Death Calls

Advisory:

This is a long, long poem. If you are up for reading a long poem, I do hope you will find this one to be well worth the read. If you'd rather read some of my shorter poetry, click here

death calls

every heartbeat by name

making each one the same


this is your life

this is your life

this is your life

this is your life


the metronome, calling me home, ticking away, fading the day

life can be so melodramatic

like watching static

with the volume on mute

and your mind on mute, numbed by the gentle static hiss of your own personal hell

and the waves that swell

the remains of life-forms onto endless beaches of time


all time is mine

all time is mind


i look out by night

at the vast ocean of Being

and the sand, as it slips in my hands

is not made for my counting

infinity is not comforting


i smell salt

sitting on the naked earth, i draw from a vast reservoir

a deep well

hoping that maybe if i bury my head

under the beachy sand

i will escape the tide by becoming one with the earth and the stars


i try to write perfect words

with the absurd feeling that if i get them right

they will work like a spell

that shatters reality itself

and places me somewhere else

where things were right the first time


after all, we cast reality with words

and all of our pictures come to life

and all of life is our pictures

and words are our entire reality

so we must not be saying the right words, thinking the right words

no one taught us the right words, we don't have the faculty for those kinds of words


silence and sleep

thoughts of the deep

give no rest for me

they reek of the sleep i dread to sleep

i make noise so that the universe must keep listening

i banish sleep because a white gangrene is glistening

where the worm never dies

and the smokes always rise, blotting the skies


are we the children of Cain? cursed from the face of the earth

is it because of murder in my heart

that i am marked to die?


we stand shivering outside, in chains and shackles, all in a line

with brothers and sisters in front and behind

and every so often (we never know when)

our captors pluck one of us out of the line

and none of us can stop it

and we are forced to watch it

while they stand our mothers and fathers against the wall

and open fire, but not at heart or head

on stomachs and bowels instead

so our loved ones expire slowly, writhing on the cold dirt

pleading eyes upturned

begging our love to save them

but we can only wait our own turn


it seems that no Mind would dream up such a dream

and gives it as Life

to its very offspring


i tremble to blaspheme

but i am questioning

doubting


whether Love has ever tread these tangled paths at all

whether Life ever begot life

whether we are not in fact just the spectacular fireworks

of passion and sorrow

that the universe has cooked up with

its chemical sorceries


which paint once the sky

for an instant in time


Father! Father!

do you even remember the name that you gave me?

do you remember the night you pulled me violently from my resting place

where it was dark and warm and secure?

and you cast me into a cold, hollow womb that continually miscarries

and i was born in a tomb

too soon?


it was winter

do you remember?


the dying of embers

O, wanton December!

Who pierced me with sorrows

and gave me tommorows

but stole all my todays



*



i inquire into the science

of infinite gaps

of gaping synapse


i investigate the substance of Being

poking at it from every angle

demanding that it yeild fruits fit for our consumption

that it justify itself


must i remind you

that i never asked to be here

and i never consented

to this form or this figure

riddled with cancers


i am the eternal thought

thinking itself

watching with terrified attatchment

these bodies which i inhabit


my haunts, my accostomed places

my ethos, my habits

my character, a socially constructed facade

my self, ever putting itself

into the eyes of others, looking on itself

imagining itself playing the roles

of each of the other children in the schoolyard



*



but at last, the primitive state of nature overtakes me

i'm going to sleep now, do not awaken me

and when i awake, Love will wake again with me

and all the smoldering, dying wreckage of this day will forsake me


ah, i remember now, the sound of Love, walking in the cool of the garden

when each day seemed to stretch on forever

and the night was full of magic

the infinite gaps can only be scaled

in the space of one instant, no more and no less


working its way back through every other instant

time, since it is a function of mind, is also subject to language

i stand back from the bodies of the dead i inhabit

i am the universal singularity, the one thought

throbbing and pulsing in the erotic heights before explosive creation

i

howl

the body electric

and rise, orgasmic over Moloch

whose mind is pure machinery

and whose children drown in their insanity


with a cold and broken hallelujah

i hymn the blessed race immortal

and rend the fabric of reality from top to bottom

entering in the place most holy

and die, writhing on the warm, welcoming earth

the place of my birth

the place of my hearth, where the embers glow and spark


December has now heard a lark

Hades, required to return to her mother

the goddess he has stolen for a season

and the Bird rises wreathed

in flame from the ashes

baptizing the Forms of our collective unconscious

with the blessed and holy power of life


and coming to life, all of our pictures bring us to life with them!



*



one can not blaspheme what is not

for one can not think of it

look again at what Love gave us

in the space of an instant, which extends on forever

since time and space alike are a construct of our symbolic processes


i pull out my tabula rasa

i am written on the tabula rasa

all is white on the tabula rasa

all is white

all is white


the waves now are dragging me in

to the ocean without beginning or end

and the depths are alive with the wind

of warm currents and of births and of sand

and death would appear now a friend

leading me in by the hand

calling me into the land


Love is life

Love's alive

Love is death


Death calls

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Comments 24 comments

BenWritings profile image

BenWritings 5 years ago from Save me from, Tennessee

DUDE!!

thats AWESOME!!

you've never written anything this poetic, and understandable. whoooaaa


japtaker profile image

japtaker 5 years ago from United States Author

Wow, thanks broseph! Glad you finally liked one of my poems! :-)


BenWritings profile image

BenWritings 5 years ago from Save me from, Tennessee

That particular one could become very popular and draw some nice attention, trust me

Its soooo long, and I had to force myself to commit to reading it, but its AWESOMMMEE seriously


japtaker profile image

japtaker 5 years ago from United States Author

Well, thank you sir


epigramman profile image

epigramman 5 years ago

....well it's 1. intellectual

2. deep

3. profound

4. soulful

5. actually quite mad (but in a grand artistic way|)

6. cerebral (isn't that a poetic cousin of intellectual)

7. epic, strong and powerful

8. like all great art - it needs to be read over again so you can find something new or maybe something you missed)

9. brave and courageous

10. daring and original

By the way I am a Canadian who lives in Ontario by Lake Erie (literally - 100 feet away or so) and I simply adore Leonard Cohen - and he's my next door neighbor (figment of my imagination) and I must tell him about you!


japtaker profile image

japtaker 5 years ago from United States Author

Wow, epigramman... you sure do know how to give a compliment! Thank you so very much for making my night that much better.

Ah, Leonard Cohen. Please do mention me to him whenever you should be in need of a cup of sugar or other sundry that you could borrow from imaginary neighbors. He hasn't called in too long :-)


japtaker profile image

japtaker 5 years ago from United States Author

But yes, it is impossible to say just how fond I am of Leonard Cohen.


sligobay profile image

sligobay 5 years ago from east of the equator

Like Benwriter I had to force myself to finish this read. I'm glad that I did because it appears that you finally worked your way through to a meaningful conclusion. Your profile page promised that your poetry is briefer than your articles. You better change that. LOL Anyway;Don't go killing yourself for love but the self must die for love to be alive. I hope that's what you mean. Life must be embraced no more and no less than death in my view. Life can be surrendered and thus; never lost as Jesus Christ has demonstrated to us. Death can be totally accepted before it ever arrives and welcomed rather than resisted. You have touched on so much that I can't possibly write a more complete comment. Thank you for your words and I am following.


japtaker profile image

japtaker 5 years ago from United States Author

Sligobay, excellent point about the false promises of my profile page :-) As it turns out, this poem is over ten times as long as most of my other poems, so it is a glaring exception to the general rule that my poems are short. But I followed your great advice and modified my profile to give readers due warning about this poem.

"Life can be surrendered and thus; never lost as Jesus Christ has demonstrated to us. Death can be totally accepted before it ever arrives and welcomed rather than resisted."

Yes, this is the hope for which I strive. But surrender and death to self sometimes seems so very, very hard. Thankfully, it has become blatantly clear that it is the only option which will result in something other than misery for me, so I have no choice but to press forward.

Thank you for reading all the way through, for your gracious comment, and for following :-)


sligobay profile image

sligobay 5 years ago from east of the equator

My pleasure to follow. We have much in common in love of Latin and Greek classical literature and Christian thought.


BenWritings profile image

BenWritings 5 years ago from Save me from, Tennessee

this here is my genius brother, sligo/epi


japtaker profile image

japtaker 5 years ago from United States Author

You are the real genius, I suspect


japtaker profile image

japtaker 5 years ago from United States Author

Sligobay, we also are both recovering alcoholics, if I read your profile correctly, although it seems you have a great deal more sobriety than I do. I got out of a two-month rehab program in November of last year. Glad to say that I've not had a drink in about five months now. But I shudder to think of what happens if I do.


sligobay profile image

sligobay 5 years ago from east of the equator

j- I did rehab in '85 and relapsed and relapsed and relapsed until 2000 when I had my last run- no fun.

Send me a note by hitting contact sligobay on my profile and we will correspond by email. Be sure to include your email address. There is life after death.


Dad-of-japtaker-and-benwritings 5 years ago

Actually, it is ME who is the real genius, but you guys are not too shabby, either.


BenWritings profile image

BenWritings 5 years ago from Save me from, Tennessee

lol. oh boyy


sligobay profile image

sligobay 5 years ago from east of the equator

Dad-of-japtaker-and-benwritings sounds like the dad of sligobay with sons revolving around the SUN. Stay in the orbit but look to your own radiance. I'd like to read more than a comment from 'ME' the 'real genius'. You guys should sign him up at Hubpages. Maybe you can make a buck or two off his 'genius'. LOL


BenWritings profile image

BenWritings 5 years ago from Save me from, Tennessee

lol, sligo...


japtaker profile image

japtaker 5 years ago from United States Author

Yeah, slig, not a bad idea at all to get ol' dad to sign up for Hubpages.... hmmm. What do you say, dad?


japtaker profile image

japtaker 5 years ago from United States Author

Thanks, Abhitheprince!


pennyofheaven profile image

pennyofheaven 5 years ago from New Zealand

Very very deep. So much so I am speechless. Words fail to describe what I feel about your poem. So Ill leave it there and just say beautiful, awesome and Thanks so much!


japtaker profile image

japtaker 5 years ago from United States Author

Thank you very much, pennyofheaven. Having read some of your work in the past, I consider that an honor.


Bo 4 years ago

Wow. This is really bad poetry.

I don't say that to be mean, I only want to help you and make sure you use your time for something that will actually be beneficial to you and others as well....You are wasting precious time!!!!! This poem has no substance, character, voice, movement, imagery, or purpose. Instead of giving you suggestions and feedback, I'd say scrap the whole thing and start knitting or something.


Andrew 23 months ago

I carry on listening to the nescwast lecture about getting free online grant applications so I have been looking around for the most excellent site to get one. Could you advise me please, where could i find some?

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