To They Who Run When No Muse Chaseth -- a warning by a Faust

 

Nothing That I Less Willingly Part Withal — Except

Or, To They Who Run When No Muse Chaseth

a warning by a Faust

A bird is preening: & the likelihood,

all things weighable of course considered,

that it would read this, even if it could,

may be in fact too small to be conjectured —

yet — in my near absolute certainty

that, given my verse for a chance inspiration,,

the bird, if it could, would enjoy this, & happily,

I find, somehow, a fit consolation —

one I doubt can be found, now, or ever

by any who call themselves ‘Poet’ by theft;

their wit finds no thing with which to be clever

because of authenticity — bereft —

The experienced Sacred, made tangible, real:

Nevermore felt deserved by motherfvckers who steal.

the poem

that you stole from me

I too had stolen

from a wood thrush

preening in a sand pine

@sagestone_ 22 Oct 2017

Ourselves We Do Not Owe, Or, On Expectation Wielded (revised & completed)

 

(a revision & completion)

Ourselves, We Do Not Owe

(Or, On Expectation Wielded)

Like a prophesy recursive, the present condition will frame future chance

with a dependence most sensitive upon the initial, same, unknowns

So my projected, misinterpreted, sometime wrong exquisite dance

may be damning me as surely as were I Dylan's Mr. Jones --

--- at least didn't know.  Or did he? The heart confident & loyal

may  all-too-human be, perverse, perfection find in such;

but: he damns himself who thinks it curst, yet watches water boil -- 

for watching changes nothing --- if, in fact, you watch.

& Watch I did, & watch I have, for days it seemed I stared

Alone,  in twos, in crowds, indeed — within, without, withal —

Never found a  present perfect I could prove for certain shared

But always found my means of observation at the center of it all.

Character is Fate, born of the quotidian, perforce;

To True My Self  I conjure my True Will anew: O Fate! Show me thy force.

"...Fate show thy force

Ourselves we do not owe

What is decreed will be

& be this so..."

William Shakespeare 

Twelfth Night, or, What You Will