OTI:twelve poems and notes:6/11/16

Open To Interpretation

Seaside

By faraway Seaside
I still hear the foghorn.
Along the not so distant rails
I hear the train's horn through my town.
No more melancholy a sound
Than their sounds.

Shiny Coins

Some wishing well this,
Our conversations thrown in,
Our wistful thoughts,
Our deepest thoughts,
On the bottom of the fountain's shallow pool
Along with everyone's shiny coins.

Ubiquities

Sure,
I have ubiquities,
Who doesn't?

Black Tombstone

No sooner I write this
Than I'm beneath a
Black tombstone
Engraved.

Ghosts

From the Black Tombs
You can find their writings
And recorded selves.
On illuminated stages,
Surrounded by darkness,
You can see them
Seemingly alive,
As buried too, I.

Imagination

Buried alive
The panicked scratch and claw
The Black Tombs' walls.
It's dark in them beyond compare.
A small candle is all they need
To find the door still open.

New Development

Piled in heaps,
Black tombstones
Removed for development:
Such the demand for new real estate.

Internet AI

With the flip of a switch
Someone, I should think,
Can turn it off.
Maybe not...
Then were all stuck!

Black Soil

Here, I'm not much good at this,
But I've planted carrots and radishes
In this rich black soil.
I hope you find them delicious.

Black Crickets

Black crickets in the black light night
Finish singing in the daylight--
Click off
Click off
Click off.

Night

Daytime
Isn't fireworks' show time.

Like Ishmael

Like Ishmael,
I perch atop the Black Ship's mast,
Far below,
The black deck black light lit,
The neon sails and rigging
Glimmering like the Northern Lights,
Lightning graced filigree sunders
The dark clouds lowering,
Foreboding,
White caps on the black ocean
Pearlescent,
The crew below singing,
Siblings all dancing,
The Parrots all raucous:
Cold wind driven
The Black Ship galloping forward.
I hold steadfast to the rocking mast
And your hand.

DolphinWords

Notes: Seaside...a reminisce...Shiny Coins...Shiny Toy Guns band comes to mind!...an aside...see their official Major Tom music video on youtube...a favorite on my playlist...Ubiquities...thinking how I'm going on about black this, black that...'black' is an old conceit for mystery, the unknown, imagination's scary realm...see Coleridge's Kubla Khan 'caverns measureless to man'...'sunless sea' could be my 'black ocean'...Ghosts...see Shelly's Ozymandias!...Imagination, New Development, Internet AI, Black Soil, Black Crickets, Night, all play off the same conceit...'black light' is a couple things, at least...one, black light: ultraviolet infrared...and my own, black light: the internet messaging light coursing through phone lines, fiber optic cables, air, and such, from 'black' space floating satellites...white light black light...the ravens and seagulls on the Black Ship's neon rigging...things get too complicated when one has to make one's own skeleton key to one's own conceits!...'neon': neon gas in lamps 'courses' with colors...back a ways in post is my garden effort on side of Old House...'black soil' is very good conceit for what the net provides!...as noted before, electricity hasn't turned off since Tesla at Niagara Falls (spell checking, I never knew that second 'a
was there!) threw the switch (Walt Whitman, 'I Sing The Body Electric', pops in here too...he's still on!)...so now the nets on...one wonders, with trepidation, what else will come on!...oh!...the Black Dragon awaits the Black Ship!...call me Ishmael...Herman Melville's Moby Dick...beautiful passage where Ishmael takes his watch in the crows nest...think there might be a passage like this too in Henry David Thoreau's Two Year's Before The Mast...

quote

There is no life in thee, now, except that rocking life imparted by a gentle rolling ship; by her, borrowed from the sea; by the sea, from the inscrutable tides of God. But while this sleep, this dream is on ye, move your foot or hand an inch; slip your hold at all; and your identity comes back in horror. Over Descartian vortices you hover. And perhaps, at midday, in the fairest weather, with one half-throttled shriek you drop through that transparent air into the summer sea, no more to rise for ever. Heed it well, ye Pantheists!

Moby Dick Chapter 35

unquote

oh!...here, Dana and Melville were pals!...The Man Before The Mast by Elias Altman...

:)

DavidDavid