CORRIDORS OF HORROR
11 December 2012
Corridors of horror
man leaves behind his wake.
Place gone and travels taken
to criss-cross the whole round of the planet
with miasmas of lurking shadow
and places that the plants will not grow.
Rivers of blood still oozing through petrification,
suspended clouds of everlasting screams,
these upon the Earth are inflicted,
sweet Mother Earth,
wise Mentor Earth,
to make It groan through Its deepest hollows
at what She has had to bear.
Places we make, we things with arms and feet,
that chill a passing person with unnamed terror,
where the clouds of the dead blot out Sunlight,
casting the land to a hollow of lamentation.
Hardly has this ambulant race
inflicted malice beyond his capacity
to make the Planet ominous,
a specially dreaded quarter
in the Solar System and the Galaxy.
Telescopes cannot see the background malice,
nor can man at close distance.
And yet, of all we've seen,
the worst come later is unimaginably greater.
NOTES ON THE CONFLICT BETWEEN
PREDICTABILITY AND SURPRISE
23 March 2014
THERE ARE THOSE who hate surprises.
In their walks on counted pavements
make they world of sealed dimensions.
Long a life of routine passing
comes a death, not having lived.
Round and round, of streets and houses,
is this world of clockwork boredom,
suicide at all prevented
by a stupefying numbness.
Past and future not existing,
present treated as eternal,
do absorbent organisms
suck the life and make it blackness.
Clouds of oily selfishness
bring shadows under noonday Sun,
subliminal, surreal a menace
showing seems beneath the pleasant,
these are what in numbered doorways
soon emerge to show their natures.
How's it to escape this dreaded?
Where does nightmare and illusion
give way to night's starry sweetness?
By the presence of the unpredicted
of those aspects oft appearing
of a scheme not known to reason,
having as its closet ally
spirit called Coincidence,
Purveyor of the Grand Unknown,
that stands at probability
with flaming sword and blinding shield.
Of synchronicity, the lifeblood
of the Universe in working,
do I praise the inspiration
of the whisperings of the Muses.
THE DARK MAN
24 March 2014
Cobble, brick, and iron railing
give to way the scene his coming.
Down the walk a shadow casting,
carries him his secret world.
At the passerby he leers,
as if to say: "Do not come near me.
In a world to yours is larger
am I one of great and many.
Not for you, its scope and nature.
Look away, and mind your business."
On he goes, that old base creature,
here before the pavements walked,
and wiser than the oldest living.
Do not study long his eyes,
for what they window they can show.
To draw you in, to make you welcome,
is an honor shown to few.
For even fewer can survive,
and those who do will not describe it.
In his shape, that dark fast shadow,
in the streets of others lurking,
walks a thing as old as earth.
Short to say, it's always been there,
of that leering glance to sidelong,
from a shadow to a shadow,
humans, living need concern not.