A Poem To A Soul Long Since Had
World Within Worlds — An Ode To A Gentle Soul — The Great Translator; A Poem To Jacob Bronowski
Oh, Man Contriving the Contrived, to Gift it down from the offset of Haughty Brows —You’re the Delight best had to be Given off and lost, yet never Foregone Forever.
©Joanie Adams — Joanie Adams; Gift A Tea: https://ko-fi.com/joanieadamms
Let me, a humbled Seer, regal to you the Image of a man so late, I remember his passionate stare to me and onto me, another; daring on another to be, that deeming vessel, oh, Hush you naughty thing. Enjoy the style of my words leading, for it is the happy harp to share this so; And “World Within Worlds,” Ah, an Ode from my times as a wee urchin, bespoke and often misunderstood, by no more than me.
This is it —see-a-Seer,
Sacred to the spine and pages of
Tenderly aged infinities are the
Beguiling contempt of aging wise;
Days abiding us to the pinnacles rotund push;
Foreknowledge, oh, imbuing desire to hear
The sparklers' essence in the scheme of things.
Finding us et coutumes, to the magenta wave
Of casting suits, we fall through days that none
Could predict —finding ourselves, ever do we find ourselves
A fine ends in the constant acts of livable time.
We find ourselves in the days none could predict,
Yet their foreknowledge was so adept to the spine of our own.
There in the tumbling wreckage of the prior
The emblazoned horse gallops in striding glances
Towards the unbeknownst;
What fear — what speed?
What recklessness to the norm —
A world away from a world,
Imparting the frilled cheeks, and hailing loudly —
Children, O; Children —
Playing the charmed, catching the charmable;
The wit and the witless,
To fay the fattening fairytale so well,
Bracken to bush —
Children, O; Aye, Children —
Are the remarks of their disarming games
To war —
War to what? To each other,
As their games, flaying as they’re so easily invoked,
By the provocative earn,
Tacking the sly Instability earning, by what you rattle this pitiful youth —
Terror to the nothingness that remains resident,
To the loyalty of legacy soon after.
Take care, you’d better take care, and unlike the master of menacing tests,
Natter and clank, the teeth that clatter in the mouth,
Of a fair-youth, armed with the nerves of a god,
With the insight into the heart, of a middling age —
O; how do? O; how must be?
A world within a world,
I stand to the forecourt and in that breeze
Conjuring the swift jazz of prattling thin bronze,
Wish so deeply for you to accompany me,
Even for the briefest of moments,
Daring true, to the beguiling verge:
A world within a world —
They shall ask you when all fearsome savagery takes the life,
The once youthful, becoming evermore wrinkled
In the watchful tears — as is the fear of the bode parenting —
Becoming the watchmen to the once newly birthed,
clasped it happened to fay, for what must’ve happened to them —
Once, now, it goes against the tourbillons of gainsay;
This never relieves the taunt of time.
You halt and embrace what must be embraced;
Reject as the loyalty demands,
But never without a hearty star from
Those sincere, deep-basin-loving eyes.
Brown, like the soil you laud—
Inhale — exhale, good soul!
Charles Ives, engrained evermore —
A mere remark away is it:
A world within a world,
Only if,
A dime without a rhyme —
A world within a world,
A test for no kneeling slight, to detest —
Only if,
A tish of this, a pitting nod to that.
Though decade the fifth emerges, without you still,
Furthermore, the deceased
Farseeing without reach,
Grasping without marks —
In realms where love is not desired;
Where loving another is all but the slaying, soughing crime.
Those sincere, deep-basin-loving eyes.
Brown, like the soil you laud—
Inhale, breathe it a while,
Whilst the menacing air
Touches you wildly,
Till touting, you’ll be without
That hauntingly caring stare.
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