Flaming Sword

Ah…an unexpected productive day on the blog.  Somehow, I was able to overcome Beethoven’s 7th symphony movement #2, to find some voice and words worth expressing.  My final poem or muse…and then sleep.  No need to wait and proof in the morning.  This draft is good enough for a blog.  One can always improve words, but I am tired and satisfied.  Good night fellow man…and woman…sweet dreams.

Here I float



Latent energy

Naïve hope


Available to ignite

For a purpose

A grand vision

But I know what the future holds

My fuel will again be burnt

On the banal task

For money

To “earn” a living

To make a profit

Flesh slowly decays

Muscles wither away

Brain turns to mush

Bones begin to crack

Spirit worn away

Like the rocks from the pounding surf

Forced to carve a small niche

A quiet cove

Away from humankind

To enjoy slivers of beauty

Scraps of fulfillment

Oh modern civilized man

How many more beings will you sacrifice?

Slaughter to your small greedy task?

Look in the mirror

Review your past

Contemplate the Great Abyss

Imagine the future

To understand our true purpose

We were designed to excel

To challenge our uninterested God

To fight the Grand War

Thrust the flaming sword

Into the heart of darkness

And die a Noble Death


Not alone



Wasted unused potential


Powerless Love

Beautiful little woman

Inside and out

Small but tall

Petite yet firm

Quiet and strong

Long flowing jet black hair

Fair skin rarely touched

Pretty full lips sparingly shared

Heart and soul burned to iron

To battle the world at hand

A brave warrior you have become

Armor surrounds your being

If only I could wisp you away

In both time and space

To when you were just a little girl

To a place worthy of you

When and where you could be

A woman with a trusting heart

With an ocean-wide expansive soul

Free as the wind to become

The woman you were meant to be

And I

A man

Worthy of your love

“God’s” Worthy Opponent

Beautiful ruler of the seas

Power and grace supreme

Perfect form slicing the expanse

Stealth shocking death

Turns Ocean blue red

Shiny black mysterious night

Glistening white glacial ice

War paint

Dreams from wolfish past

Howling at the moon

Terrifying raw freedom

Roaming wild intelligence

Natural strength embraces abyss

No fabricated tools or laws

Noble opponent to inanimate might

Bright beast confronts infinite chaos

The eternal Battle of the Titans

Man merely a misinformed spectator

Or long gone

Failing to comprehend the Grand War

The Purse Seine

Our sardine fishermen work at night in the dark of the moon;
      daylight or moonlight
They could not tell where to spread the net, unable to see the
      phosphorescence of the shoals of fish.
They work northward from Monterey, coasting Santa Cruz; off
      New Year's Point or off Pigeon Point
The look-out man will see some lakes of milk-color light on the
      sea's night-purple; he points and the helmsman
Turns the dark prow, the motorboat circles the gleaming shoal
      and drifts out her seine-net. They close the circle
And purse the bottom of the net, then with great labor haul it in.

                                              I cannot tell you
How beautiful the scene is, and a little terrible, then, when the
      crowded fish
Know they are caught, and wildly beat from one wall to the
      other of their closing destiny the phosphorescent
Water to a pool of flame, each beautiful slender body sheeted
      with flame, like a live rocket
A comet's tail wake of clear yellow flame; while outside the
Floats and cordage of the net great sea-lions come up to watch,
      sighing in the dark; the vast walls of night
Stand erect to the stars.

            Lately I was looking from a night mountain-top
On a wide city, the colored splendor, galaxies of light: how could
      I help but recall the seine-net
Gathering the luminous fish? I cannot tell you how beautiful
      the city appeared, and a little terrible.
I thought, We have geared the machines and locked all together
      into interdependence; we have built the great cities; now
There is no escape. We have gathered vast populations incapable
      of free survival, insulated

From the strong earth, each person in himself helpless, on all
      dependent. The circle is closed, and the net
Is being hauled in. They hardly feel the cords drawing, yet they
      shine already. The inevitable mass-disasters
Will not come in our time nor in our children's, but we and our
Must watch the net draw narrower, government take all powers
      -or revolution, and the new government
Take more than all, add to kept bodies kept souls- or anarchy,
      the mass-disasters.

                       These things are Progress;
Do you marvel our verse is troubled or frowning, while it keeps
      its reason? Or it lets go, lets the mood flow
In the manner of the recent young men into mere hysteria, splin-
      tered gleams, crackled laughter. But they are quite wrong.
There is no reason for amazement: surely one always knew that
      cultures decay, and life's end is death.

-- Robinson Jeffers --


We offer our being

Give and receive

Short-term distant pleasure

From work performed

Passion absent

No Eternal Love

For those yet to come

Spiritless energy

Spent and consumed

For money

Warm corpses

Sitting in homes

Driving cars

Painting our white picket fences

But the pimps have all the money

And in the end

We are all alone


A Piece of Truth — Unmasked

Mother Earth falling and twirling

Through bottomless cold dark

She roars and burns deep down inside

Heat equal to the sun’s surface layer

Her latent power masked

Man’s time clock irrelevant

His misguided senses deceived

Slowly she moves massive blocks of land

Larger than continents

Thicker than the peak height of jets

Millimeter by millimeter her burning heart

Transforms the landscape before us

Titanic beasts collide

Arching up to airless heights

Ocean trenches deeper than Hell

Slowly swallow and burn granite mass

Immense bulges slowly rise

Dwarfing all that surrounds

Deep ocean shrouds below

Fire breathing behemoths

Man goes about his busyness

Unaware of this sample Truth

Until she takes off her mask

And the world throws him around

Like a rag doll

Demolishes his feeble structures

Burns and buries his existence

In hot ash

Drowns him on land

With an uncaring sea

He finally gains a small glimpse

Into reality

But quickly forgets

And returns to his busyness

Light from Dark

Light from Dark -- By Summer Zheng

Isn’t this a beautiful piece of art?  Would it surprise you that it was created in 30 minutes?  The person that created this is a WordPress friend of mine…someone I found for what she said on the philosophy tag…something of significance that caught my attention…little did I know that in heart she wants to be an artist…a painter…but she is more than that.  She represents, in my mind, hope…Light from Dark…lightening…fire….and then deafening thunder.  

I know little about her, but enough to know she has the same struggles many of us face throughout our lives.  There are those exterior expectations, the exterior framework, those exterior demands, and the exterior superficiality that has been passed down generation by generation.  These exterior fabricated human creations often suppress the individual from listening to their heart, soul, and mind; oppose any instinct to do what they want.  This fighting spirit said…STOP…nothing is going to prevent me from doing what I want to do right here and right now!  I will create this and everything else can go to Hell.  And…so…out of darkness…this beautiful painting was created.  For me to interpret this painting would not do it justice…I have my own ideas of what it represents to me…but… it is…what it is…Light from Dark…By Summer Zheng.