Working It All Out; Phase 5: Surf's Up

Poetics without a poem is like a lake without the water. All we can do is walk on the bottom and look up where the surface should be and marvel at the waves we’d like to make. But before I go there, let me go here.

Most of the poetry I’ve read on the daily sites treats creation like an unwanted stepchild even though it gave birth to it itself. Of course, most of this western world does the same. As if carbon-testing alone is the proof of something more than carbon-testing.

As if the lack of mystical sight disproves black holes and other galactic miracles. As if science hasn’t reached quantum conundrums in itself and by itself refuted the popular misperception of the material world. As if the immaterial isn’t material for that matter. And as if we're grounded and something’s not afoot.

We the Fifth World

A steady wind is rousing waves
against the rocks and setting off
a spectacle like fireworks:
the rise, the great expanse of wild
explosion, and the déjà vu
impression of some void that follows
such emotional affairs.

The world won’t end in fire and brimstone
lighting up the not so gentle
night, but splash our consciousness
apart until it comes together
in some newfound hallowed world,
reconstituted like this lake,
creating one more perfect union.

~Greg Perry 2006

I’m not making an argument for polish and refinement. As one can easily see. I’m just saying there’s a wave that’s coming and we might as well ride it. As if it's been there all the time.