Bestowal of Passions
I always viewed it as a friend, somewhat as a savior
even, and spent a whole life trying to convince myself
that I would welcome it, even a few times trying to
conjure it, and I believe all these efforts to be sincere,
and correct, although overt conjuring is really not to
be recommended, is it? Be that as it may -- a phrase
that could be aptly used to sum up my whole life --
passion is what defines us all, and the one thing so many
of us learn far too late is that none of us really get to choose
our own passions. Oh yes, it all looks like a choice, but when
we're solidly in the lap of the friend, looking back on the flimsiness
of the fabric, the passions and how they were bestowed become
quite evident, and we see them as gears or levers, see them as
the mechanics of how we could fashion our very own salvation.
Artist's note:
Stevie Smith (1903-1971), English poet, once said of death,
"Whatever names you give me / I am / A breath of fresh air, /
A change for you." Arguably one of Britain's favorite poets,
she died shortly after penning this line.
Careful We Are Never Confused
I am careful to see that we are never confused,
careful to understand all the daily errors we
speak to each other are miscued from a clear
sincerity. Direct, we are, and forceful too, in our
keen desire to mold the other into the incarnate
wish of our adolescent yearnings, for you seek
a haven of love and appreciation, and I look for
a mother, and although such artful beings never
materialize, there is a certain truth of us, a certain
demonstration that defines the course of marriage.
Artist's note:
Francis Bacon (1561-1626) English statesman, scientist, and man of letters, once wrote,
"Truth emerges more readily from error than from confusion."
Too Simple and Stern
A life is a mind: all lives, not only mine.
There are two minds of the soul, with
the one that is conscious, the chameleon . . .
variable concerning the environment in which
it discovers itself; the other mind of the soul
is more firm, more intact, although it can only
whisper hints through dreams into the lizard's
bony head in nights grown wild with coincidence.
When this is seen by angels, they all purse their
lips, for the proper response of angels is to kiss
the sleeping cheek of our souls, particularly when you
learn that you bend down to kiss your very own soul.
Artist's note:
Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) is undoubtedly one of the country's greatest poets.
Spending nearly all of her life in Amherst, Massachusetts, the last half in relative seclusion,
Emily came to be known as eccentric. Besides rare contacts with people outside her immediate
family, she wore only white dresses and sometimes referred to herself as a wayward nun.
Regarding her poems -- only eleven of 1,775 poems were published during her lifetime --
she advocated the "propounded word." Her word for herself as a poet was "gnome,"
and the poems themselves she called, "bulletins from Immortality." She once wrote,
"My life has been too simple and stern to embarrass any. 'Seen of Angels' scarcely my responsibility."
(Copyright - All Rights Reserved by Ward Kelley - No reproduction without express permission from the author)
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Histories of Souls: Ebook
Comedy Incarnate: AUDIO CD
Divine Murder: A Novel
Table of Contents
Letter to the Author:
Ward Kelley at Ward708@aol.com