To Chart an Endless Sea Coast, for Anais: Improv on consciousness – 26 August 2020

Written for a talented colleague and friend in the writing community, Anais Chartseacoast

HERE IS A DOOR WITHOUT A KEY THAT OPENS UP BEFORE A SEA
inside the mind, those corridors,
walked by mystics, madmen, raving in iambic pentameter
while our heroes shoot themselves we line up and take it well
Emulate the march into the marsh and hope we escape hell;
We walk into the fire and we worry of the flame,
We burn away our future and we curse the family name;
WE curse the chaos and the cause, the consequence and LAw
enacted by the greatest fucking sadist of them all.
7:38 AM

It might be easy for another man to try and leave
The poetry and consciousness to be studied free
but there’s obsession and possession that do overcome
And some who are possessed do not want to be done.
7:39 AM
There is a devil on both shoulders, and they have conspired
To lead me to the well to cure me of impure desire;
But each devil has a different gaffe, each a riddle of their own,
And each would betray the other for one moment alone,
But if they knew the painful truth, that each is well alone
We are single drops of a rainstorms crop that never blows away
A ring of smoke passed through a door
out the other to dissolve
Whence not knowing wither not going
get nothing and but want all.
7:43 AM
Is it too much to ask, that a life once give at least must last?
What kind of sadist would just make us and push us off the bridge
As we walk along a blade that divides the pure from sin.
And on the other side there is a blindman and a guide
And we must pay the toll
To walk the long walk home is a walk we walk alone
And conscience is the tomb that comes
that is our very own

Improv in the manner of the Rubaiyat, 22 August 2020

OASIS – first draft, Brandon Nobles

An empty coffee cup has cast
a stagnant halo on the glass
The glass of rum has long been drunk,
the sin of the scholar, sin of the monk,
of trying to look God in the face
to demand
A trial in regards to the design of Man:
That we were made flawed, commanded to be right
Unable to change by plan but gifted with infection
In this light what are we
buta selfish scab collection
For an idiot whose Creation long cast off
His tyranny and lust to be the Boss;
And so threw back another around, let be!
For once empty it remains, empty!

On the other hand the Data duly shows,
There could be no prayer answered or foretold,
For if one choice be made by an all-knowing Mind,
The details are known for once and all of time!
And thus what is to come is a rerun already seen;
In which the timeless creation horribly mocks his seed!
From the Sheik to the Peasant in his Jeep
Which grew from oil spills, green
A hundred years from now who knows,
What camelids will prod and pack that road,
That once Tamur the Lame’s swift horses trode!

Let judgement come and stare it in the face,
Look at the all-judging eye and hold your place!
For the wind that blew us from the other side
Is quick to blow us out the other – and in haste!
But this Oasis standing twixt the two
That bid us passage through the Dew
That we may say that we passed Through!