist.
There is one which demands
that varieties of intensity be taken as facts.
Within that syntax, "nothing begins" and "nothing ends".
Therefore, birth, for example, is not a clean, clear-cut event;
but rather, birth is a specific type of intensity;
and so is maturation;
and so is death.
A man of that syntax, looking over his equations,
finds that he has calculated enough varieties of intensity
to say with authority
that the universe never began,
and will never end.
He will conclude that the universe has gone through, is now going through, and will forever go through
endless fluctuations of intensity.
A man of that syntax could very well conclude that the universe itself
is the chariot of intensity,
and that a person can board it
to journey through changes without end.
He will conclude all that, and much more,
perhaps without ever realizing
that he is merely confirming
the syntax of his mother tongue.

~ Carlos Castaneda

Second Syntax

Incessant internal banter
The tower of Babel spins
Yarns strewn throughout one's ego
Like play by play commentary
In a vessel that never fills

Do not distress overly much
If broken tape throws for a loop
When perception sullies memories
Every body finds their mind fumbles
While understating sooth

Yet verbal thought be but a bough
Growing from the trunk of consciousness
There are countless others anyhow
Like silent knowledge (Gnosis)
Dreams, and consensual bliss

The Great Matter

The Great Matter

When the one who wrote this is gone, shall our species have gotten much further along?

We are each a brief candle, which no recounting can rekindle.

Within austere walls of Zendo (meditation halls), one question above all:

What means the Great Matter of life and death for those caught in the middle?

Who has ears for the Bards of yesteryear other than those Poets now here?

Why such aversion to departure when presence itself can be torture?

Where does a soul dream if its body leaves behind mundane stream?

Will we receive otherworldly consolation or face eternal damnation?

Were scriptures reliable then perhaps planning would be viable.

Without that however, each of us takes a lonesome dive into forever . . .

<b>⚕</b>

~≈~
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