The Universe Writes A Poem
The universe is a poet.
She looked at him
with a forgiving smile.
How would you know that?
Well, the credo flows
from the unity
of the knower and the known,
he said.
Besides,
symmetry involves reciprocity.
And the holographic qualities
of the cosmos imply
that just as the poet
is part of the universe,
the universe is part
of the poet, too.
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poem by Paul Hartal
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The Eighth Unwritten Ballad
On the dark lake of the unplumbed
Mixed with the orchestrated arias of winds
The eighth unwritten ballad floats.
Somnolent sparks coruscate
In ethereal tints
Gutta-percha words struggle and wither
Tired syllables reverberate
Chocolate sounds stretch and gather
Marvel in the sunshine
Collapse, unfold and mingle.
As remote tambourines jingle
Eight seagulls fly in a curved line
Like pilgrims in the formless stratum
Of the unknown.
poem by Paul Hartal
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She Lit up the Candles
When
her daughter died
she said
there is no God
in Heaven.
Still
the years
floated away
with the waters
of the rivers
as life
went on.
One day
returning home
from
the frozen street
she
opened the door
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poem by Paul Hartal
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My Life
My life is a Corinthian acanthus leaf
On an intricately carved classic column
Enchanted pellucid palace
Silent opaque sandglass
On an amethyst shelf
Byzantine transition
From circle to sphere.
My works are gothic objects
Frail violins
Of crystal madrigals
Bizarre rococo laces
In a darkly rich coloured interior
And sometimes as I stare at them
They are strange and unknown to me
Like my own hand and fingers
At three o’clock A.M.
poem by Paul Hartal
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On the Killing Fields
I did not learn from books
About the horrors of war
I was soaked in them
On the killing fields
Amid exploding shells
Frightened and savage.
I did not watch movies
To see dead bodies
Lying on green meadows
I saw them with my own eyes
The raging fires
The engulfing flames
In the blazing tanks.
The sun was shining
It was a balmy
And beautiful day
As the summer wind carried
The nauseating smell
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poem by Paul Hartal
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Colors of Silence
Yellow roses swing in the wind
Lonely dogs bark but the wolves prevail
The violin strings snap, protesting
The aloofly silent mind of the nail.
Blue tulips pray with the bells
On the lake white triangles sail
The postman walks slowly, pondering
The silent somber red box of the mail.
Evening descends on the green hills
The trees are wincing along the grey tail
In the dense dark rests the black forest
The silence dreams it screams under a veil.
poem by Paul Hartal
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The Birth of Point
A quiet line
crosses slowly
the theatre
of the mind.
Imagination
rides lonely
a cumulus cloud
and smiles
into the night
in a mirthful
mode.
A shiny moon
paddling
in the sky
winks at a poet
writing
an
ode.
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poem by Paul Hartal
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Love Never Dies
When its time comes
Love retreats
To concealed corners
Of the heart.
It hides between
Down-reaching shadows
Of exiled weeping willows
Coated in the clement crust
Of repressed memories.
But love never dies.
I loved once a woman
Who said one day
That she ceased to love me.
But love never lies.
Years later we met
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poem by Paul Hartal
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Once Upon an August Dreamy
Once upon an August dreamy
I saw a flat plane very sphery
I could not imagine the simple
Deck ducks danced in a drizzle.
I dreamed of the impossible
The perceptible invisible
Paris moved to Guatemala
Goethe wrote the Kalevala.
Once upon a winter bleary
I saw the world seamy, creamy
The yellow a purple colour
The mirror in misdemeanour.
I dreamed of the impossible
The pope became infallible
Vendors sold plenty of things
Rag rings and American kings.
poem by Paul Hartal
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Venus and Candor
Beauty is not truth
But a transient mask’s shadow
Across the foamy sky
Opaque flight
Separated from the blue fire bird
Of a convulsive life.
In dazzling charm
Narcissus may revel
And celebrate vanity,
Yet grandeur, glory and grace
May also radiate
Through unsightly wrinkles.
Truth is not beauty
But a chequered meadow lark
Discovered among dense saffrons
Of lilac harmonies
Over pastures of violet discernments
A colourful bobolink singing
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poem by Paul Hartal
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