Spirit of the Age

The Spirit of the Age

 

Narration attuned at face forward concentration

Sauntering slowly down the hallway

Chasing ghosts

Empty eyes

Residual haunting and the tapping of wineglasses

 

Conversation at a low murmur

Repetitive percussion of chimes draws them out

Drawback movie projections of the sixties…

 

An eerie bosa nova bass treads lightly

Partitioned Jazz frenzy piranha fingers

Drawling poetics from the bass of a funeral drum

 

The exorcism of past regressions has begun,

The air in the room stills,

 

The question begs, ‘who dares to disturb this house?’

‘If my sleep must be hindered

Can you take these jars of memories…

Pour these vassals into hungry mouths of current generations

 

So that they may know they are alive?’

‘Tell them to stop chasing phantoms,

The bands of flesh that surround

Has grown weary to the bone.’

 

Crooning one last time

“The specter they seek is themselves.’

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[BrightEyes]

there is that feel here, that scene from a movie, where one is dreaming but not knowing it to be a dream. walking amongst phantoms unseen, invisible within this place. but with that invisibility comes knowledge beyond the players in the dream, those who clink their glasses, blindly going about their business. almost has that tripping through memories feel, reliving events, revisiting those from long ago. gathering lessons and knowledge learned long ago.

[The Tao of Bri]

man, I love how you felshed this out in 3D with the descriptive finishings of the metaphor and visuals.. reallly popped and captured me into the tonal textures and emotional landscape!

[Emily B]

Eerie and haunting. Pour those memories into the empty minds of the young. They should feel less empty. There's a certain feel of consonance that makes your words come off the page in one smooth stream.

[Pax Analog]

Phrases like "ghost in the machine" and "phantoms of the appearance" come to mind.

The eeriest existential truth of this poem even goes beyond the contrast between different eras -- it speaks to the essential haunting fact: we all disappear in the blink of a Kosmic eye, are ghosts before we've barely begun to understand. with any degree of redeeming power, the essence of life. Religions TRY to address this perpetual moral dilemma, but apart from a few probable freaks of nature, the starry-eyed believers are suckers for the simulacrum, a callow pseudo-spiritual Matrix.

This poem could as well be called "Spirit of the Ages," as the haunting that is our fleeting ordinary lives is EVER the case. There is perhaps a remedy, but it requires more dedication, subtle intuition, and psychological "power lifting" than most people can even begin to grasp, much less fiercely engage true mystic practice.

""Tell them to stop chasing phantoms,/The bands of flesh that surround/Has grown weary to the bone.'/ Crooning one last time/'The specter they seek is themselves.'"

Indeed. Ever thus. We have the ghost of a chance to know ourselves differently. Hauntingly good work.

[Arthur Crow]

The mood is definitely hypnotic.. The entire piece is deeply thoughtful and cleverly pieced together. Too many good lines to quote anything, so I'll just say bravo and thanks for creating this amazing journey!

[The DuchessPoet]

Um...
This is tantalizing, sweet and smooth... like the atmosphere of the moment that you've captured!
I love your metaphoric suggestions!
your words:
Crooning one last time"The specter they seek is themselves.'

I love it!
very well done, my creative poet! Very well done1

Thank you for inviting me to the "Spirit of Age"

[Blackbirdsong]

Wow Lionel, this is wonderful. I love the world you've created with this party that sounds both festive and haunted and the guests are like ghosts listening to odd bosa novas while clinking their glasses. This poem could be a movie or a scene from one the landscape you create is so visual that I can see it hear it and smell the smoke.