Poetry By
Ken Poyner
Published on: 4/8/2011
The Return
I've done my own fading away. It isn't pretty. You expect to be Spread ever thinner until you are simply gone - But there are all the things you leave yet here. Personal projects, unpaid bills, Last week's to do list. Your things grow unkempt. No one Touches them, their use is forgotten Or they pass to another user And their new use is a universe of differences. The gravity that was you Ceases and you understand you Were the glue to so many things, So many purposes and passions, So many after thoughts and chances. Without you the galaxy of you Dissolves. So you come back. Older, hardened, but still you. Nothing recognizes you. All The constituent pieces even in going Their own ways, or in themselves being forgotten, Were not on any level aware Of going their own ways or of Forgetting you. You, The center once of a vortex Of thought and action and material collection, Of happenstance and confined randomness. Gravity needs a satellite. You start again.
Published on: 4/8/2011
The Invention of Time
Trust me: We are going to be inevitable. You won't be able to drive a thousand yards Without finding some mention of us. We, and our bigger than life, Bigger than Arizona or Alaska, Story. I tell you There is no way we cannot be famous, Spread like the good news of wealthy families Or the infectious incapacity of poor ones. There will be tales of our shared weathering Of the whistling arrows, a narrative In support of, but serially separate from, Our own: our struggles against Convention, our thoughts on innovation. I have not the words For the excitement yet to be generated, The wonder to be painted on every convert's face, The willingness in the popular mind To know about this, to know about this More than about the inconvenient desires Of their own moral children. I have not the words. We have a story, a physics That leads one moment into the next, All of it without intervention. One start, many ends. And they Will believe it, with all their hearts And the very dullness of their quickening, They will believe it. Let me tell it anew.
Published on: 4/8/2011
The Development of Heaven
The first simply was not good enough. There was nothing wrong with the original plan, Nor with the execution. Simply By the time of completion He had evolved. Other ideas Crowded out what in the beginning Seemed to be the perfect counter balance To a flat brutal earth turned Into an open air menagerie. By the time Free will got going really, really well There were practical reasons To field a more complicated design. Not that He had to keep up With stray earthly developments. He is The Supreme Being, after all, and it is His Universe. But He thought Heaven should be appropriate, not merely Imposed. So changes - some small, Some theocratically shattering - followed Both the events below and His own whims. Redo the curtains for the Crusades, Replace the carpet for the Industrial Revolution. All the work sends down an enormous clatter, And the place leaks heavenly glow like a sieve. I don't think it will ever Be finished. But one day it might be Abandoned, the gates left open, just about Anyone wondering in and God Happy as with the oceans of Mars To be divinely off on another project.
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