Tag Archives: writing

mom

I saw it,

life…

emerge from the frame

the papyrus saturated in heavy dew—rubedo—the redding dawn.

before it was none,

now a face is appearing smiling-in a memory left unsettled.

removed from time,

a ghost appearing to welcome remembrance into a reflective mind.

the image stays on the square—although it is drawn into the dream,

the circle,

where past and present collide

exposed in the darkness of regret and loss,

the future has now arrived in the golden light of dusk,

I miss you dearly, until the dawn.

-Joshua Fleming

 

 

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The Mimic and The Mimesis

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Nomadic agency was quilted on the farm

boundaries-patterns emerge,

to be sewn to the edge of what feels to be safe—————distanced from the phenomena yet to be encountered.

Demarcated threads of who we are, who we were

stitched in prior knowledge of space—

-a background of unchanging identities carries no light to the edge of the pier.

Horizontal lines of earth and fire

transversed by the vertical,

the depth of air and water.

Boundaries-patterns dissolve in the sinking abyss

rising over the reflections—the many faces we wear

flying out on the wing,

receptivity to the space-between the mirror and its projections.

Let us begin with the unexpected.

-Joshua Fleming

Image by: Yamasaki Ko-Ji

http://www.yamasakiko-ji.com

 

 

The Mimic and The Mimesis

tumblr_ofw9lje1Ww1vjn0soo1_1280.jpg

Nomadic agency quilted on the farm
boundaries-patterns emerge,
to be sewn to the edge of what feels to be safe—————distanced from the phenomena yet to be encountered.

Demarcated threads of who we are, who we were–stitched
in prior knowledge of space—a background
of unchanging identities carries no light to the edge of the pier.

Horizontal lines of earth and fire
transversed by the vertical,
the depth of air and water.

Boundaries-patterns dissolve
in the sinking abyss,
rising over the reflections
the many faces we wear
flying out on the wing,
receptivity to the space-between

-the mirror and its projections.

Let us begin with the unexpected.

-Joshua Fleming

Image by: Yamasaki Ko-Ji

http://www.yamasakiko-ji.com

People At Night

Nights were not made for the crowds, and they sever
You from your neighbor, so you shall never
Seek him, defiantly, at night.
But if you make your dark house light,
To look on strangers in your room,
You must reflect-on whom.

False lights that on men’s faces play
Distort them gruesomely.
You look upon a disarray,
A world that seems to reel and sway,
A waving, glittering sea.
On their foreheads gleams a yellow shine
Where thoughts are chased away.
Their glances flicker mad from wine,
And to the words they say
Strange heavy gestures make reply,
That struggle in the buzzing room;
And they say always, “I” and ‘I”;
And mean-they know not whom.

-Rainer Maria Rilke

What Will You Do?

What will you do, God, when I die?

I,
the jar of fire-flies waving through the dark, ( if cracked, will I lie?)

Your secretive well-spring (if removed will the well go dry?)
The craft, the vesture that am I,
To lose all meaning, loosening me from your grasp.

When it is that I go, your cold house will be
Empty of language that made it sweet.
I, the sandals, your bare feet
Will seek and long for passage.

Your cloak shall fall from weary bones.
Your glance, my warmth has awakened
will depart.
What wonder will be removed from the mask
and a sun that disappears,
lies now in the lap of unknown stones.

What will you do, God?

-Joshua Fleming (remixing a translation of Rainer Maria Rilke)

I am a thorn enduring in the dark sky,
I am the one whom I have never met,
I am a swift fish shooting through the troubled waters,
I am the last inheritor crying out in deserted houses
I am the salmon hidden in the pool on the temple floor
I am what remains of the beloved
I am an insect with black enamel knees hugging the curve of insanity
I am the evening light rising from the ocean plains
I am an eternal happiness fighting in the long reeds.
. . .
The panther rejoices in the gathering dark.
Hands rush toward each other through miles of space.
All the sleepers in the world join hands.
-Robert Bly