First picture: "The Shape Of Meaning". (You may recall that I already posted this picture. Actually, it was one of the first two pictures I posted on this blog.) Second picture: "Egg And Peacock Feather". Middle picture: "Prophecies Of Assumption". Fourth picture: "Portrayed As An Egg". And the last picture: "Poignant Resonance".
As An Egg
----------
Portrayed as an egg, betrayed as its skin,
The tapered spheroid arrived at such spite.
And from its shell, the long and slender
And flat prong turned then rose horizontally.
Ah, I saw this egg withhold its yolk. For,
In its white was our own humanity. In
Its fluid was the lonely truth now meaningful.
And I awoke to see beyond this ellipse
A curvilinear crescent conjoined with
Yet another. And this dichotomous quasi-ring
Transformed itself via its own triumph as
But an annulus. Oh, the egg, it was thirsty.
It was soothed by its shape. And I too
Am fragile yet not angry. But still I scream.
Still I dare to seize the simple egg,
And then place it abruptly behind
Its obviously pompous and brittle shroud.
+++++++++++
The Egg Pretended
--------------------
The egg pretended to envelope itself in its
Pretension. And it pretended to redeem itself
In consequence and trite shadows. For it
Contained a white of imbalance and purity.
Yet, such was selfish, if it too was bland.
It contained a yolk of its own ghost. And
In this yellow syrup of implication, it saw
The shapelessness of perfect substance. And
Surrounding that dichotomy of white and yolk
Was the frail skin of soft solidity, the shell.
And such a coarse glass of calcium carbonate
Faltered. Then it shuddered, then split, forming
The lines askew of random firmament. This bone,
This ellipsoid, it cracked. And forth came our
Longing and chasm. Forth came our betrayal
Never to be remade. For the young bird
Is to die. And the flesh of this zoological seed
Excretes until we provoke its timidity. And we
Pretend that we did not shatter that egg.
We pretend that it is meaningless to our
Dream, pretend that it was meaningless to
Our decay overwhelmed by such circumvention.
==========
An Ellipsoid Subtly Tapering
-----------------------------
The egg extends to become its flatness. Yes,
Its yolk is eviscerated by this image of truth.
Could I taste the ghost within me? For it too
Is spherical. It too is glistening. Oh, wet is that
Yellow purity, is the symbolism we remake. Oh,
I smash that meaningless stone, then transfuse
Those liquid assumptions into my convalescence.
The egg, it is certain of its flavor, of its shape.
And such mutations of specks inflame our perversion.
Such profound and dismal curvature,
It is my undenied blood. It is that substance
Resting sideways. It is both diagonal and vague
In its concentricity. For jagged are the crumbs of
Reality's androgynous ellipsoid subtly tapering.
..............
Inside The Shell Of The Egg
-----------------------------
I scream at the spectacle above this firmament.
For there, afloat, is an egg inside where
All is glass, all is amorphous, all is beautiful
And yet smooth. And I see in it the bending light.
Ah, but yet the ellipsoid is a strange prism.
For it refracts my emotions and thoughts, as
It begets color. For it illuminates hope into
Such an infusion of resilient existence. It
Hallucinates the sky -- Yet I observe the fragility
Of that cosmos. Oh, I scream at the lens. And
Then I am angry; then I am guilty of my failings.
Then I am distraught and apathetic. Because
Inside the shell of the egg is my confusion.
Because I do not understand my horror,
Nor do I explain it profoundly
When I scream, when I am selfishly enclosed.
***************
The Egg Denied
-------------------
The egg denied its conceit, denied its shattering
Into triplicate. This water obtained its drips
From that shell unto the ambiguous floor.
The egg imploded so as to exhale yet again.
And that thirst distracted our shape; it
Felt the sounds of tingling filth, of throbbing
Incontinence remaining sickened. The egg
Dreamt of its divergence, dreams still of what
Has impregnated the rapture which strangulates
These implied edges. And this yolk remains
Septic and yet finite, remains timid but
Yet alluring. And then the fluid falls
Until it too becomes the dark rust we invoke.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Egg Cracked
---------------------
The egg cracked,
Ending our youth forever, destroying all
We once hoped to be, but now,
But now we may only lament.
And we have always mourned the loss
Of that which would have passed out of
Our possibility, yet stood strong until
The wave-function collapsed.
We have always sung quietly to ourselves
Our own funeral dirge ... quietly
Whispered our own epitaph.
The egg cracked, shattered,
Spilled its guts upon the floor,
That floor tiled with pain.
The scar of our passage becomes
A most grotesque yolk staining
Any of our hopes for what exactly
We may only have achieved but for
The fragility of a shell which
Was suppose to protect us from
Our own bias and uncertainty and
Fear of ourselves.
The egg cracked, became disordered,
Yielded to entropy and fate.
And still we never stop believing,
No matter how disheveled our world,
That we have anything to imagine,
Any more than we can only now
Perceive beyond the surface, the horizon,
Of our once-eternal sanctuary, now
Just our discredited and misshapen superstition.
ooooooooooooooo
Within The Shell
--------------------
Such desires are for thought eggs
With unthinking shells,
Shells uncracked, but still
Containing within the essence
Of my individuality.
Within that mandala glowing in
Every hue, but especially fuchsia,
Is the butterfly, the knot,
The symbol that represents
All of my complete and total
Expression of self.
Not even here, in this poem,
Is such a secret revealed.
No, these secrets are hidden from
The secrets themselves.
And something that draws the symbol,
The magical incantation upon our souls,
Is rising up and out,
Never to be completely contained
Within the shell.
It rises up and explodes,
Releasing itself finally,
Achieving mortality.
'''''''''''''''''
Leroy Quet
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