Low Tide Review

 I decided to review this poem, as it is a nice concise little representation of the style of poems from this time, and it was a major developmental period for me.  The review follows the reprint here.  

Low tide no longer floats the look in my eyes,

They splash like stars gasping in little pools,

Extracting codes, 

Tears that fall all night long,

One for each empty hole,

For each breath,

For each sense,

X rays that float out of the frames,

Of blood shot paraphrased passport propositions,

Valves leak, doors creak,

But not enough for me,

Not enough for my shape, 

To believe in the trembling screen,

To believe in the doorway,

Light years below, where the red shifts infra weaves unkempt sleeves,

Rename the swirling dust born rust forms dimmer edges, 

Senses are all I have,

Senses searching for a home,

Senses with no end in sight,

Rescue the lines around my resistances,

The code spreads far and wide,

To three sides,

 The story is told,

To three tides,

 The gold is hidden,

To three little toys,

 The west was won,

The shoreline rising and falling, 

In the hollow veils, 

Drifting in mirrored solutions,

Questioning the doubt, 

With claws and teeth, and fear,

Forces in a soft machine,

Painted, tainted, circles of ringing bells,

Circles of tingling wells,

Stormy windows,

Clues that foretell,

Working the bends,

The burning lens, little glass capsule of little heats that never sleep,

Where the raven sings,

Shapes the search light to weep again,

The code drifting south,

A little orbit where we call each other friends,

In dry runs between the heart,

In electrified wires, 

Between palm trees in the phases of Neptune’s’ moons,

A giant leap,

Slower than the changing tide,

A great feat,

Slower than the piper at the gate,

To save the silk palace,

Quieter than the angel of dawn,

Unwinding the snowflakes crystalline rivers,

My cross linked blinking billboards shiver,

Windows peeling back the dolls’ house origami apparitions,

In lips of puppetry abolition,

Half grinning, forfeit,

The midnight garden takes flight,

Dream of my imaginary friend,

A wave in the Silk Road,

Ahmed weaves in the silk chamber,

I lost my eyes,

Shapeless at last,

No match for the deep ecology of the design of bricks and mortar in truth or dare my mixed messages on the tip of my tongue,

Catching and casting the first rays,

That overlap the shore,

In the safety of imperceptible storms,

Fit to miniature slips in my fingertips,

Balance the fortune, the fame, the hunger,

In the wounds of the corner of the returning of more than I could bet,

Of memories, moods, meanings, meanderings, mores,

Burning slower than justice,

    My poems mostly follow a fractal like format, like nature and so forth.   Also known as the law of scale invariability, the law of octaves, the hermetic view of “as above so below.” And a loose Fibonacci like sequence.

    This also features the pattern of variations on a theme.  Also like a fractal, and so on.  

    Like waves on a beach, the scales and forms are revised and revisited, transformations ensue, a story, of sorts, is sort of told.  

    My own personal touch is that of dream like boundary-less-ness.  The laws of most peoples’ daily reality do not apply here.   

    Welcome, and fare thee well sisters and brothers.

    

Low tide no longer floats the look in my eyes.  They splash like……. in little pools.

     When the tide is low tide, it reveals stuff that is usually covered up by “the deep.”  Leaving little pools of ….. codes.   Tears.      One for each empty hole, for each pool, each sense……… is one of those little pools.      

    This first stanza is the basic theme.  The hardest thing for people to understand is that there is nothing new after this.  Keeping this little theme in mind is hard for people.  Staying with the theme, much less understanding the theme requires a state of concentration that most people find difficult.  

(That is why I am writing my meditation book, to give people a simple method to understand concentration in a practical useful method, which is not given by most meditation teachers, if any.  Kind of like exercise, pilates, yoga, etc. strengthens certain kinds of muscle combinations, but does not help you stand up.   or walk, or bend down, or lift objects, or move your  body in any useful way. It is mostly useless.  And actually nonproductive, once you understand how the body, (and mind, and nature, really works.) which is why I developed my exercise program.  And write.  Anyway. Back to the poem, which represents the true nature of reality.  )

    So, the basic theme, 

    Low tide…….The introductory little stanza itself is a little repetitive cycle, like each stanza, like the entire poem.  This is the nature of a fractal.  This is the nature of existence.  

    The next stanza.  X rays.  X rays reveal things.  Like low tide does.  Like tears do.                                                                                                                                              The little repetitive cycle is repeating, revising, reformulating, layering and re layering into more (complex) forms that are really just reformulations.  

    Blood shot paraphrased……….revealed, again, by tears, that leave bloodshot eyes, here reimagined as “paraphrased passport propositions.”  Those are the eyes, the frames,  the pools.   Re-visitations, re imaginations, waves of the ocean, over and over, crashing on the beach, re arranging, reformulating.

    Valves leak,  eyes,  pools, again, revisited.  No new ideas.  Just re imagined.  Not enough for me.   They don’t fit in the frame, like the x rays, like the tears.  See?

    Not in the trembling screen, or the doorway,   …….. like the pools, like my eyes.  

(It is so ridiculously repetitive it escapes most people’s ability to just stay with it.

There are no new ideas.  There is really only one idea present in the universe.  One story.  Told over and over, in culture after culture, movie after movie, song after song, portrait after portrait, painting after painting.  Being rediscovered, moment after moment, in another re imagined way.  Anyway, back to the poem)

Light years below…etc…. are the pools again,  re imagined into red shifts etc.

Senses are all I have…..  lines around my resistance…..the frames, the pools again.

The code spreads far and wide…….three sides,  this gets explained in more detail in my upcoming book.  Why three?  The trinity.  Life is made of protein, consumes protein, and makes protein.  Just like the stars.  Recycling themselves. Like the father, son and Holy Ghost.  Re arranged in different forms.  As most of you know, there are no new stories.  The same story has been told and re told over and over, in every culture, in every century, since time immemorial.  

    Three little toys the west was won.  My favorite line.  Says it all again.  The west, the new land, the new story.   Conquered.  Like obstacles, evil. By your “efforts”   A real satirical parody on popular culture.   It will be explained more in my book, if you need it.  

    The shoreline rising and falling…..the shoreline, just like the tide, rises and falls. 

Veils…..the pools, 

     Claws, teeth, fear……. are the re imagined trinity.

    Forces in a soft machine……are the tears, pools,   re imagined in; circles of ringing bells, wells, stormy windows, clues, etc.

    Working the bends……pools, tears, again,,,

    Where the raven sings,………..re imagined  pools, tears,   sorry, it is so ridiculously repetitive, just like a fractal, and existence, but the variations keep us interested, keep us thinking, there is something unique happening here.  Like….  Us.  The greatest illusion of all.

    A giant leap……..the piper at the gate,  is the re imagined…raven, and the tears again.

    To save the silk palace…..the frame, the pools

    Unwinding snowflakes,……………….i hate to say it,,,, the tears…..

    Dolls house,   the frame, the tears, you know, the interesting thing IS that there are all sorts of intrinsic, hidden, implied meanings behind all these little variations.  That is what really makes it bearable.  Or interesting if you will.  Thanks.   Within the meanings of the variations of say,  the tears,  re imagined as the raven for example,  the tears represent those things we may not understand.  

We may not understand, or fear, like our feelings.  They are bigger than us.    They don’t fit in the frame.  They are like X rays into some other dimension of our being.   Such is the raven,  the devil,  the dolls’ house, hell.  They represent all those things were overwhelming to us.  That have now become all the conditioned things we are afraid of.   Anything we don’t understand.  Anything different than what we have been conditioned to accept.  Like other people, from other families, from other cultures, form other religions, from other races, from other sexes, from whatever “other” you have not really accepted that is really the “other” part of yourself that you have not met yet.            

    

    The dream of my imaginary friend……the part of myself I have not met yet.  That “dreams” my hopes, and nightmares.   Heaven and hell.

    I lost my eyes.  Shapeless at last.     The savior.    Full of mixed messages, because it contains the entire unknown.   Imperceptible forms.  Slips etc….

Balances the fame, fortune, hunger……the trinity again………  burning slower than justice,,,,,it just defies our understanding.