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wolven7Moving Sestina v 1.0
"'By my will, alone, I set my mind in motion...'
I strive for this truth, with my every breath.
That I could not move, could not have thought,
would seem to violate some grand design.
On the threshold of conception, ideas careen,
to be saved from the jaws of a spastic Death.
"In my dreaming hours, I walk with Death,
and shadowed lands are fraught with skittering motion.
Through silicon halls, electric sheep careen,
their modulated bleating follows machine-like breath.
In a workshop we try to find the Watchmaker's design,
and we forget that we can know our every thought."
She smiles, "Well, I seem to have lost my train of thought."
"'Together we die the Little Death.'"
"Ah, yes; evincing, to you, my lascivious designs."
As the tip of her tongue touches her lips, he feels resentment at the motion.
She tells him, "You seem a little out of breath,"
and against the walls of his chest, his heart careens.
"My aspirations," he says, "seem to be careening,
through the levels of my heart, my soul and my thoughts.
Can I convey them by words, by mere breath,
or must I relinquish control to the revelations of Death?
All rhyming aside, we were speaking of motion,
and we've strayed off the path, to our personal designs."
"Do you have a problem with our 'Designs?'
I'd love to know what makes your heart 'careen,'
and I believe it has Everything to do with motion.
Why should we hide our 'Forbidden,' true thoughts,
and leave our discovery of each other to the brief sleep of death?
We should know each other, while we're still breathing."
He pauses, regards her, tries to steady his breathing,
and when next he speaks, it's without Art or Design.
"Unfortunately, there are days when I'd as soon not see Death;
when I want to fly through life, and *Let* my mind 'Careen.'
Some would regard these as Happy thoughts,
for I so often tire of this sickening motion."
She reminds him of death, in her effortless designs;
everything careens around them, and they are as still as his thoughts.
Against his neck set lets out a shuddering breath, and they are locked together in this perfect motion.
Moving Sestina v1.6
"By my will alone, I set my mind in motion..."
I strive to that truth with my every breath.
That I could not move, could not hold thought,
would seem to violate some grand design.
On the threshold of conception ideas careen
to be saved from the jaws of a spastic death.
In my dreams, I walk with Death
and shadowed lands are fraught with skittering motion.
Through silicon halls, electric sheep careen,
their modulated bleating follows machine-like breath.
In a workshop we search for the Watchmaker's design,
and we forget that we can know our every thought.
"Well, I seem to have lost my train of thought."
"'Together, we die the Little Death.'"
"Ah, yes; convincing you of my lascivious designs."
As the tip of her tongue touches her lips, I resent the subtle motion.
I can feel the shuddering of her breath
and, against our chests, our hearts careen.
Like birds in glass towers, my aspirations careen,
breaking themselves, and their surroundings, in panicked thought.
I feel them slipping away, with every breath,
to join the ranks and legions of the dead.
I've grown so tired of the continuous motion
of words without meaning, but hidden design.
The beautiful concepts our minds can design
are nothing compared the way our wantings careen
through our hearts, full of frenetic motion
or lazily wandering down the corridors of thought.
When we can understand, not Pray, for Death,
we will finally know the reason we breathe.
I can't help but wonder what keeps me breathing;
what wants have I, and what great designs?
There will always be days when I long for Death,
and I'll flow through the aether, and no longer careen
like pinballs on breakers-- like my troubled, live thoughts.
But what shall I miss of this intoxicating motion?
In our rapid, changing motion, we find that we have forgotten our intentional designs.
Everything careens around us, as still as our thoughts,
and we shiver our breath, without remembering the dead.
Poems (c)Damien Williams. All Rights Reserved.
I started writing that/those Sestina/s, on Tuesday, or Monday... Monday, and i finished it/them, today. Rewrote, because there was something off-ish, about the first, but not entirely unpleasantly. So i couldn't decide, and got conflicting answers, so i kept them both. You may decide which you prefer, and it really won't hurt me, either way... I just hope you can see the merit in both of them.
Strange dreams, last night, but i'm keeping them to myself, for now. Still trying to figure some of them out. Here are some of the players, though: Gimli; a little blonde girl-child, who would be King; Philidelphia/D.C.; my Mother; a room full of "friends," trying to hurt said Girl-King; A magical sword; Snipers; The Yakuza; My screaming, in rage, and sadness, several times. It turned into this howl/roar/kaw thing, toward the end of each scream.
Saw "25th Hour," tonight, too... See It. Amazing shit, there... Spike Lee has almost completely redeemed himself, in my eyes.
I'm off to bed. Dream Well.
"'By my will, alone, I set my mind in motion...'
I strive for this truth, with my every breath.
That I could not move, could not have thought,
would seem to violate some grand design.
On the threshold of conception, ideas careen,
to be saved from the jaws of a spastic Death.
"In my dreaming hours, I walk with Death,
and shadowed lands are fraught with skittering motion.
Through silicon halls, electric sheep careen,
their modulated bleating follows machine-like breath.
In a workshop we try to find the Watchmaker's design,
and we forget that we can know our every thought."
She smiles, "Well, I seem to have lost my train of thought."
"'Together we die the Little Death.'"
"Ah, yes; evincing, to you, my lascivious designs."
As the tip of her tongue touches her lips, he feels resentment at the motion.
She tells him, "You seem a little out of breath,"
and against the walls of his chest, his heart careens.
"My aspirations," he says, "seem to be careening,
through the levels of my heart, my soul and my thoughts.
Can I convey them by words, by mere breath,
or must I relinquish control to the revelations of Death?
All rhyming aside, we were speaking of motion,
and we've strayed off the path, to our personal designs."
"Do you have a problem with our 'Designs?'
I'd love to know what makes your heart 'careen,'
and I believe it has Everything to do with motion.
Why should we hide our 'Forbidden,' true thoughts,
and leave our discovery of each other to the brief sleep of death?
We should know each other, while we're still breathing."
He pauses, regards her, tries to steady his breathing,
and when next he speaks, it's without Art or Design.
"Unfortunately, there are days when I'd as soon not see Death;
when I want to fly through life, and *Let* my mind 'Careen.'
Some would regard these as Happy thoughts,
for I so often tire of this sickening motion."
She reminds him of death, in her effortless designs;
everything careens around them, and they are as still as his thoughts.
Against his neck set lets out a shuddering breath, and they are locked together in this perfect motion.
Moving Sestina v1.6
"By my will alone, I set my mind in motion..."
I strive to that truth with my every breath.
That I could not move, could not hold thought,
would seem to violate some grand design.
On the threshold of conception ideas careen
to be saved from the jaws of a spastic death.
In my dreams, I walk with Death
and shadowed lands are fraught with skittering motion.
Through silicon halls, electric sheep careen,
their modulated bleating follows machine-like breath.
In a workshop we search for the Watchmaker's design,
and we forget that we can know our every thought.
"Well, I seem to have lost my train of thought."
"'Together, we die the Little Death.'"
"Ah, yes; convincing you of my lascivious designs."
As the tip of her tongue touches her lips, I resent the subtle motion.
I can feel the shuddering of her breath
and, against our chests, our hearts careen.
Like birds in glass towers, my aspirations careen,
breaking themselves, and their surroundings, in panicked thought.
I feel them slipping away, with every breath,
to join the ranks and legions of the dead.
I've grown so tired of the continuous motion
of words without meaning, but hidden design.
The beautiful concepts our minds can design
are nothing compared the way our wantings careen
through our hearts, full of frenetic motion
or lazily wandering down the corridors of thought.
When we can understand, not Pray, for Death,
we will finally know the reason we breathe.
I can't help but wonder what keeps me breathing;
what wants have I, and what great designs?
There will always be days when I long for Death,
and I'll flow through the aether, and no longer careen
like pinballs on breakers-- like my troubled, live thoughts.
But what shall I miss of this intoxicating motion?
In our rapid, changing motion, we find that we have forgotten our intentional designs.
Everything careens around us, as still as our thoughts,
and we shiver our breath, without remembering the dead.
Poems (c)Damien Williams. All Rights Reserved.
I started writing that/those Sestina/s, on Tuesday, or Monday... Monday, and i finished it/them, today. Rewrote, because there was something off-ish, about the first, but not entirely unpleasantly. So i couldn't decide, and got conflicting answers, so i kept them both. You may decide which you prefer, and it really won't hurt me, either way... I just hope you can see the merit in both of them.
Strange dreams, last night, but i'm keeping them to myself, for now. Still trying to figure some of them out. Here are some of the players, though: Gimli; a little blonde girl-child, who would be King; Philidelphia/D.C.; my Mother; a room full of "friends," trying to hurt said Girl-King; A magical sword; Snipers; The Yakuza; My screaming, in rage, and sadness, several times. It turned into this howl/roar/kaw thing, toward the end of each scream.
Saw "25th Hour," tonight, too... See It. Amazing shit, there... Spike Lee has almost completely redeemed himself, in my eyes.
I'm off to bed. Dream Well.
....
Date: 2003-01-16 12:03 am (UTC)"dreaming sheep, dolly's twin
made of foam and synthaskin
wire wool and cromed cloven feet
is this the new devil in
the synthetic wool skin of the sheep? "
I'd be curious to hear more about the sword.... You know my interest in swords in dreams... I still look for the Gold Hilted Katana and its weilder(s).
Snipers are your anxiety still hanging around about past events.
The girl child who would be King... I wonder. She was blond? A Lorriean elf? Curiouser and curiouser.
Btw... still no comment on my poems.
Strixus *evil glare*
Re: ....
Date: 2003-01-16 11:36 am (UTC)Getting to the poems, now, actually. *grin*
no subject
Date: 2003-01-16 04:56 pm (UTC)why oh why, wont you let me publish you work?
--JMDC