A Dream of Flowing Altars

From what primordial waters
Does this dream
Of forgiveness spring
And what might it alter
This underground stream.
Oh to kneel and drink
Of this pure water.
And to have you on my lips
But now what’s become of this?
And what weird mist
Has taken its place?
What strange procession
Is taking shape?
What soft confession
Tryin' to be born.
What shapes
Trying to form.
A woman and her robe
Wrapped around the globe
Comin' unfurled--
The drapery of the world.
O, Scarlett, you wear it well
And with this kiss
Let us unveil
This hidden bliss.

O what are these cries I do hear
Of one-eyed monsters coming near
Enlightened ones or so they thought
Forever searchin’ for what they lost.
But now taking their place
Are three enormous doors
Bordered by light and space.
And now Scarlett is no more
I can’t see her face at all
She’s barkin’ for me to choose
She’s become Monty Hall.
Monty, Monty, I have no clue
Ok, Number 2--the doors fly away
With Monty like Aladdin hangin’ on
Disappearing with the light into space.

In the darkness and all alone
I hear the sound of rustlin’ waters
Oh Scarlett why did you leave me?
Blindly, I try to catch this flowing altar
But only find a circus clown jury.

Darkness!
Forgive me for being afraid
Light!
Forgive me for wantin’ you to save
Hunger!
Forgive me for never being satisfied
Despair!
Forgive me for stayin too long inside
Cynicism!
Forgive me for usin’ you as a crutch
Heart!
Forgive me for protectin you too much
Vanity!
Forgive me for givin’ you too much
Love!
Forgive me for tryin’ to hold
Soul!
Forgive me for lettin’ you go
Self!
Forgive me for neglectin’ you so
Reason!
Forgive me for bowin’ to you.
Life!
Forgive me for not knowin what to do.

The twelve clowns disappear.
And the sound of the water seems nearer.
Scarlett’s shadowy visage seems clearer.

Mother? Is that you?
Forgive me for not being
What you wanted me to
Father!
Forgive me for being
Too much like you.

The waters softly hum.
Somewhere I hear the beat of a drum.
Tap. Tap. Tap—the sound
And when I turn around:

Oh Lord
Forgive me
For being
Only as created;
And for using my will
Only to rebel
And not seeing you
In this world of violence;
And only hearin’ white noise in your silence;
And not knowin’ how to rise above—
And not understandin’ this love.
And I’ll forgive you for this rigged trial;
And with this kiss let us smile
And together lift this veil--
And our warring factions shall meld.

I awake abruptly to the glare
Of PBS going off the air
A torn curtain in my hand
Scarlett gone with the wind
But just before this awful ringin’
I thought I heard Ray Charles singin.’

Where were you when Rome was burning?

Stop Children. What's that sound. Everybody look what's going down.

Should we worry? Should we care?

Should these fools howlin' from the peanut gallery be thrown to the Lions?

Or is Rome burning?

Where were you?

From the cheap seats of the Great Spectacle, a few sound off:

Human B Leever:

'How can we continue to base our economy on growth and more when the resources to achieve these ends grow ever less? How can we base our progress as a species on something as volatile and essentially valueless as Market Forces? How can we continue to support political parties whose policies perpetuate the depletion of global resources? Parties who relentlessly ignore the plight of their sinking ship of gluttons and thieves while the burden of their consumption drags them to a watery grave. History will record how shallow, cowardly and self-serving the civilians of the late twentieth and early twenty first centuries became. How they shrugged their shoulders and did nothing to stop the rot. And how they deserved what they got.' See the whole piece.

And George P responds: 'Yes, it's time for the religion of consumption, of killing to protect "our way of life," to end. Things seem to be getting worse faster, as if we've reached a tipping point...' See his Paranoia?

And other fools whistle while they work:

'tis rome not i

who what was is
in the sky i
burnin'
ground
under i
whither feet
to fly i
fire
was is
vesuvius
how to meet
this fire
is it too late
for i?
what tools
have i
to choose
the enemy
to confront
was is i
cubbie holed
comfort i
it is not i
nazis
had to feed
their families
not i
no not i
this fire
no connection
to i
is it too late
for i
to stand
in this fire
with lava i
stand
with lava i
choose
words
body
deeds
to stand
and be
buried
released i
no its not i
no connection
to me
better to
watch it on TV
in cubby holed
comfort i
it is not i
it's only
Rome
burnin'
not i
choose
to be amused
to the fiddlin'
strains of
Plato's
riddle
to go beyond
the little letters i
what was is
hidden
or is it nero, i
whither
soul
or burnin'
matter, i
is it too late
for i
Nazis too
had to feed
their family
is it too late
for i
who was is i
what
seeds
flow
under
this
burnin'
ground
where was i
when soul
was
mattered
o not i
it's only
Rome

And let the real poets have their say:

The Second Coming

Turning and turning
Within the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer
Things fall apart
The center cannot hold
And a blood dimmed tide
Is loosed upon the world

Nothing is sacred
The ceremony sinks
Innocence is drowned
In anarchy
The best lack conviction
Given some time to think
And the worst are full of passion
Without mercy

Surely some revelation is at hand
Surely it's the second coming
And wrath has finally taken form
For what is this rough beast
Its hour come at last
Slouching towards Bethlehem to be born
Slouching towards Bethlehem to be born

Hoping and hoping
As if by my weak faith
The spirit of this world
Would heal and rise
Vast are the shadows
That straddle and strafe
And struggle in the darkness
Troubling my eyes

Shaped like a lion
It has the head of a man
With a gaze as blank
And pitiless as the sun
And it's moving its slow thighs
Across the desert sands
Through dark indignant
Reeling falcons

Surely some revelation is at hand
Surely it's the second coming
And the wrath has finally taken form
For what is this rough beast
Its hour come at last
Slouching towards Bethlehem to be born
Slouching towards Bethlehem to be born

Raging and raging
It rises from the deep
Opening its eyes
After twenty centuries
Vexed to a nightmare
Out of a stormy sleep
By a rocking cradle
By the Sea of Galilee

Surely some revelation is at hand
Surely it's the second coming
And the wrath has finally taken form
For what is this rough beast
Its hour come at last
Slouching towards Bethlehem to be born

W.B. Yeats


There'll be the breaking of the ancient
western code
Your private life will suddenly explode
There'll be phantoms
There'll be fires on the road
and the white man dancing
You'll see a woman
hanging upside down
her features covered by her fallen gown
and all the lousy little poets
coming round
tryin' to sound like Charlie Manson
and the white man dancin'

I've the seen the future
It's murder.

Leonard Cohen

The Great Spectacle

Populus bellows at the gates of the great spectacle:

Ok, Gluteus you’re the next contestant On Who Wants to Meet Your True Wife in the Afterlife. Let’s go, Gluteus…Fight that Lion!

Gluteus: But, sir, I have prostituted my wife and children and myself to pay Rome…please, sir…take this…

Populus takes his offering and sends him on.

Ok, go watch it on circuit TV.

Next! Let’s go Poetus….I know you have no money to pay.
So get in the ring and have your day!

Ah yes…And what a lovely spectacle it is!
I have no money it’s true….but perhaps my words will amuse you.

Words! Well, ok…but make them brief! And pay this interest!

Poetus nervously bends over, drops his pants, and recites at the crack of the whip:

There are so many things to die for;
Careful to choose the right one.

Heehee…Rome, of course. More!

Crack of whip:

If behind every great Civilization
There's a great crime,
Then who should we wipe out next time?

Good one! Good one!

Crack!

If the dream of eternity is just that--
Can i get my money back?

Haaaaaaaaaaaaaa….What money, Fool?

Crack!

If life isn't fair
Why should we be?

Bravo! Bravo!

Crack!

If the key to superiority is the ability to survive,
cockroaches and lawyers take the prize.

Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Take this, cockroach!

If humanity is but a rough draft
where will you be in the second?

On top as usual!
Crack!

If the great sin is lifelessness
What to do with this rowdy health?

Send it to the lions!

Crack!

If humanism is just the musings of the idle few,
Then why worry about weeds in the garden?

Gardening!!!? Fool, you’re going to the Lions!

Crack!

If this is but a great diversion,
Why do we long to keep playing its games?

Ah, yes…better!

Crack!

Since the law of the market
Already bans most books naturally;
What learning should we fear?

None, naturally!

Crack!

There are many ways
To scale a fish;
But how to escape the net?

Net? You’re losing it, fool!

Crack! Crack!

If there is no soul in matter;
What are we trying to escape?

Boredom, Fool! Boredom!

Crack! Crack! Crack!

If the sermon seems endless;
Where does eternity lie?

In the eyes of the Emperor, Fool!

Crack!

If change is the only thing constant
Then why does history keep repeating itself?

Because Victory is the only Virtue, Fool!

Crack!

A straight line is the quickest way
To a point on the circle.

What?

Why bemoan what we can't know
And put so much stock in what we think we do.

Hmmm.

If Beauty is just a thing to measure
Then what is measureless?

Our big beautiful empire, Fool!

Crack, crack, crack!

If Real Time is little hands suspended
What do we make of this glimpse?

Huh?

Caution: Objects on the horizon
Are smaller than they appear; and
Tend to disappear upon reaching.

Do you want the lions, Fool!

If wisdom is the stuff of hermits, Populus
What are you stuffed with?

What??? Why the grapes of Bacchus and the loins of Jupiter, fool!

He's gonna deliver us from evil
And rid the world of foreign devils--
So we can all be free to rape and pillage.

What did you say, Fool?

And quickly before the whip can strike:

If dehumanizing is the key to war
Then where's the glory in that?

If progress is the rape of the land
Then whatever became of us?

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Send him to the Lions!!!!

If those who turn the other cheek
Are perceived as weak
Why bother crushing them?

Hmmm…good point!

The facts are not the truth;
Death not the end.

There are so many things to live for,
Careful to choose the right one.

Crack crack crack crack crack….

On second thought….send this bloody unconscious Fool back to the alley he crawled up from.
He's not worthy of the spectacle.

Ode to Mr. Keats

O play on you sweet lyre
Past the waters of fire
Past Medusa's stare
And all the lost seamen there
Onward to the source
Where seeming is no more

They say that dreamers
Dream to awaken
And those awake to dream
And we take what is to be taken
But nothing is as it seems
Not Pleasure's fleet feet
Nor Munch's cosmic bleats

But right before the baby's first cry
And the mother's last sigh
I hear the sounds of Orpheus
Drifting to the source
And see Medusa there
Still holding forth.
And all those stoned sailors
Drowning on the shore.

O play on you sweet lyre
Past the waters of fire
Past Medusa's stare
And all the lost seamen there
Onward to the source
Where seeming is no more.

And what ancient notes team
To wake me to this dream
Play on, play on
I cannot help but follow
Take me to your source
Will-less, I am yours.

I cannot help but follow
Wherever this music leads.
And I hear you, Mr. Keats
Alive in the night shadows
And warbling in the swallow
O, play on, play on
I cannot help but follow.

Where have you gone, Mr. Keats?
To where truth and beauty meet?
Or was it just the lovesong of a lyre?
Or did it take you there?

O play on you sweet lyre
Past the waters of fire
Past Medusa's stare
And all the lost seamen there
Onward to the source
Where seeming is no more