Scribbles

Today's theme: Scribbles.

First picture: "Visions Carved From Abstraction". Second picture: "Calligraphy Contrite". Third picture: "A Spiral, A Scribble, A Halo". And the last picture: "Vibrato".





Of Illegible Scrawl
----------------------

I phrased the visions spoken
In terms of illegible scrawl.
And these blotches of pastels, they
Tasted so sweet, so benign.
Yet I could barely interpret and decipher
The meaning to be divined in the patterns
Of the abacus calculating the incalculable.
And I stared at these random lines painted
In intricate and unordered tableaux,
Drawn as part of the task never completed,
These edges of the grand polyhedron uttering
The excuses of the gods, those pleas
For love and meaning shouted by those
Who are the most loved and most profound
Of all.
I fell into my own spirit, my sickness
Attempting to find its own cure.
And there, there in my mad soul,
I formulated the question never asked,
Answered the question never considered.
There I smashed the abacus in an attempt
To wake from this dream of scribbles
And hieroglyphs and gods all occupied
With their psychosis within the song
Written by the uncertainty of space-time
Convoluted somehow into a universe
Known only to our madness.

..........................

Inside The Scribbles
----------------------

We each drew our minds inside the scribbles
Of our enlightened metaphor. And there
Within those thoughtless brains we found
The tainted anger and sleep we have yet
Become again. There within we discovered
The strange shape of our souls. Abruptly
The youthfulness we endure reiterates
So as to be made from form and paper, so
As to rectify the cursive cusps of imprecision.
Abruptly the aged existence we deny, it
Transforms each squiggle into the scrawl into
The assumptions of beauty. Abruptly we die,
But are then interned among our position
And direction and distance that we once achieved,
That we once drew so haphazardly upon.

=============

Consensus Of The Scribbles
----------------------------

The consensus of the scribbles, the concurrence
Of the indescribable tangle of inked essence;
In this labyrinth of quadrilaterals despised, I
Envision my destiny despite my longing. I
Hallucinate vaguely, for I am ludicrous.
But assuming the sketched truth of misnomers, I
Divine the spiral's ellipsoid, divine
The ellipsoid's spiral.
And forward again, I must depict such pronouns,
Depict such predictions of impending circumference.
And I glean these tableaux from each page
Of stirred topology imploding. For, in the prayer
I am vacuous and valiant. In the scrawl I am
Soothed, yes, by the finality of an oracle untelling.

+++++++++++++

Scribbled Halos
---------------------

And from scribbles, it was formed,
This halo alone without an angel.
Oh, salvation is derived from tiniest glass,
Derived and spun out of shapelessness,
Out of clockwise gods destined to avoid
Every shattering of temperament and solitude.
But such is indeed alone.
I salted this sky so as to kneel
Before uncurved mazes each embarrassed,
Each hiding throughout the horizon above us,
Above integers without edges, above
Stillness without platitudes, above again
(Psychedelic pizzas and) scribbled halos
Wandering their purpose for what
Has been assumed by truth to embrace all.

oooooooooooooooo

Scribbles Made By Darkness Obscured
-------------------------------------

I have always, as I once had, seen the other distances
Of dreams and symmetric ambiguity. I have
Woken so as to wonder of these abstractions.
I have returned to triumphant rage more ghastly
Than the dawn. And then I see again the crux
Of sleep's emphatic transcendence. For strange
Is our placement within this space, is our
Existence ascending sideways unto another substance.

Ah, I wonder where I am that others recite to me
Their poetry of visions. For I become that place,
Become the magnificent appreciation for these
Serendipitous shapes excreted by chaotic neurons
Each enclosed among the self, among such
Scribbles made by darkness obscured, made by
The other distances of dreams, by symmetric but
Ambiguous metaphor.

***************

Forgotten And Invisible Scribbles
---------------------------------------

Forgotten and invisible scribbles exhume
Our youthful uncertainty. For then within
The tilted mandala of our spirits' assumptions
We find the rotation to be truthful, to be
The innocence condemned by such a sacrifice.
For we sever and draw the epitome of shape
Upon the tangled page. And from beneath
The fluid's secreted expression rises the ugliness
We pursue, rises the resonance we endure.
From beneath the imperfections of our childhood
Rises the patterns surely to be elongated, rises
The mindless prisms we had spoken of, rises
The intertwined threads of crayon and conclusion.

///////////////////

The Scribble's Beauty
-------------------------

Enigmatic is the scribble's beauty, is
The trampled image once designed
So as to be the incarnation (the incompletion)
Of youth, of simplicity, of revelations
Utterly without composition, of truth made
To be precisely as it desires itself to be,
Made so as to glimpse at us, so as to
Imagine the simmering creations
Both desolate and dark, both
Spilled and linear and curved,
So as to imagine the invisibility defined
And drawn by coarse and crude intentions.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Efflorescent Scribble
---------------------------

This, an efflorescent scribble, has been made
Somewhat triumphant, despite the ganglia
Of spacetime compressed and composed
From only angular spirals, from only
The thwarted rain which stuns this earth,
Which grows and rotates and bubbles
So as to resist every curvature, so as to
Resist every clarity still and remaining
As glass refracting the drop's very purpose,
Still and remaining the scribble designed
So as to be
Symmetrical although juvenile, to be
Surreal although trite and certain, certain
And sure of the chaotic mantra it has relegated
To the forgotten rectangle where circles laugh.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Astigmatic Scribbles
------------------------

Astigmatic scribbles empty our sight
Of ironic darkness in well-lit pupils,
Of these savage and saintly verses,
Each relishing the very coldness
Found in such whispers. For found again
Are abrasive conclusions (concussions)
Spoken of as before, spoken of in
Tired but caressed composition
Awakened but then spilt onto randomness,
Bringing this performance to what
Is but the unexpected crescendo, to
What is yet solitude tamed
And made into its vastness ravaged.

##################

Incorrectly Scribbled
--------------------------

Incorrectly scribbled
Was each uncertain maze,
Was each fantastic but crude
Pencilled line
Of color yet invisible, of
Equations yet puzzling, of
Circles unfilled and zero in radius,

..Of scribbles

Bent into straightest rotation,
...Into cursive so askew,
...Into
This cursive failing to be anything other
..Than of the most carefully drawn
... .... And indecipherable tangle.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Among Scribbles
---------------------

One final scrap-book containing
Every permutation which is every poem,
One final song written
From notes finitely invisible, infinitely
Irradiant ...

Within once will have once been,
Will have achieved
What was this which will be,
The smudging and erasing of all
And its insignificance (its obscurity),
Its own consciousness
Now barely remembered ...

Remembered barely as only itself a memory,
As this hidden among the unseen vacuum,
Among scribbles without apparent meaning,
But explaining the exact shape of this
Which claims to be our very soul.

---

Leroy Quet