Till Thou Cometh Again (And Commentary on: Rewriting Jesus))
Till Thou Cometh Again
But it is for you, I will sing of the fool.
I will sing of the black birds
In the deep pits of hell,
The stars that are lit, that never tells.
I will sing of the moon.
…eh? …they mostly have burnt eyes.
Pests! I will sing their songs too?
As their charcoal fingers clutch through
The crevices;
Satan, Satan,
Stately praises meet unto thy passion?
Hear a word—death!
Pass it on
Unto the dead, “I makyth my heart for the living!”
#1761 3-24-2007
Note: A song-poem, I do believe it can be sung, or simply read, with a small compact insight; here, in short, is the indispensable minimum, and introduction into the realms of the undetermined world of a poet’s edge, my rim between earth and hell, and heaven, and who knows where else. The lyric has a technique, fresh insight, I do trust. We live in a vacuum that ripples into other unknown dimensions, circles of other existences, so I do believe, between multilayered existences: we are not the only ones here, in essence, on earth. Even Satan, and the hordes of hell, surely acknowledges this as they time their feasts accordingly, and do their tasks likewise, whatever they may be, what they must do for whatever reasons, avoiding clashes I would think with other unacquainted realms, as we earthlings, go on with life.
Commentary on: Rewriting Jesus
Most everything written today about Jesus Christ comes under “Speculative History,” tales told by those writers who have no discipline, no facts, so quickly written, simply to get their name in the spotlight. We have produced a generation of poor academic – sensationalism.
They get a big paycheck, go on a TV show, win a popularity contest, only to see their book of Science Fiction, produce a high for them, and thrown into the nearest basket of rubbish. These are the writers of a generation that got stock somehow in-between Adam and the Australopithecine Man (of the so called Pleistocene epoch, a million years ago)) from the 1970s)), now in their 40s, the new unintelligible banana beat.
But it is for you, I will sing of the fool.
I will sing of the black birds
In the deep pits of hell,
The stars that are lit, that never tells.
I will sing of the moon.
…eh? …they mostly have burnt eyes.
Pests! I will sing their songs too?
As their charcoal fingers clutch through
The crevices;
Satan, Satan,
Stately praises meet unto thy passion?
Hear a word—death!
Pass it on
Unto the dead, “I makyth my heart for the living!”
#1761 3-24-2007
Note: A song-poem, I do believe it can be sung, or simply read, with a small compact insight; here, in short, is the indispensable minimum, and introduction into the realms of the undetermined world of a poet’s edge, my rim between earth and hell, and heaven, and who knows where else. The lyric has a technique, fresh insight, I do trust. We live in a vacuum that ripples into other unknown dimensions, circles of other existences, so I do believe, between multilayered existences: we are not the only ones here, in essence, on earth. Even Satan, and the hordes of hell, surely acknowledges this as they time their feasts accordingly, and do their tasks likewise, whatever they may be, what they must do for whatever reasons, avoiding clashes I would think with other unacquainted realms, as we earthlings, go on with life.
Commentary on: Rewriting Jesus
Most everything written today about Jesus Christ comes under “Speculative History,” tales told by those writers who have no discipline, no facts, so quickly written, simply to get their name in the spotlight. We have produced a generation of poor academic – sensationalism.
They get a big paycheck, go on a TV show, win a popularity contest, only to see their book of Science Fiction, produce a high for them, and thrown into the nearest basket of rubbish. These are the writers of a generation that got stock somehow in-between Adam and the Australopithecine Man (of the so called Pleistocene epoch, a million years ago)) from the 1970s)), now in their 40s, the new unintelligible banana beat.
posted by Dennis and Rosa Siluk at 6:17 PM
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