
Out of Chaos comes the Universe,
and the Sky covers the Earth.
As Darkness joins with Light,
so does the Day with the Night,
making Alpha of Omega and
Omega of Alpha, Cycles in Epicycles.

Out of Chaos comes the Universe,
and the Sky covers the Earth.
As Darkness joins with Light,
so does the Day with the Night,
making Alpha of Omega and
Omega of Alpha, Cycles in Epicycles.

The stupendousness of darkness
In a vortex of chaos in treason
Against sovereignty of ambition
By divine immaculate conception
From the union of Psyche and Eros
In the spiritualization of sensuality
thru the enslavement of the Sense
into the ecstatic hands of desire
for absolute adoration evermore
touching the soft tissues of delicacy
of the latticework for the casement
of the soul thru which her majesty
is seen spinning a wheel of mystery
with an eagle telling her the world
he has seen, diffusing the wind of
wisdom to his beautiful solitary queen
whose heart thrilled, reason satisfied
defies her freedom of Love and Reason
and keeps her in his cellar of isolation.
P.S. What has happened to the departments of the cerebral control tower? Common Sense is falling out; Cogitation is shaking; Memory is debilitating; Imagination is trying, and Estimation is fumbling. Is this case of Aphasia? Or in the worst scenario Dyslexia, even? If so, then let it be. But memento this. Writing is not a prerogative of the pedantic. You can be boastful of writing excellent prose with a talented assistant of the brain, but never be full of yourself of touching the more excellent tissue of the heart with passion. Shakespeare was of small Latin, less Greek.

On the day she left the gallery
Of the faces ancient and agelast
She went to the shop of curiosity
And bought a new perfume fragrant
Of Rose, Acacia, Lilac, and Bergamot,
From which a Sylph floated up to her
Thru the dusty air of a city street
Wrapping her in the perfume of love
Undressing her in the nature of love.

Into the silence of the gentle night
The soft breeze of the distant forest
Blows sweet to the leaves of the trees
Which begin to flutter in the gentle wind
Whispering to the lunar beauty alone
Listening to her susurrus of chaste heart.

The magic violin of Paganini plays the lover’s concerto in
Largo, lento, adagio, andante, moderato, allegro, vivace, vivace presto
And tames the heart of a brute with lustrous intoxication
gathering a Sylph flitting, humming, dancing in
the twilight ablaze with the breeze of the sun.

Where the earth meets the sky on the mountain,
An old mountain spirit opens and closes the doors
Of Day and Night every day at the proper hours
And works the wonders of nature in the divine design.
The vault of heaven, the dome of Sky God’s palace
She frescoes with celestial ephemerals every night
With new moons hung and old moons cut into stars
Sprinkled across the nightly firmament golden bright.
The garden of the earth, the parterre of Earth Goddess
She waters with rains spun out of soft summer clouds
Woven by early morning’s gossamer cobwebs and dews
Flake after flake, like those of fluffy white cotton balls.
The wise mountain spirit, the wonderful divine artist
Adorns the heaven’s frescoes every night with cheer;
The wise mountain spirit, the wondrous fairy gardener
Cherishes nature’s garden every day with delight.
P.S. This poem is based upon my reading of Washington Irving’s ‘Rip Van Winkle’ in which the fictional historian character named Mr. Knickerbocker relates to the native American legend of an old squaw spirit living on the Catskill Mountains in New York. I envision her as a fantastic fairy version of Michelangelo frescoing the vault of the Sistine Chapel and as a fabulous gardener tending the earthly garden with tenderness and quiet assiduity. What a fascinating vision of a magical magnitude it is!
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