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Nautiluses and Fibonaccis

17 Feb


Following are several poems in mathematical forms based on the Golden Mean and the Fibonacci Sequence.
Unvanquished was first published in Nightingale – April-May 2002 in England and again in Gunpowder River Poetry – Spring & Summer 2002. Poets Gone Wild (An Internet Anthology) ISBN: 1-4116-4359-3. (Lulu Press, August 2005).
Necropolis, the first double-nautilus written, was first published in Wild Poetry Eliot Hyperpoem – May 2002 and again in Gunpowder River Poetry – Spring & Summer 2002.
Posted May 20, 2006 on Magnapoets blog. Unfathomed Flight was first published in Poetry Scotland – 2002, in Scotland and again in Gunpowder River Poetry – Spring & Summer 2002.
Falling Water was first published in Poetry Scotland – 2002, in Scotland and again in Gunpowder River Poetry – Spring & Summer 2002.
Sky Piper was published in Gunpowder River Poetry – Spring & Summer 2002.
Betrayed, a triple mirror rhymed Fibonacci, was published in Gunpowder River Poetry – Spring & Summer 2002.
Sunset Concert, a mirror rhymed Fibonacci, was published in Gunpowder River Poetry – Spring & Summer 2002.
Shy Muse , a mirror Fibonacci, was published in Gunpowder River Poetry – Spring & Summer 2002.
Inhale, a mirror Fibonacci, was published in World Haiku Review March 2003.
Nautilus. Unvanquished. Necropolis. Unfathomed Flight. Falling Water. Sky Piper. Atoll Nocturne. Betrayed. Sunset Concert. Shy Muse. Inhale. The Brink at Logan Pond (1st Ed.). ISBN: 1-4116-2453-X. (Lulu Press, Feb. 2005); The Brink at Logan Pond (2nd Ed.). ISBN: 1-4116-3215-X. (Lulu Press, May 2005).

Unvanquished

Low
sun
finds a
tar paper
shack, by the train track,
slumped one day deeper in debris.
As day fades, slowly umber shadows swing and taper.

At last, the day star sends a shaft of light from bright decline,
through the shack’s encrusted windows, in rainbow-tinted shine.
The sills are filled with bottle glass, crowded against the panes,
placed there by the resident–discards from passing trains.
No rose-windowed cathedral boasts colors half as fine.

Passengers, in passing, pity his decrepit home.
They can’t see the place’s glory,
nor his vital spark,
nor how he
beats back
the
dark.

[Poets Gone Wild (An Internet Anthology) ISBN: 1-4116-4359-3. (Lulu Press, August 2005).]

Necropolis

Do
you
doubt me,
my dear friend,
when I say there is
to be found a darkling hamlet
underground behind the cataract at river’s end?

Come with me. Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets
and alleyways, down the cobbled maze to where road’s-end meets
the river’s edge in grey mist and the paving ends in sedge.
There, where combers boom beyond the spray-damp rocky ledge,
the mighty river, its journey to the sea, completes.

Under our sunlit city on the broad river’s shores,
another lurks in darkness. It
lies hidden where the
torrent roars
into
the
sea.

As
we
clamber
down cliffside
in dusk’s low amber
light, the shadow of the western
headland falls full upon the entrance — our faithful guide.

Behind the curtain of the waterfall, the path’s well-worn.
The cavern, vast and dim, is full of people, so forlorn,
their eyes are dimmer still. Too poor even for city slums,
they live in grimy grottos; sustain themselves on crumbs.
Hidden from the fortunate, no one can hear them mourn.

We are free, my friend, to go back to our well-lit homes,
to walk in sunlight, warm and fed.
These who stay where the
river foams?
Are they
not
dead?

The italicized line is T. S. Eliot’s.

[Posted to Magnapoets – June 2006.]

Unfathomed Flight

You
can
just hear
the bridge’s
rumbling discontent.
Daily traversed by common hordes,
this web-winged colossus quivers on its massive pier.

Built to freely soar, not to merely bear grim groundling freight,
the bridge’s braided sinews still, with bridled flight, vibrate.
Its fine tracery of steel, grounded now eight fathoms deep,
is poised to spread and lift in one epiphanic leap
and sweep loose its earthen fetters and their killing weight.

But still it stays. Across the channel’s flow, the grumbling
span carries the trudging traffic
on its trembling way
endlessly,
by night,
by
day.

[Posted on Magnapoets – August 2006.]

Falling Water

The
rain
ripples
down the wall–
wall that is my world.
My weather is this constant rain.
Intermittent moonlight shines behind the broken clouds.

Although it’s straight right here, the wall curves slowly as it goes
away to distant places, maybe dry lands; no one knows.
On my home masonry, I watch the moonlight gently play
across the rippling brickwork and me, that is to say,
my cool smooth skin, cool across my webbed fingers and toes.

Rain caresses my neck, the whorls of my fingerprints.
I press against the wall, and I
watch the water fall.
Rain ripples
down the
wall …
Rain.

[Posted on Magnapoets – July 2006.]

Sky Piper

The
blown
sky glows
turquoise and
arches high in flight.
All around me, wind sings as it
passes, flapping flags, tossing trees.
I’m drawn to follow
anywhere
away
from
here.

Betrayed

A
slow
descent,
close along
ancient camel tracks.
Silent throng,
all bent
low,
may
stray
no
more. Sent
by the long
route through these mountains,
they suffer on the rocky roads.
These broken people bear looted treasure on their backs,
bowed beneath cruel crushing loads.
They weep salt fountains.
The still strong
lament.
Oh,
prey!
They
know
who went
badly wrong–
whose appetites wax–
who belong.
Dissent?
No
way.

Sunset Concert

Long
chill
shadows
climb the wall
as the sun sinks to
rise in foreign lands far beyond
the jungle’s edge, beyond the eagle’s ken, past caring.
From an overhanging palm frond,
its tones ringing true,
comes the call:
gecko’s
shrill
song.

[Posted on Magnapoets – August 2006.]

Shy Muse

Words
chase
across
the blank page.
Pinning them down with
my pen doesn’t work. Somehow they
manage to change when they are pinned. They just won’t be penned.
So, I scribble pensively — scrawl
lines that fail to fly —
while I wait
for the
shy
muse.

Inhale

Sere
and
breathless,
the meadow—-
then a blackbird shrills.
A soft susurrus arises
and my reverie pulses with the cicada’s song.
Still, within, without, I rest in
sunlight and listen
to the field
catching
its
breath.

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Posted by on February 17, 2015 in Formal Verse

 

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