~Quodlibet (XXVII-XL)~

By WordWulf, 14th Apr 2011 | Follow this author | RSS Feed | Short URL http://nut.bz/3jsrk8_a/
Posted in Wikinut>Writing>Poetry

~ our skin no longer fits us ~ what to say of this to youth ~ we miss what we never were ~ a shot in the dark at best ~ pictures of citizens on the wall ~ our memories are death in our hands ~ where is the deep place ~ the death lake ~ where mother went to die ~ a lost tree ~ forest of life ~

~Quodlibet~
~XXXVII. Bones O’ Beggars~
~XXXVIII. Elusive Illusion~
~XXXIX. Wind, Pryzm & Glass~
~XL. Voices & Echoes~

~Quodlibet~

quodlibet /’kwad/ n 1: a philosophical or theological point proposed for disputation; also : a disputation on such a point 2: a whimsical combination of familiar melodies or texts.
(Webster’s New Collegiate Dictionary)

~XXXVII. Bones O’ Beggars~

A youth seeks one truth
finds ten thousand conflicting answers instead
a million lies attending
cries out “What dawn is waking there
is no light in this darkened room
A bone thrown to beggars
is my quest for understanding”
If he survives the millionth darkness
each shade of truth he seize
until ten thousand candles
light this dim beginning of journey
Leather skin, these bones contain
remnant of youth and found

~XXXVIII. Elusive Illusion~

Confess yourself and first
as madman but not as first at any thing
as you scan the far heavens
in search of your cave
there is a cow in this woman’s eye
a man misses her
the older he becomes, the more
when he finds her
finally convinces himself
she will be those missing parts
those lost and lain aside
more, those that never existed
she is there at last
in the first place visited

~XXXIX. Wind, Pryzm & Glass~

Seven directions home
a picture in the window
someone lit a candle
and the candle was me
there were winds in the life room
a photograph, a pryzm
when the wind took me
its spirit ate my glass
in the beginning we are born of eyes
as wind sheets scene between
railroad ties and fence posts
clackety-clack, a full wrap
Children waving back seat glass

~XL. Voices & Echoes~

As a wheel born into a city of mud
there is no practical use for us
better to come as a straight stick in the mud
Listen, you citizens of forest
mountains fall to the needs of man
They speak to you with their canyon voice
tell you of once time and a thousand
memories adrift on a sorrowing wind
a heavier hammer will make yours
a thin forest of grief
shuddering dirge of lament
break down, you city and cry
conceive; create a plague of worms

~Tom (WordWulf) Sterner~
~Written On Glass~
~Dapping~
~Howling Dog Press/Omega~
~Quodlibet (XXXIII-XXXVI)~

Meet the author

WordWulf
Tom Sterner lives in Redding, California and Arvada, Colorado with wife Kathy. He has been published in numerous magazines and on the internet, including Howling Dog Press/Omega, Skyline Literary Review, The Storyteller, and Flashquake. His interne...(more)

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Comments

Delicia Powers
15th Apr 2011 (#)

"memories adrift on a sorrowing wind", haunting poems that hold wisdom and raw truth...unsettling yet beautiful.

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WordWulf
15th Apr 2011 (#)

Thank-you, Delicia. That is a wonderful statement.

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rama devi nina
15th Apr 2011 (#)

Your poetry is most unique and creative!
Imaginative imagery adn simile- like, As a wheel born into a city of mud--brilliant
The opening is super-A youth seeks one truth
finds ten thousand conflicting answers instead.

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WordWulf
15th Apr 2011 (#)

I appreciate your incisive comments. I set the aphorism you pointed out previously as my Face Book status & received some interesting commentary.

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Steve Kinsman
15th Apr 2011 (#)