~ Valentines for Refugees ~
The Sharp Dressed Man faces Quantum Asymmetry
” What are we to say to document examiners here in the still brine offers of love ? “
Where can that love go ?
This congestion of the heart
falls over the fading hopeless horizon –
We are forever reminded of the past embrace.
Only if you know this –
it is the bottleneck of broken dreams.
Just me –
What is my name ?
Still Love in Salty Water.
What about Time?
Just as eyes obsess over love torn letters,
perhaps the document examiner
forgot to kiss the clean snow,
blue-white crystallized seconds,
moments dressed in hoar frost gowns.
Echoes of footsteps,
wet shadows sliding on pavement,
beat out hollow hopes that struggle,
like a gun chorus at dawn –
just the Austro-Prussian puppet war
in the Abyssinia of the heart.
The heart of the movement,
witnessed through whispering wings of owls.
In front of luck,
Every day the word, “when”…….
My mind returns from the stars,
the servant of power,
My soul dangerous.
The world has changed,
the whole time domain and space
in my fast hands,
burning in my heart and trove house.
I feel such a passion –
do not take my hand,
fear to know that there is nothing –
wraith women wander
over waves of neutron stars,
briny eyes weep for children .
Special value found
In the Mirror of Regrets and Quantum Asymmetry –
face-saving Time and Space.
An incessant unfolding of the universe over time –
I think, that thing takes notes, glances in lamp light,
looking for Long-time.
Watch, moderate, wrought eagle sky-arcs.
Closed steps, meadows, forests, plains –
It was forgotten.
Now seven corners in this magnitude of war
becomes a very passionate day.
The clock face laughs at the mirror.
Nothing’s Kiss is All.
Hull, why mass at Fortune’s call ?
It is just an Established Howl.
Finally, we have a joust of possibilities –
ridiculous odds, newspaper facts
flying into the recent path of cormorants’ wing.
Magic of water boat anger –
The ground shifts beneath migrants’ feet,
like tides in a capsized boat,
Love And You both weeping.
Please watch for the torpedo of wants-
See the last man, both tree and poet –
Ore of the day.
You fear the animal,
There is a crew.
You have a dream,
the king heating of victory.
Room was available;
The Turtle does not feel human.
Breakfast rate for the song,
At the moment,
there was a Wyrd approaching.
Some of the cities found,
waiting like bridegrooms
at the bedroom door,
in the subconscious.
The Worker enters the Air Gate.
Who has an illiterate clock ?
This completes it,
cogs of despair and hope.
I like having the beauty of ghosts and death
waving from a distant shore;
Resistance was good for no thing.
It offers a thought – please, see.
In the Wood-spa , might it feel better ?
Waltz with her – a lot of people watch;
For music, visual acuity, robust minute passion.
It a strange love of power acquired – the latest public concern .
This mind, perhaps it is not that difficult an explosion.
Use the dream of Yasu of M and make it so.
Love the Woman in the Words of Waters.
Workers of energy.
This hides the sound
By removing it –
Rusted metal and twisted wire
embrace the eager seekers –
yet they seek
the sirens of serene cities,
while the well dressed ponder,
leaving workers unsure
with their hearts
Time turns on itself,
the boats set sail again.
However, what was given to the sheep of the city ?
What does not speak of passion ?
Fear the unfamiliar strangers.
However, we believe the things we hear now.
The same song, was a woman of fear.
Examples of resting places
beam us towards Promethean graces.
Voices and new things rise in resistance,
a gracious hearth-breath awaits the weary.
Smoke like mountain ranges
speeds towards frail bows,
grief lined brows.
Then, create the explosion that is not a torture shout,
these women sing in an unfamiliar tongue.
Cry over wave tossed memories of home and family.
Who mourns for the broken staff of the last twenty fingers ?
Stones washed on shore,
bones of the sea.
No delivery in this city,
Nosfuragu is shouting unnecessarily.
Lead to the wind that has just been given.
All is clear, many things are new here.
In my fingers you can hear crying – your voice.
Note: Taking inspiration from current events and topics in the news , together with a poem by simono1968m, I contemplated how current upheaval of social structure parallel science’s new interpretations of the structure of time, space and the universe. I loosely framed it in terms of our Western preoccupation with Valentine’s Day. What does this commercialized romanticism mean in the face of understanding the cosmos or the turmoil and struggle of people fleeing waves of suffering ? How do we reconcile our growing understanding of the universe with our lack of empathy for the suffering multitude. The incorporated portrait of the Middle Eastern refugee used in images five and six comes from a forensic facial reconstruction of what Jesus would of looked like based on location and ethnicity. A unmarried male with limited education & training, no papers, questionable parentage, attracts a diverse following and has upset both secular and religious authorities – knows about boating in the Sea of Galilee. ***** See Links embedded in poem.