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Selected Poems from the Writings of David L. Nelson

All Works Copyright David L. Nelson 2006 Focus Fine Arts ® & Ironworks Publishing

A Word In Truth

One may find it best in promotion of healthy communion, to mind the sharpness of thy tongue, the flexing fluid stream which crosses the chamfered edge of gated tooth, as well the containment and geometry of mind.
One may think one possesses the fine focus, say, of the very tip of thy neighbor’s nose, curve of a cousin’s chin, or shape of thy servant’s skull.
But join the lengthy line to lead the blind back down the ascending trail, and find thy hoof purchased on thy self-possessed tail.
For though a swift word may exceed the mail, one may enter leaving, thirstily searching for the sacred shredder pail! And lo, hasty thought and rapid dowsing are the very traits I am, as yet, not espousing!
Truth as it’s told may be as tough to touch as molten gold, and so, a questioning mark could never come near it, for fear of melting from it’s slippery sliding inquisition; could not occupy the same position and would aid as fuel to energize it’s own evident ignition.
Thus it remains, when the heat of truth’s been told, who dares to crack a question that of itself does not chill the bones at the thought of the frostyfrozenfridgidfractured icy ca..ca..ca..ca..cowwoollld!!
And so, learning late of fiction’s false facts, the fortunes of folly are fashionably formed while events are in their blossom of youth. But the light of day shall fall for thee, as nothing questions truth!
For the petal of truth spins and floats a singular path that moves with great comfort, in any and all directions; while wild winds may aid the airy aim, as gravity makes corrections.
But land it will, with site-specific exactitude; passing all shifting form, as fashions exchange the evolution of mix and mood! To light upon the fact, like a stone stitched to a rock, and unmoved by sudden storm, or windy weather, as a granite block, untumbled by persuasion of any feeble feather!
Tuxes for tales, and winds for sails, into the spinning sphere of life; where truth eats a fitting feast, it bites the blade blunt of even the sharpest knife!
At the moment a single utterance of unquestionable ore spills, into the mold of the moment...
Hence not a rocket may retrieve it! Let us drop it, let us leave it, for it’s wedded as it’s welded to the past.
But pull the pale curtain of doubt, across our living stage, and that moment shall be revealed, as this font burns through the page!
For if doubt were to play the mirror of truth and tread within its place, a single atom’s sweet breath of truth would crack its silver face!
Hang a hesitation upon any fact of impressive stamp, and watch it fall like a flame within an empty lamp. For what prevails is beyond all augmented arguments of rhetoric or reason, and to taste its tongue is a savory dish in any salty season!
Alas, where is it written, but in the stardust of the heavens and sifting sands of time! Those who know of truth fear not to fall, and have no need to fly!
By ‘n’ by, ‘tis clear to the ear as ‘tis to the eye.
So it is with age as it is in youth,
No hard hammer has yet been cast...
that can crack the bell of truth!

© David L. Nelson 2006 FFA® & Ironworks Publishing

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Dip your magic fingers
Into the surface
Of any silver stream
It is there
You shall find
The sacred fuel
Of this manifested dream!

Gaze into the forests
Across the meadows
Of our fertile earth
Therein find
The scattered seeds
That have nurtured you
From birth.

Breath the transparent,
Floating ocean
Of crystal cosmic air
Inhale the ignition
Of your burning intuition
Your love light is the flare.

Listen to the wonders
In silence that pervade
It is for the taste of miracles
That our spinning sphere is made.

Frame your angled angel fingers
Against the clear night sky...

It is there you shall observe
The luminous fabric
Of the only fitting flag
That I shall ever fly.

© David L. Nelson 2006 FFA® & Ironworks Publishing

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At three o’clock-a, in Osaka
The emperor did cry
“I’ll have my tepid tea at two
With a slice of number pi!”

It was his royal habit
To count upon the clock
One and five, six and eight
Then suddenly a shock

One second was two many
Two seconds were two few
Old minutes slowly ticked away
More slowly came the new

His timer was still ticking
Though the hour had been lost
His second hand was sticking
As if he slumbered in the frost

He called the royal tinker
To tinker with his clock
But he was late in coming
At least a tick, perhaps a tock

The emperor was displeased
To wait on his repair
Painted him a brilliant red
Put hornets in his hair

Now the emperor is on time
And the tinker’s never late
The royal tea is always hot
With fresh pi upon his plate!

© David L. Nelson 2006 FFA® & Ironworks Publishing

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Tick ‘n’ Tock

Time to relax...
Let go your gilded ball and jacks
Parade en colleur... Dance d`existence...

If it be spoken...
Let it be spoken well and true and clear
With a din to drop a tree

Or with a shout to split a great stone
And vibrate the marrow of thy bones

Shall I continue on... Or yield now...
Lest I lose the view
For surely time is ticking now
Within the bones of you!

Calendars are for crayons
Stopwatches are for speed
The compass holds the heading
As the sun invents the seed

Ah, yes... The days of man’s life do tick by
Like a striped sphere
Rolling down an incline....
That itself does seem to increase
By degree by day and year.....

To yield up a greater speed
With each passing day
And therefore transmitting time
Into a blur
Of motion...
Yet all these moments be distinct

So mark these moments well
By drawing sweet breath
Or the ring of any bell
Or any action of creative content...

For they are manufactured
For the profit of the soul

For he who thinks they are made
To suit another purpose
Shall find his reason defiled
By the treachery
Of an unsavory master

While the mansion of his soul
Be brought to ruin
By the little tick and tock
Of ill spent hours
At home in the weeds...
At home in the flowers!

© David L. Nelson 2006 Focus Fine Arts ®

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