Category: Universe

Mauna Kea

By Tyler Mobley 

Rising from red shale   

Golf ball esque structures the  

Size of houses, scattered among

A remote volcanic remnant in absolute Pacific isolation. 

Those of the method make 

Pilgrimages past planetariums, Alpine lakes, 14,000 feet well 

Above clouds. To gaze with The widest eyes the world 

Has seen. Harsh winds 

Thin air, a surrealness 

In the presences of 

Cathedrals of science. 

Over there the Subaru scope of Japan, yonder 

Gemini North seeks 

Infrared, all the while

The eye of Sauron itself, Kea’s sugar plum, the 

Aperture of the East, big daddy glass, the 

Keck Observatory,

Sits as one of the many 

Snow topped cinder cones

For the ancients named it

White mountain.  

A waist

high circular    

Stack of stones designates 

A sacred past, today’s 

Worship requires funding, 

Less atmosphere, Less light  

Brings the beyond ever closer, 

A milky galactic plane 

Up here, we are not alone.

Dwelling on Yourself

My poem is a response to each line of Cesar Vallejo’s poem. A reinterpretation, remake, using a model and making it my own, originally written for Mrs. Reder’s English class.

Dwelling on Yourself

By Tyler Mobley  

Well on the day I was born,

God paused for a sneeze. 

Half alive, half yet to be known 

A recoiled pause, before unleashing 

Me, desperate from eternity, into wrought hands 

Well, the day I wade into the world, 

God lay waiting. 

Somewhere there is place 

we once left, and must return 

heard from inner silence, 

spoke as fire breathes. 

On the day I was born, 

God stubbed a toe. 

You there listen, listen some more. 

Hey, you alright? I’m not leaving. 

You may find me in December,

Then be gone by January. 

On the day I was born, 

God had a bug. 

Half alive, half yet to be known

Chew on today, so as to not choke

Why when words drop out of minds, they do not break,

But rest in shallow graves as treasure lost.

Those minds who gaze upon the sphinx wondering,

If it’s too late to bury their heads in the sand. 

If one leg is in, and the other is out,

Those young grow old,

And the old become young again.

It’s the mystery in between that joins it all together  

A light from under the door 

Cast a melody of ebony keys, 

On the one who tells of life’s transformation.

On the day I was born, 

God faked being ill. 

Have You Anything to Say in Your Defense?

By Cesar Vallejo 

Well, on the day I was born,

God was sick.

They all know that I’m alive,

That I’m vicious; and they don’t know 

the December that follows from that January. 

Well, on the day I was born,

God was sick.

There is an empty place 

in my metaphysical shape

that no one can reach:

a cloister of silence

that spoke with the fire of its voice muffled.

On the day I was born,

God was sick.

Brother, listen to me, Listen . . .

Oh, all right.  Don’t worry, I won’t leave

without taking my Decembers along,

without leaving my Januaries behind.

Well, on the day I was born,

God was sick.

They all know that I’m alive,

that I chew my food . . . and they don’t know

why harsh winds whistle in my poems,

the narrow uneasiness of a coffin,

winds untangled from the Sphinx

who holds the desert for routine questioning.

Yes, they all know . . . Well, they don’t know

that the light gets skinny

and the darkness gets bloated . . .

and they don’t know that the Mystery joins things together . . .

that he is the hunchback

musical and sad who stands a little way off and foretells

the dazzling progression from the limits to the Limits.

On the day I was born,

God was sick,

gravely.

T.R. James Wright   (pg.572)

Forche, Carolyn. Against Forgetting: 20th Century Poetry of Witness. New York: W.w. norton, 2009. Print.

Time Divides Time

Time Divides Time

Time Divides Time 

Surely there’s another way, some forgotten track

A stone clasped hand, a wholesome shake.

Surely the water is right, dynamic cycles,

One arc fits all

We are no different.

Happening to us, the black hole winks at a

Millenia of chagrin.

A coming precipice, river’s edge of

Long returns, sound elevates

To raise questions of beyond,

We are no different.

Surely there’s another form

Overboard, transcendence inflates, we must

Fall to rise.

Our star and each heavenly body

We are no different.  

 

Eternity

The world was all a treasure quest. Anything and everything could be where the answer lies. “Blake Vincent Kueny,” spoken amiss, and the world unraveled. The secret withheld in a few spoken words. A crease in time, words tear the flesh of reality. Air begins to flush out of the room, a slow methodic leak, no loss of cabin pressure. The void twist and churns our dimensional space, as if it were dough in the hands of a baker. Soul rattling tones dance along the event horizon like shimmering reflections on water. A force, energy, odd but familiar, is sensed nearing the end of the blip. Fizzling like firework flashes, white light escapes in a multi directional burst. An opening iris lets forth an outline of man. Featureless form, a shadow, standing tall with the skin of mirage. Glancing side to side, the world hangs in the balance, called upon in time to set forth a destiny. Seeing all that will happen, playing forth eternity in his head, deciding to let it crumble or take us in his hands. The being began to raise his arms parallel with the ground, stretching wide, coiling up under an invisible weight. With an atlas on his back, the being set a small ebb to his body. Building slow and effortless in pace. The burden upon its back began to take on divisible form. A sphere manifest in the pulse of his effort. A thunderhead loomed above him, churning images of despair spin round in a storm of Jupiter. Starvation and slaughter glimpsed through a parallel universe condensing into our world. Perhaps drawn from the spring of our experience, molding sorrows into a mirror of our darkest reflections. Once more higher than the rest, the orb of obscurity was thrown skyward. The being stood at ease, a statue of discipline under the suspended suffering. It fell over him, everything explodes into endless black.

Little Pieces

There are no words to describe this mystery in mind, How it all became? What we are destined to? So sit down and I’ll tell you how it all came true.  The fact of the matter, is hardly the case.  If you don’t believe me just look up in space.  To reach this far back one must see, a much different reality.  Questioned back to the start of time, with a feeling of clandestine.  Primordial funk envelops in Space.  Don’t be fooled that this is a race.  Piercing through this veil of time, one sees a paradigm, captured Truth in an open mind, relating it then, to all mankind.  

 

Sarcasm keeps the world at bay, Mutually assured destruction, will take you, seriously.  Consideration of the infatuation I Feel for those who are not afraid.  Twist your arm, pulling your leg, the words fall from my mouth.  Poking the obscene, shining light on obscurity,  Boundaries worn like an itchy sweater, I can not bear, my words suspended in thin air.  Matching tongue and cheek with the bored and weak, I’m comfortable with your uncomfortable.  Liberating profound nonsense into a semantic soup; pulling meaning out of a rabbit’s ass.  Sarcasm is the lubricant to keep this engine going longer. The social butter spread. I can’t believe it’s not capitalism.    

 

 

This is a Lie

I had a dream once, it came on like a shot of adrenaline, blasting me into a new world. One foreign to the average person but, in the moment I understood it. All at once I saw it all happening in front of me, in a dreamland it all made sense. It was a world many have dreamt before, tranquil, an Eden for the soul. I awoke into slow moving a pace step after step slowly the world began to dim, the meaning became a lost stone on a beach with many. Still beautiful it was, I walked on, in search of the same novelty.

Brave New World

When people are deprived of wealth while others burns their’s on image.  What will happen next? The people distracted by work, news, a so called life, to suppress is the end.  When a common goal is set, strike and protest will reach the feet of giants, hell will be thrown to the desk of gold.  I’m a Marxist dream of revolution.  Uprising of peace waged with war for justice and the uncovering of right and wrong, to settle the debt of the people and nation.  I lived through the time when the world woke up, sparked the greatest change is history, when storms recked the foundations of hope and homes.  Greed burned a hole in the pockets of powers, it blurred the numbers of bank statements making them come up short in shaky hands.  To speed up the progression of humanity by making these mistakes now, in this modern era. Unbalance division of wealth is an age old problem that will meet it’s match through the connectivity of the world.  Aldous Huxley said that “Men do not learn much from the lessons of history, and that itself is the most important of all the lessons of history.”  Sovereign nations should use history as the basis for policy, or at least be consulting with an eye doctor the see what is on the horizon.  The progress of liberty has been made only on the surface.  How long can things really continue down the same path as they’ve been on, major problems have only been pushed back to be dealt with later.  Major change is frightening and is sure to piss off a lot of people but if something isn’t done to fix how our government operates were going to be worse off than if we implement change today.

History shows that empires fall, unbalance of wealth, opportunity, and happiness.  We are all hungry, some for success others just for food.   All men are created equal sure, but show me how that applies in the social world.  The social contract binds us to this dream that is on display in magazines and movies.  “We are the all singing all dancing crap of the world” – Tyler Durden  It is happening all around us, the craziness of the world presented in an appealing syntax to spark our interest.  So we can have a moment of grief, gratefulness, or a shake of the head then we go on our way.  Although the Earth centered model of the universe, we now know is wrong, we still go about business as if we are.  The world is in our heads, we cruise through space around a black hole, laughing through infinate space, the only way to go.

 

Mother and Father Forces

We must look where we’ve been to get a sense of where we’re going.  The first peoples to create civilizations and worship Gods always casted nature as a female figure.   The term Mother Nature is still widely used today.   If we understand where we came from we can have a better idea as to how we can exist peacefully on this plane., The root of human nature is deep within the bounds of the universe.  Suppose this was the case…..

Lets apply Male and Female genders to the key components of the known universe.   Male being all energy and Female being Nature and universal laws, such as gravity.  These two forces are at battle with one another, male always trying to expand and conquer, and female is trying to constantly harness and ground him.  They are codependent on one another as most binary systems are, both intelligent forces with crafty ways of working.  The universe is the battlefield upon which energy and nature are in flux.   Small wars take place all over space; some within stars and black holes, but most of all planets are theirmost creative fight.   They draw parts form one another in effort to fool it’s counterpart.  The female laying out the drawing board and landscape, energy thus provides motion and life.  Energy provides the spark or firing of a gun at the start of the race.  Energy creates the life but nature can shape it’s path, she can use her external forces to influence the walking, crawling, flying, slithering, and swimming energy.   Energy influences nature to evolve it’s creations with what nature can throw at it, thus potentially benefiting energy over time.  The longer time goes on the more energy is dominating nature, but nature can still fight back whenever she wants.  The energy that is formed and designed to conquer nature is still shaped by nature herself.   Energy life forms land on a spectrum of means of conquering on one end and peaceful existence with nature on the other.  No one energy form is bound to either one; at any moment nature can pull a form of energy toward her goal of stoping energy, or show it something that makes it going sprinting back the other.

The fight will go on for ever forever in some part of the universe.  We are the product of creativity from which the universal battle  of energy and nature is exercised through our finger tips.