The Spring of '90 and other poems - 1. The Spring of '90 and other poems

.

The Spring of ‘90

and other poems written

when I was 22 years old^[1]

 

by AC Benus

 

 

 

 

Poem No. 1

 

It’s out there, the meaning of it all

All we need to recall, is what’s fair

Calling names, that’s not the thing to do

Although it may be true, it’s not sane

We need know, life’s not all about gain.

 

 

 

Poem No. 2

 

Repression breeds obsession.

 

 

 

Poem No. 3

 

The moon rose and almost killed me;

Killed me with its loveliness.

Every moment I begged it not to change

And every moment, it did.

I thought she could not top herself;

In her pain, I was alone;

She swamped me with her eternal beauty,

And I did envy every moment she changed.

 

In your light that struck me thus,

an answer was seen;

How can you be as my mind conceived,

and not stay the same for me?

 

Floating chance of escape,

gone the moment seen….

 

 

 

Poem No. 4

 

How sweet can be the thought of you,

when you are not involved.

When love takes the hand of you,

and all your faults resolve.

 

 

 

Poem No. 5

 

On a winter’s day, she came to me,

smiling about the face.

She opened her heart, and spoke to me

as if I knew her from before.

 

On a winter’s night, she came to me,

inviting all the while.

Her lure, none but an unhappy smile,

which spoke louder than she.

 

How can it be I’ve not seen her more –

My dreams are never so good –

And yet she stood as never before

Unmatched, as if anyone could.

 

What said she to me, I can’t recall,

For in the instant she smiled, I knew

My life would never be the same

And this never could I explain.[2]

  

 

 

Poem No. 6

 

My friend David has a dangerous “maybe” –

beware when you hear him say it,

whatever the situation may be;

leave the room, do anything to avoid it,

for he has a devious “maybe.”

 

Whatever the situation may be,

never give him the chance to use it,

for when he does, the outcome’s always the same;

hope for a simple yes or no,

whatever the situation may be.

 

With “maybe” the outcome’s always the same –

my friend David has a dangerous “maybe…”

for his maybe evolves into a “no.”

My friend has a devious “maybe”

with him the answer’s always the same.

 

 

 

Poem No. 7

 

The best ideas are the ones

which never get written down.

The ones for which words

are least suited.

 

 

 

Poem No. 8

 

Vivaldi wrote the Seasons

Botticelli painted La primavera

and I change the screen door

 

Of all the ways in the world

to trace the miracle change of the world

I mark it in the lowliest way

 

They greeted the spring with joy

and the fall with registration

but I, I change the screen door.

 

 

 

Poem No. 9

 

My life has changed

it’s gone to the obscene

today for the first time

I wished I had a fax machine

 

 

 

Poem No. 10

 

for Rodney, thanks^[3]

 

Once there was a clock that had no works

Once there was a boy who had no voice

In beauty the clock stood empty

All but one thought it had said its all

The boy walked in silence

All but one thought he had nothing to say

Mechanical works and a skillful voice

Are no more than gifts of hope to ourselves

The will to reason gives the meaning

The power of sympathy brings them alive

The power of a useless clock is an odd gift

But it symbolizes eternal growth.

Once there was a clock that had no works

Once there was a boy who had no voice

All but one thought they had nothing to say

None but one knew they needed each other

Without them none of us can ever say anything

For he knew both could sing again.

 

 

 

Poem No. 11

 

The sweetest sounds a person can know

are the words spoken to the self

saying let it be so.

 

 

 

Poem No. 12

 

Poem:

 

Beauty has a curse

that’s greater than herself

like a child, she only knows

that she wants

 

To give the desire a name

is to call it a desire

for it gnaws at her victims

in a gentle way

 

As a child calls to Father

in a meekful voice

crying give me

the curse is in her longing

 

 

Postlude:

 

a desire

a name

they’re always the same

 

reach it once

and never know

the joy of blindness

 

need it now

need it forever

it’ll always be the same

 

 

 

Poem No. 13

 

What day did the world change

for Galileo and his telescope, I don’t know’

for Hubble it was Tuesday

 

A child without glasses

sits in a classroom

as we sit in the universe

 

It was Tuesday when

our glasses arrived

 

Holy Tuesday

when we began

to understand.

 

 

 

Poem No. 14

 

Life’s a game,

that nobody can win

a basic fact,

but few give in.

 

Neither will I,

for the minute I know the score

I’ll need know no more.

 

 

 

Poem No. 15

 

I heard a sound, as I was walking around

One early day, in the cheering month of May

And such a sound, one which is not to be found

In November, June or any month’s ember

 

Strong and so sure, with unashamèd candor

I heard it though, through clam’ring traffic’s flow

New life’s serene song and melody of green.

 

 

 

Poem No. 16

 

Prelude:

 

If only there were enough time in a lifetime

to do a lifetime’s work

to read a lifetime’s books

to find a lifetime’s love.

 

If only all these were things that could be done

by one person

who only has

one life to waste.

 

If only there were enough time in a lifetime

to find something

to say

that’s not been said before.

 

 

Poem:

 

The Sirens call in unending voice

“…if only. If only….”

What could you have been

What could you have done

“…if only. If only….”

 

It never ends, these Harpies’ call

“…if only. If only….”

 

A life that might have been

Wasted now as then

“…if only. If only….”

 

The Sirens call and I can’t escape them

…if only….

 

I could be free of the specter

Of what could be

…if only.

 

 

Postlude:

 

What could be, what could be

come sing to me;

sing the lullaby of hope to me

of what could be, of what could be

 

Please whisper in my ear

that life has only begun;

caress the thoughts hopeless I hold dear

and bring me peace before you’re done.

 

For I need you now

in this darkened hour;

here away from the sense of day

reason simply has no power.

 

 

 

Poem No. 17

 

Spring is beautiful

Floating

Fiery stars, fleet-footed through the trees

Wingèd

As real ones etch heaven’s dome above

 

A nocturnal chorus of light

All of it floating

All of it saying

Spring is beautiful

 

It’s a pervasive

Pleasure

To watch them move freely overhead

 

 

 

Poem No. 18

 

On the 21st floor I began,

my descent from the corporate land

I thought as I entered the empty car,

how nice to have

A speedy car, a rapid fall,

to be on Earth in half a nod

 

It was my hope, it was my dream,

this day not to stop

Excitement built as the doors began to close,

freedom was at hand

Not to stop, not to nod

to be on earth in half a nod

 

The fall was swift,

and it made me feel alive;

the door opened,

and on the 18th floor arrived.

 

People it seemed had

wanted to carpool with me;

a feeling of doom gathered

as three others pushed onboard.

 

On the 21st floor I began,

my descent from the corporate land;

Twas the 18th now,

with quite a way yet to go;

Anticipation of being grounded

was drowned by talk of corporate things…

 

 

 

Poem No. 19

 

A picture postcard

from one revision of three

looks inward

from out beneath a tree

 

It sees the place

it’s supposed to be

it likes its face

but wants to be free

 

The world of a picture postcard

is a world of make believe

of a sincere lie

of a sign of what could be

 

In perfect times

a perfect photo

is a useless thing

meant only for dimes

 

A picture postcard

from one revision of three

looks inward

from out beneath a tree

 

It sees the place

it’s supposed to be

it likes its face

but wants to be free

 

For freedom today

has become a commodity

the truth, a tool

for enemies within

 

How can one be free

in a world where

all can see

there are plenty of lies to spare

 

The world of a picture postcard

is a world of make believe

of a sincere lie

of a sign of what could be

 

In perfect times

a perfect photo

is a useless thing

meant only for dimes

 

But perfect times

will never be

the questions will never

find their mates

 

And pictures postcards

we shall

always be

for

 

A picture postcard

from one revision of three

looks inward

from out beneath a tree

 

It sees the place

it’s supposed to be

it likes its face

but wants to be free.

 

 

 

Poem No. 20

 

The spring of '90 was very sweet

the sweetest in a hundred years

perhaps the kindest I shall know.

 

Then the summer came to say

that the world was just the same

or at least, still a work in progress

 

But spring of ’90 was very sweet

the sweetest in a hundred years

perhaps the kindest I shall know.

 

 

 

Poem No. 21

 

I’ll keep you there

in a place I’ll make

of kind words and gentle thoughts

high above the everyday

where every longing can be heard.

There high above

in our home of dreams

we can live.

 

 

 

Poem No. 22

 

Scott

 

Prelude:

 

The ultimate truth means the ultimate sadness

he said it not like that, but said it all the same

to come to it, is to know that words only get in the way

 

He showed me two coins

one from AA, and the other from NA

it was a lucky time to meet him

his one-year anniversary to the day

 

September eighth was a victory day

one very much like the one before

though with meaning, this one came to be

for when new life meets its beginning

it can never be as it was before

 

In a world without understanding

the truth is always an insult

he showed me two symbols of his new life

I had none to show for mine

it’s sad to know honesty knows such bounds

 

The ultimate truth means the ultimate sadness

he said it not like that, but said it all the same

talking facts are painful, for you don’t know where they’ve been;

leaving them where they lie, will only make a mess

and hiding them will surly drive you insane;

to find the truth standing there is the only way

 

He showed me two coins

symbols of a life he must;

sweet slaps of truth

to remind him who he is

 

 

Poem:

 

Let this be the symbol of who I am

I have thousands of coins

but none could ever mean the same

for this is the symbol of what I am

 

Every end has its beginning

and every beginning its apprehension

all that’s new is wrought in pain

without a word we knew the same.

 

To a look that could launch a thousand dreams

I could speak of only pointless tings

in this cold comfort, my new life began

 

The truth is always and insult

and saying it makes it so

words trick when they are sincere

and hide their worth, when not.

 

 

Postlude:

 

In the morning, when I woke up

and remembered what has been

a million words can only screw up

the feelings that have been

 

Emptiness and loneliness

are but hopeful dreams

next to the willingness

that makes the truth obscene

 

Is there one among you

who knows what I mean;

one word that speaks true

one thought of what I mean

 

He knows

and it makes me sad

that he knows me better

than I know myself

 

Is there one among you

who knows what I mean;

one word that speaks true

one thought of what I mean

 

He knows

and it makes me glad

to know he does

 

Is there one among you

who knows what I mean;

one word that speaks true

one thought of what I mean

 

He knows!

 

 

 

Poem No. 23

 

Prelude:

 

Stars

like jewels in the grass

a chorus of living light

attest to the end of summer

 

Their sweet song of light fills my eyes

a vision of the sky above

where all cannot equal

the grandeur in the green

 

Stars

that thought the seasons would last

have lost their want of flight

and glow to the end of their age

 

No hope was needed

no will to survive

they simply do what they’ve always done

by simply being alive

 

They didn’t have to decide

whether living was good enough

no thought was given to not being

they simply were what they are

 

In the grass

lives a melody

one that will not end

one that cannot be stopped

 

Why worry if it’s good enough

don’t be trapped in the everyday

these are the things they tell

the only sin is to waste a day

 

Jewels in the grass

more precious than they know

sing to me in their glow

of things not lost

 

 

Poem:

 

Into the night, I set sail my hopes and dreams

for its rendezvous with chance

up through the gentle breeze it goes

without me, to find a receptive home

to bring me some peace of mind.

 

Above and below me there is light

some of Earth, some of heaven – but miracles all –

ghosts and phantoms take flight

in the perfect air of this perfect night

it’s just the sky and ground, but miracles all.

 

The past has been a great one

the day before, a warm one,

but none of it matters;

here in the shattered globe of day

only the unknown has power.

 

In the moonless September sky

a symphony of nocturnal light dreams

from one point of the compass to the other;

a billion voices sing of the universe

and I am one with it.

 

All the sadness of the past

all the desire for the worthless

cannot destroy the glory in my eyes;

I stand here, in nowhere,

and see all there is to know.

 

What profane logic says

that the self is all that matters;

the past, in its whole, points only to now’

this night when all could conceive

that this is all there is.

 

In the quaking quiet

a riot of peace prevails;

light, from one corner to the other;

light, older than what can be,

and now, and here, I am one with it.

 

And so we sit here

the mutant great apes that we are

and look out from our cage

to see the light we’ll never know;

of a million places we’ll never go.

 

In the moonless September sky

a symphony of nocturnal light dreams

from one point of the compass to the other;

a billion voices sing of the universe

and I am one with it.

 

 

Postlude:

 

In the bright light of morning

the words I thought seem untrue

a hoax that doesn’t matter

 

We forget what once was meant

and find the world the same;

the think that failed to change was us

 

In the bright light of day

it’s back to the routine

but oh, the worlds I’ve seen

 

 

 

Poem No. 24

 

Prelude:

 

On the street, by the lamp, it lies calling

help me help you, it cries in hopeless despair;

how near it was to me, in the used-to be, but now

I faintly recognize it.

On the street, by the lamp, it lies calling

while people of everywhere pass it by.

 

 

Poem:

 

To sleep in gentle hope, to dream in tranquil haste

to see it now, to caress its face

these are the reasons, that I came to me;

to be what I could, to know what I should.

These are the reasons, that I came to me

To see it now, to caress its face

To sleep in gentle hope, to dream in tranquil haste.

 

 

 

Poem No. 25

 

These are they, that won’t be quelled

from which heaven makes its hell

In through my window, into my bed

they whisper of things that need to be said

 

These are they, from which no rest

can be gained without the test

Asking am I strong enough to write

can I tame these creatures of the night

 

These are they, the night thoughts come

into my ear, seducing to the end on none

There will be no place till they are down

The nocturnal struggle of words resound

 

These are they, that won’t be quelled

from which heaven makes its hell

In through my window, into my bed

they whisper of things that need to be said

 

Night Thoughts 2

 

 

 

Poem No. 26

 

Do you know why she’s afraid of him –

where the morbid dance with the truth,

grips her senses at the sight of him –

why she can’t free herself from the truth?

As a creature of light he saw her,

passing from one age to another,

what she was no longer known to her,

into the dance she reluctantly goes.

Savage and sweet dichotomy they long,

linked by fear, hand in hand, light in dark,

through perceptions of what was right and wrong;

why does she tremble with fear at his thought?

Beauty is the Beast, for they are one –

Nearer to each other than they to the one.

 

 

 

Poem No. 27

 

Something quieter in the brain

speaks of something gentler in the heart,

which shouts of something stronger in

the Soul.

I know the answers not at all,

but now, I know what question to ask.

something sweeter in the smile

speaks of something kinder in the look

which yells of something greater in

the soul.

 

The Ascension Begins

 

 

 

Poem No. 28

 

Greatness of form

Comes from the power of meaning.

Mystery is not in the seeing,

Almost never in the performed.

Mystery is in the feeling.

Mystery is in the storm;

In its fleeting,

Find its meaning.

Reason is something power cannot know

No cause can affect the purpose of time

So through the sea of enigmas we go

Looking for something of the ultimate find

The power of expression is the only power we make;

What mystery could be greater than this urge to create.

 

 

 

Poem No. 29

 

If it be the moon of our destruction,

I saw it rise.

It was full and bold, and beautiful,

And I saw it rise.

 

Will you pull apart our world

And destroy a million lives?

If so, I saw you rise like Kali herself.^[4]

 

 

 

Poem No. 30

 

In their eyes

I saw a sign

Through the pain and lies

The look that once was mine.

 

Three children and a man

Six eyes fixed on a tree

Three minds had to keep calm

With the excitement they see.

 

In that place

The glow touched me

With the wonderful grace

Of the child in me.

 

When Christmas was no more than the greatest day of the year,

Nothing but gifts galore, when magic could rule without fear.

 

 

 

 

 

~