Thrusted Inspirations E-Book

Lorenz Filius

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Seitenzahl: 95

Beschreibung

Poetry may ease one’s soul, evokes ideas in spirits’ routines, or it is that tender literature to walk on higher path. However, sometimes poetry is simply art that works its readers’ mind. The 'thrusted’ thoughts in this collection rather try to freely scrutinize the scenes instead of leading to interpretive simplification. Just read and maybe feel the clues behind.

Leseprobe

Table of contents

Natural inspirations

Outer inspirations

Inner inspirations

Preface

No understanding can be forced then; but capable of more than ending in some half-baked explanations its resources have a deeper ground. To understand by means of thinking is the first that one may think of when reflecting on content and sense, on rhyme and rhythm. Even though accompanying feelings may top deliberations off, the all in all can carry more than just a sum of inspiration, written words and found out clues: When poetry comes from one’s mind, we get all that. However when it finds its way through ‘heart and belly’ it can hardly claim a simple one-to-one transfer of meaning or intention from one spirit to another. Sometimes not even poets can explain a one and only bottom line out of their thoughts. The magic of such poetry lies in a workaround to get a message rather than a sense: The message of Ideas that pop up in a reader’s mind is then made to watch inspiring auras - instead to choose between some worked out think decisions. While facts and circumstances build up worlds and thoughts about it, the magic is a higher instance to intrude into the general infinity of opportunities.

Read and watch

what you won’t find by seeing words,

which - on its own - keep visions blind.

Natural inspirations

Natural inspirations

A mindless man

Sirocco

Where the bluster leads us

Into the doom

Apophis

Dandelion dream

Sun in haze

Spirit’s wilderness

The end cools down

The grim reaper

No difference of anything

Evening tears

To where from where

Arts of ease

Atlantic

Potential

An odour’s spell

Cuttings

Departure

Suburbs creatures

Death Valley (Darwin)

Leaving leaves

Spots upon the sun

Near by my sun

Wood

The mantis

Lizard’s wisdom

Upon a fine line

Little black hole

All about decay

Dark matter

Till the last inferno

All through the light

Sagging ground

Chaotic order

Timeless things

Just the bones

Ditching time

The ghastly death

Bigger than we think

Resistant

Taken moments

What nature sketched

The leaves return

Stars in water

Erdstall’s spell

Serious cat

A mindless man

A mindless man will not expect

a passing yet before he dies;

but not for nothing he’s not wise,

he stays a child in light’s prospect.

Abundance boosts him time by time,

if tempted or if purified;

life is a curse if out of light,

just death is trivial in its rhyme.

Enlightenment waits in the end,

to fill the dark with scenery,

in simple objectivity,

out of the senses’ tournament.

Wood

Can you see the tear on wood,

healing wounds on ancient skin,

hoary in experienced mood;

I imagine time within.

I will let it go in there,

all engulfed by rings of life,

sometimes it may lose a tear,

not to rot but to survive.

When it finally gets felled,

rather not deserving death,

maybe too much gum has welled,

still the wood can save our breath.

Sirocco

There’s a hot and burning breeze,

flowing through the shadeless blue,

water rarely brings some ease,

sweat on eyebrows looks like dew.

Noon is dragging ways along,

give a lie to any aim,

not one moaning, not one song,

lethargy makes people lame.

When the evening spirit shows,

it calls up remains of vim;

heat no longer overgrows

silent thoughts of next day’s dim.

Yet before it’s crickets’ time

to escape into the night,

bland-cool breath pervades the clime,

waiting for the morning light.

The mantis

Between the past and future’s verges

there’s lust in conflict with entreaty

to find out what’s to come and urges;

both need to team up to be meaty.

Divinity keeps fortune’s magic,

here blow of fate, there winner’s blessing,

lets pray for truth, if nice, if tragic,

not treating with contempt what’s pressing.

Whether to worry or to revel,

tells mantis in advance and wisely;

it won’t lay tracks but our level

to let us find it out precisely.

Where the bluster leads us

In waves above horizon’s line

our fate is waiting without winds;

on top, there’s nothing else divine,

just questions in between give hints.

Don’t bind the movement by a fence,

but give it scope to meet its form;

a little bit of reticence

may leave us calm before the storm.

The elements then find their drive,

and oceans burst the dreamy waves;

the bluster takes us through our life

until another dream it craves.

Lizard’s wisdom

Watch, the lizard’s watching you,

spreading magic just by chance,

shapes and colours may come true;

it’s your future in advance.

As its eyebeam meets your soul,

you have watched it yet too long;

you can set tomorrow’s goal,

but the lizard’s wisdom’s strong.

Easy to ignore your fate;

when it hurts, avert your gaze,

maybe it is not to0 late,

though you’ve lost a moment’s chase.

Into the doom

Look ahead into the doom,

there’s a little floating light,

brightening horizon’s site;

where we go there’ll be no gloom.

Here it’s peaceful in the dark,

lean on, let us fall asleep,

swarming feelings take us deep;

upon welfare they’ll embark.

Now and then there is a wink,

leading us to lights ahead,

heading home we lose our tread;

we leave back what faces think.

Upon a fine line

Upon a fine line we are winged,

and bound by all our life instinct,

our way seems fairly save and sealed,

our future is not yet revealed.

We’re simply teased by what we are,

all by ourselves, the world is far;

what ever gave us clues and hints,

it’s destiny, which always wins.

We’re dancing now around our love,

and find the heavens high above;

we realize our given urge

as natural consent to merge.

Involuntarily we pause,

as if we’d wonder ‘bout our cause;

and soon our senses get a sign

when poising on another line.

Apophis

Through the keyhole it will come,

opening the gate of skies,

revelation beats the drum;

what’s to come is more than wise.

It’s a God of ancient times,

takes its darkness into light,

leaving shadows to dead climes,

flesh burns out to stone-cold night.

Vastnesses remain unfazed,

they predestine star by star,

children’s thrones are doomed when placed;

Gods are lurking from afar.

It’s no everlasting fight,

just unfathomable spell;

darkness may be lit by light,

but its end is hard to tell.

Little black hole

Gazing at a little spot,

deeper as a deep sleep phase,

shapes get lost in daylight’s lot,

and my field of view skews space.

No direction keeps its course,

and a helix wipes all out,

up side down - what comes, what was,

but my inner core’s still stout.

All around my crutch gets loose,

there my weakness fades to naught,

cold, my breath - I feel abstruse,

hardly real what could be thought.

Senses twist around brain’s hub,

and my mind’s beyond each goal,

but before it’s swallowed up,

I blow out that small black hole.

Dandelion dream

Just a glimpse has caught my sight

as there nothing’s worked my mind,

hard to place that foreign might;

dreamland of a different kind.

That aware I’ve never been,

at the same time without dread,

starry flickering backs the scene,

sun on water sways my head.

Dimmed out shades leave space for more,

which that limelight may imbue;

what plain shine cannot adore,

bright transparency can do.

Then this glimpse the moment slows

draws attention to a bloom,

filigree, a blow ball shows;

life is more than we assume.

When bright yellow floods the spring,

beauty’s greatness will have won

‘til a tiny little thing -

dandelion’s seed - flies on.

All about decay

Decay - is making things go on,

it - overlooked - affects no one;

and in a distance, something new,

too close to keep our lame poise true.

Decay - is blurring our sight,

the faded things don’t shade what’s wide;

diffuse it is, so safe ahead,

although it’s soon or later dead.

Decay - gets finally all solved,

like heal and harm all is revolved;

disclosing death and run of life,

no wedge between these both to drive.

Decay - decaying on its own,

not scary, flesh that leaves its bone;

some anxiety in what’s to come:

Decay in anger beats hell’s drum.

Sun in haze

Under domes of white and grey

time is rolling all its way,

moves no shadows and no light,

takes my eyebeam out of sight.

But a shining knob-like spot

tempts a little growing dot;

flashing through my fading face,

makes it follow through the haze.

Dark matter

What we just guess,

is slipping as the biggest rest

through meshes,

dark in inexplicability,

leaving webs of sciences

a simple grid

‘till

our know-how’s mess,

which plagues us like a minding pest

when putting clashes

deep in truth-like abysses to see,

bursts into defiances

that minds can’t fit.

Spirit’s wilderness

And the snow is falling on,

where the tiger swallows men;

no companion gets along

to give life what prayers can.

And the spirits of the forms

cannot flee their wilderness;

dynasties have had their storms,

influencing timelessness.

And the river will not quake

when the winds blow heavily

since life has no higher stake

than to live without to flee.

And while fate is found and lost,

time is out of tiger’s class;

tear and smile are tempest-tossed,

in between it comes to pass.

Till the last inferno

Rain is falling quietly,

silently it covers graves;

sun’s inferno once will be

melting ground and what it saves.

That what happened feeds the past,

memories are weary bliss;

but a bit we make them last,

our tomorrow they may kiss.

We don’t show the certitude

what we may expect from it;

future’s many days to suit

dreams, which let us intuit.

So we simply take some light

to expand the dark around;

reasoned questions every night

come from answers to be found.

The end cools down

That open maw returns no call,

no being in the absent rot,

the tongue is sick to death of all,

remaining in post-mortem clot.

I search imagination’s truth

for beauty and its dauntless past,

which needed to deface its youth;

we hope, but purposes won’t last.

Our life in dirt seems tidy, though,

and carries nature to extremes;

the end cools down each afterglow,

those who know better lose their dreams.

All through the light

All through the light we’re dancing on,

the stage of life is our world,

we don’t need more to get along,

no unasked glut to get unfurled.

No dark conceit may join us now,

it’s life that shines and makes us shine,

we end tomorrow anyhow,

today I’m yours and you are mine.

The grim reaper

The land has found the grim reaper,

and paradise is overseas;

but even there he’s death’s keeper,

he takes whatever hope may ease.

His face is covered by a hood

and catches eyesight that is doomed;

to find himself there, is no good

since he reflects what once has bloomed.

The grim reaper calls all his own,

takes one or many when he calls;

they follow him around his throne,

he taps as well as he befalls.

So be aware, once he’ll be there

although he may not nod at you;

his scythe is always anywhere

and hits when you don’t think it’s true’.

Sagging ground

Sagging ground, a screech owl cries,

I look back, it reeks of death,

earthy smell keeps stinky breath,

seemingly about to rise.

Underground the blessing breaks,

and a bunch of flowers wilts;

as the gravestone slowly tilts,

something, cursing, now awakes.