Poetry

VIRTUAL IMAGING

by Walter Boswell
02/16/19
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Virtual Imaging

A flower I gave not; a call I received not:

                curious how we imagine fidelity and kindness.

Strange how we make ourselves a topic of mass discussion,

                                                                                a concern to life,

                                a brushfire in the daytripping of camper’s reactions,

                                     …        as if human instance was one of caring;

whereas we merely travel together the road of goldfish memory,

                abhorring the traffic, taking it in static vehicle stride,

                listening for songs and the bother of a serious accident ahead –

                                a worrisome delay only … at worst,

                just a cautious slowdown over sharp metal, broken glass,

                                over someone else’s unfortunate blood and sand.

In fate less circumstantial and more circumspective,

                I might have graced the halls of heaven!

What a play the sun makes of driving desert mirage

                whenever the foolish eye and crazed mind

                visualize light passage and a short crossover.

Blameworthy

I know who now to blame…

                daring to send my mind

                on its own wilderness journey:

                without food or water or tent.

I do tend to keep to myself all things concerting,

                                all floats underpinning,

                                all facts like faith pending.

I do intend to remove impatience and anger –

                always further and further along,

                fearing, I suppose, the braces of crowbars

                pulling down this fragile heart condition.

Is there anything in the past to recommend the future?

                Fumbling through our work,

                staring at unfamiliar shelves –

compliant only toward a willingness to learn,

                to reestablish strengths and patterns

                that were once second nature to us …

when a third-rate nature is all the best anyone can have.

Contrary Life

Like me alone, and without a family;

because no one attends a morning glory,

                no one watches the sun flower,

                no one nails a moon beam.

because society lauds itself on being sociable,

                believes kindness its worst mis-giving,

                turns inner strength powerfully weak;

welcoming hope by leaving the poor miserable …

like Lazarus, with not even a dog to lick his wounds.

Found Wisdom

Thinking to know something …         about the Son …

the truth of things indwelling soulish dreams and thoughts –

                unbeknownst to men across the thousand days

                                he took to walk them,

                to silently fold the wavers of heaven around his self –

only to make each hour a cross to bear …

                                for me, across to nowhere.

                                Christ (be gone) I fear.

                And by this Lord I am ruptured inside;

                for the life of me, I cannot shield or prevent …

this life, being born with no greater commission

                                                than to serve in ignorance;

                with no greater emotion than to weep in heart;

no greater accomplishment than to see failure abound –

                                                                as it should …

                                unabashedly, miserably, painfully,

                                like lifeblood itself being syphoned away

                                                at holocaust’s bidding

                                              for vain love of heaven

                                on earth’s altar of ordered indifference.

Dr. Walter Boswell

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