Language Problems

There is way too much alliteration in the sea
Just off the coast today I thought
Whither wilt thou wander wayfarer
Things ebbed and bounced with similar accounts

And what of all this assonance in the sky
that merges in clouds and electric rays
in vowels and sounds especially in words
that are kept close together in the dark

Then there's a whole vista of simile
white as a sheet against furrowed fields
that wanders as or like through phrases
becomes characteristic of idiomatic expression

All I seem to see are figures of speech -
Symbolism in every out house and tree
along streams and valleys metaphors hoar
Everything considered represents another





Eyeline

let's call to arms recollection or instigation
hierarchical structures can hang on a limb
over heat a line or two of pessimism
a still small voice transmutes in the dark

in the third eye or the blocked vistas
something refuses to release fumbles out
is it an itch or a just more of the same
some loathing of regret remorse stultified

And it's not a strut reality or conclusion
it moves in places that a notion can't reach
perhaps not even in cell blood or type
recessed in words like intuition or acceptance

What I really wanted was a tangible asset
Something that stars might gaze upon
Something that the moon could linger upon
Some glory of inclination between night and day





Poetics

I have found a rhyme for purple
It's the similar to the rhyme for orange

Can nothing really rhyme with nothing
Does everything cancel itself out

Like a split atom of half truth or
An untold lie of past glory

Oh find me a metaphor for being
Or a transitive juxtaposition for instigation

Everything moves in a questionable denial
A split infinitive called instinct





Questions

Can notion ever incline with some form of nuisance
is there a connection between magic and motion
are butterfly wings pulsed with the above

Are there areas where inclination finds madness
would you whisper a moon in my ear
and can badgers ever sing of such confusion

Then what of machination and distillation
or how the half light widens within me
or the way angels glide in the trees

Can anyone out there please tell me
if the six sense is only half way or
simply an uncertain foothold not striven


© James McLaughlin 2009