A Swirl Of Poems

Okay, my mind is currently dizzy in its turmoil of emotions. As usual, the news is upsetting me, even though I am not as angry or sad as I am most often about it. I guess I should ramble on about my state of mind or something, since this is a blog. But I will spare you any more of that (for now).

I have nothing better to offer right now, so I will just post some more randomly-picked poetry:
(If you don't like it, that is okay. I don't like my own poetry, actually. My style has changed over the years, so maybe I will post something you do like on occasion. Enjoy...or not.)


Inside The Rainbow's Glass
-----------------------------

Inside the rainbow's glass, inside this arc, inside
The vague parabola -- Those droplets of our whispers,
They are inside us surely; they are beheld
By truth's apparitions, are again betrayed by
Truth's expletives, are beautiful in their submission to
My unexplained blood. Inside the fumes of such
Spectacular and glistening anger is, is my own sight
Of sterile inflection. Inside the world without
Cusps, without maxima or minima is the curvature
Of dreams once amorphous. Inside us each is this,
Is thus the thought of crystalline sewage, is
The thought of madness truncated by reality, of
Mandalas severed from their linearity by the bending of
Both refraction and oscillation made anew into these
Unexpressed geometries I have conclusively divulged.


---

Iridescent Mauve
------------------

Benign is the grandiosity of this iridescent mauve. Such
Imagination expressed distracts our lines from the concave,
From all that pretends to be convex. Such lucid diameters
Repeat then coagulate -- because none are perpendicular.
Such erosion converges so as to eradicate this dream
Inside where I am invisible yet afloat. Therefore,
Benign is the gradual overwhelming of our salvation.
For in the causality of the metronome I am sipped,
I am shown to be distant and unseen. I am obvious
In my contagion, yes. Because benign is the sugar
That spills from my flask. For it descends
Into my final waking; it ascends unto my indecision,
Unto the scarlet of our blind prism, of our
Perplexing emptiness counted and then discarded
From intersections superimposed but epitomized surely.


---

Beneath Such A Tableau
------------------------

Inwardly the sphere became the cusp became
The ellipse tilted within yet another, touching
The edges of elongated circles, concave, convex,
And utterly perpendicular to its own exaggeration.
Beneath such a tableau existed all reality and
It desires denied. And these fumes arose from
That subtle fist. And they performed their dance
In conical observation. And so, beyond the scene
Resides both direction and refraction. For I too
Was a lens. I too was a raindrop falling
Onto the mesh before us. Ah, surreal was that
Loop of glass. And yet the image breathed.
Yet it understood its dimensions as if it surely
Remained a dream again. But I have forgotten it; I
Shunned this clockwork atop the table, atop
The thoughts of beauty made, atop and amongst
This fascinating spiral devoid of angle, but not
Of design, devoid of my essence,
But not of my epitome.

---

The Arrow
-----------

The arrow without shape, it touches the ground,
Touches the sand that it severs, cutting such blood.
The arrow without hate, it wonders why, why does
It deny the kill? Oh, I took this pointed mass,
And I became it. I thrust myself into resurrection,
Held and beheld by a naive bow. Drawn back,
The string is more strained than I. And released,
I am flung forth through subtle air. Oh,
I am not a killer, but why am I human, then?
I am more than a spear, more than a sword.
I am soon to collapse, for the wind is arousing.
And I am alive and spilled unto all transition.

Oh, I pierce the beast. And it screams of its
Dark agony. I slice its soul with my sharp cusp.
And I suffer too, for this death is not mine.
But I am damned despite my longing, am damned
To a hell of selfish slaughter, am damned again
To undivided truth and its peculiar blasphemy.

---
(Okay, one more, an older one:)

Not Quite A Palindrome
----------------------------

Beginning.
One, two, then three.
The universe expands.
Thought becomes dreams,
Becomes vision and color.
Our being finds purpose,
Our being finds wonder.
And the gods torment us,
As they pleasure our enemies.
And so we desire redemption.
We desire virtue to fall upon us.
And then we wake.
And we finally realize
That our dreams are but this reality,
And that our reality is but a dream.
And so enlightenment fails us.
And we fall asleep again.
We desire the vanquishing of our enemies.
And we desire vengeance.
We pleasure ourselves,
And we curse our gods.
Our being hides within ignorance.
Our being hides within oblivion.
All becomes blind and darkness.
Dreams become thought.
The universe collapses.
Three, two, then one.
The finite completes itself.


Thanks,
Leroy Quet

PS: By the way, here is my email address:
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