©5-14-2019, Olan L. Smith

Canto I

Tumultuous

Halfway through my life I fell upon my knee,

In the field of corn I awoke, as lifted up, and

Dropped by a mighty wind. Tall stalks flattened,

Strewn in a vortex, I was amazed I survived.

What world was I on, who was I, even more, what

Animal was I? All memory erased I was expunged.

I saw the world from the view of a pinprick punched

Into my awareness. I wondered, and what I saw

Was order. A holy order of geometry, of wholeness.

I cannot remember who I am, but I am. I stand in

The middle of a field destroyed, but I must push

Forward. Will my fate be that of lambs slain by

The butchers of life? I see the clouds part, the rains

Stop, and the winds calm. As my vision widens I know

I am on Earth. Planet Earth blessed are you by the gods.

As Helios senses me I view many paths to him,

As I ponder which ray will lead me to my thoughts?

Now lost in a dark prison of tangle nerves, and delusions.

I remember this fear returned from youth, of my elders

Who in there agedness are stripped of self, and abandon

By the gods. As a young lad I was overly offset,

Pompous, thinking this would never happen to me,

But here I stand in the middle of a whirlwind grasping

For a blade of grass, straight and without knots.

At night I awake, short of breath from a wandering dream,

Of dreamers dreaming reality. I am disoriented,

In the field of corn. Who is left to define me, my life,

My words, and my works? So terra firma supports me

For a while longer, until I am lowered into the ground,

One more descent into the darkness only rise past earth

To new life. I am new, is this rebirth, or only a momentary

Pause to remind me of my origins, I am not of this world.

No, not for a moment is Earth my home. I come from the stars.

My view widens more. I am at a precipice in the field of corn.

The Earth opens its mouth to swallow me, lead me to the depth

Of hell. Where in lies my hope? In the stars above? Shall I open

Wide my eyes and ascend to the home of homes of another world.

The ground closes and I am free to leave, free to remember my

Life. From illusion, to delusion, to reality, in one breath. The time

Is come for thoughts to preserve thought. I lift my arms in praise

To the power that gives life. I pray, "Please, restore my memory,

Remove the tangles, restore my visions for I am afraid of the whirlwind."

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Canto II

Zephyrs and Hot Air

Hence, I shall whisper words in spiritual force

Upon the zephyrs of my wing-ed muse, all creation

Stands still in the wake of the gods of heaven.

I will fight to my last breath to know my life, until

You take its celebrations away, and I but a blank slate

To write upon, once more. I am sad, and I am hurt of the

Wickedness of lost times, but alas, dear lord, I am at

Your whim. Oh, holy guardian angel, the one I know

So well, you who woke me from slumber to find myself.

You above a creatures of the divine, keep account of

Days, of my legacy upon this globe. You, dear Alinda, gave

Me hope where there was only emptiness, a directionless

Beacon competing with the sun. You showed me that in

Nook of life the soul is brightest. You wrote on me wisdom

That far exceeds all life. You taught me, listen to the living

Bards of this time, and from the graves, those who still

Speak to the listeners, "Stand up and show yourself, show

Your talents before all. The time is ripe, the berry succulent

And tasty. Eat, for eternity begins now!" Read the poets

That live and breathe! Consider well their virtues, for they

Will not pass this way again. Read, also, the words of folklore

And understand they were you, in times before, writing to you

In the present, and in far future. Truth-is-truth in any time,

Justice-is-justice in any realm, it is the welder of power

Whose ax beheads the just and unjust, at his whim. Sulfur rain

Knows no right. Will the Naked King rescue you in this hour?

He sits in Washington with no brains to sneeze. But know

The King-of-Kings is not far away. He will lead you to righteousness,

Know the pits of hell have no end and no beginning, and once

Loosed upon the surface of Earth the end is not far from sight.

The kings and emperors, the knights of old, the mighty power

Of the Earth will not save what is perishable! Will the sun stop shining,

Because the Naked King so deems? Nay! Only the angels see all,

And only the gods of the heavens know the future. Embrace what

You have in the world of the upside down, where all is not as it

Should be. The path is wide that leads to the inferno. They're all

Burnt to ashes, even the soul will not survive its furry. What must

Be achieve to right the wrong, restore justice, and bring the Devil

To his knee. The time is now for the written word to be heard, the bards

Must be received, and voices of the grave will turn the tide.

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Canto III

Purgatory

Indeed write, poets of life, or can you without dying.

Die to who you were to convey what you're supposed

To be. Put your foot in the grave to remember a life

Expunged! Or should we write of lives deleted. Recollect

The first of things with memories of what comes next.

It is not your fault this world is backwards, where left is right.

When you stood in the field of corn, alone, with no thought

Except  am I, the thought of I am was with you,

But the argument of who are they was not on your tongue.

Slowly, your vision widened, and your memories restored, yet

No one can restore the world. You cannot reverse the

River of time, and say to it, "Flow backwards." What is done is

Done. Before you, was nothingness, and a narrow vision. Justice

Moves to the will of the ones who hold the battleax. If you watch

Things descend down the vortex, don't dive in thinking you can stop

It. Who knows what is on the other side of the whirlpool. Perhaps,

There is only emptiness waiting to be filled, or it is a world fighting

The flood. What you see is only an illusion deluding itself. You were

Better off before you remembered. I see colors, but none are real.

I cannot touch green or taste green. Green, an illusion of a reflection

Reflected from a white sun's waves, an orb of fire in the void that amplifies

Nothingness, and gives us the illusion hues scattered. Give

Me the illusion of taste, give the illusion of reality that I might think

An illusionary thought; he who has wisdom knows these things.

In the beginning, it is told, God created the universe out of nothing, let

That thought sink in. Nothingness becomes something? The Word created

All, a single word? A booming voice in the void? Who am I

To disagree? I was standing in a field not long ago, a clean slate thinking

Nothing, seeing little and understanding less. Must we endure this endless

Cycle of birth, death, and rebirth? Why make sense of the Naked King,

And his senseless tweets, on twitter? Doublespeak, double talking nonsense

To confuse the masses. Are we to endure ignorance in high places? Oh,

Such babble in the brook of stupidity on display. Even more horrendous is

The wide path that is laid down; the many mindless followers chanting,

"Hail, the Naked King in his glorious wisdom, he will make us rich!"

Can you eat your riches in purgatory? Will greed carry the holy throne?

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Canto IV

Write 'til Your Fingers Bleed

Poets of life, write until your fingers bleed, 'til you tears

Turn red, and until your mind fades into slumber where

Your muse will refresh you with new words, new stories.

This era needs you, your wisdom, your direction, and your

Hope. Poets of blood give of themselves to the bone, to

The marrow, fill the hallow places. We are needed

To sustain a moral compass in the darkness of the Naked King,

Who sits on his inverted throne, head first, a grin,

And an orange hued face. He has become the beast

With the marking of Satan. How such a man would rise

To power is beyond comprehension; Hitler would

Be impressed with the Naked King's ignorance.

Dear mother, dear father it is best you are dead as to

Witness such a sight, in this land of freedom, and balance

Of power. Alas, who am I but the lonely poet who sits

In awe of a world he does not recognize. Has time passed

Me by that my words are no longer heard in the present?

Must one die to be heard more, to be heard to the furthest

Reaches of the globe? Alinda, speak to me, fill my mind

With your words. You taught me your ways, your thoughts,

As I sat at your feet. You saved me for mediocrity, and

Encouraged me to speak beyond by grasp of things only

The wisest could understand, I am your tool in this world.

Write poets of light, of blood, of life, of the grave; write.

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Canto V

A Dreamer Dreamed a Dream Dreamt

Was it you who brought us here to this realm unrecognizable,

Even to those born here? Anyone, who calls this place home

Is foolish. I wasn't born here in this mixed-up dimension of devils,

Who want to twist your mind. They want your

Soul hung out to dry, for the misrepresentation of a

Cock-and-bull story from the flaming Earth's core.

"We dry out your skin that we may use it for the next

Book cover," they yell. "It's all cock-and-bull, farfetched.

They point their fingers, "Fake, faker, dumb ass, stupid."

A million times over they scream, "Right is wrong, wrong

Is right, nah, nah, nah, nah-nah, I see your butt crack. Olan

Broke the teacher's back" Flights of fancy, green is purple,

The sun is red! Nothings real. No facts, no truth, so tweet

Until it's true. Do you see his orange face under our red sun

Making a fool of us all? Long live Humpty-Trumpty; his wall,

And broken eggs, they can't fly over the wall? "I'll shoot you

Down with my peashooter," the Naked King yells.

"Dad, Susie, hit me in the back of the head with a spit wad!

See the welt?" Build the wall! "Olan, run down Grand Avenue

And buy me a beer. I say go, fetch and avoid the running-living,

They'll steal my Busch." Look into the mirror Alice,

A bit more, watch out or you'll drag us all in, as well! Peter

The flautist blew on his thumb, and said, "Watch out

Alice fell on the king, a crazy old fool with his thumb

Up his arse. Okay, crowd around the maple tree that's grown

Upside down, in the ground. You know the one with its

Root in the air, and its leaves eating dirt. Dig for apples,

Anyone? moT is black-washing his fence in Hannibal, the

Story seems never to begin, doesn't it? Help, ecilA, pull me

Out of the blinding mirror that's trapped ushere.