BEE MONASTERY (WINNER, 1st PLACE, ENID DAME POETRY CONTEST)
Monks in hexagonal cells,
Engaged in the hallowed task
Of making honey.
They bring exotic essences—
Perfumes of distant flowers;
They amass them,
Until the labyrinthine hive
Oozes, like an enraptured mind.
And the hive—
That is to say, monastery—
Becomes a library,
Like that of Borges.
Multifaceted,
Its cells are prisms.
Sweet honey
Holds symbols—
Hardened amber
Imbued with images
Kept for open minds.
GOING META
Math is meta-science:
Number makes form,
Makes nature makes phenomena.
Science is meta-philosophy:
Physics governs neurons,
Govern thoughts govern reason.
Philosophy is meta-math:
Mind commands logic,
Commands proof commands numbers.
One inside two inside three inside one—
Penrose stairs, all above each other.
How can this be?
No, it’s an illusion.
They’re all on the same level:
A mutual core,
The essence of Truth.
THE LAND OF PERPETUAL RAIN
The Land of Perpetual Rain:
Always wet and damp,
Dripping forests,
Dark with mushrooms,
Fairy lairs and spider-webs,
Coated in droplets,
Ferny scents and hidden caves,
A wooded coast by ocean waves,
Dark ripples dissolve the dark sky,
One with the hazy horizon:
A mist-soaked island.
And the souls are full of gloom,
They reside in the shadows,
Their houses insubstantial,
It rains indoors here too;
They sing songs of the rain—
No sun to worship there—
Only mystery, forest wonders,
Dew-soaked wraiths of endless days and dreary nights…
ORPHANS
When we were young,
We fantasized
About being orphans.
Now,
We realize we are:
The world is our orphanage.
PROPHETS
Memory of the world,
Hidden in the stars:
They scintillate,
Like firing neurons,
A message to wise men.
Desert sages knew:
They looked skywards
From shifting sands,
After flaming sunset;
Saw stars, read signs, made symbols:
Constellations, resonations,
Minds aligned with the sky,
Where the law of the world is written.
Jesus saw the same sky,
Marked the same message
In sandy scrawls for all to read—
Another trace in time.
Thus, words crystalized, fossilized,
Fused with nature,
Lost human meanings,
Became mysterious:
Dusty labyrinths;
Blades of grass bent in odd places—
Lost seeds that spawn dream archetypes…
Millennia later,
The musician found one.
He stared at the sky,
Saw once more the message—
The memory of the world—
Found followers, sang songs;
Became a modern prophet,
A successor of the ancient sage,
Who, many a year ago,
Dispersed his spiritual gene.