A Witness to Gaza

In honor of the Palestinian dead… and, living!

What can one say? The pain…
the terror, the little children dead
or suffering, their round eyes wide,
their tears like bullets in a dead man’s eyes;

and, we, like rabbits huddle in the ruins
waiting for the bombs to pass:
missiles overhead like deadly eagles dive,
tormenting us both day and night;

what shall we do, where shall we go,
there is no peace, there is no hope;
we live from day to day, almost dead,
exhausted by an ancient foe;

their hatred knowing no bounds, while
our young warriors in the streets
throw rocks and metal tubes
against the barricades, into the sky

full of desperate fury for freedom’s lie;
we will not win, we know this now,
and, yet, our enemy, too, shall fail:
his victory, a black farce: tearing apart;

and, we, will as we always do, live on
seeking as our kind must another day
under Allah’s sun to mend our living,
bury our dead; seek a path to peace.

 – Steven Craig Hickman ©2014 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.

The Moon: After Leopardi

Maybe the moon was always my star:
white plasticity swerving into twilight;
measurer of time, sun’s bride,
lonely Argonaut of temporal despair;
the slit of white against black night
(your slow pace conceives my day,
falls from my smile…):
decentered of human frailties,
dust of worlds unbidden hanging together
in the curvature of your broken symmetry.

– Steven Craig Hickman ©2014 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.

The Art of Trees

 

When words
no longer have
the means
to say
what we believe,

when doubt and force
bring on the mind’s dis-ease
(superficial conversation
passing for the truth that is,
mouthing only lies that 
catch us gazing into night),
then we, who are
the party of this dream,
this hope, begin
to know and see

by questioning the art of trees;
by walking alone, or together 
among the darkened leaves,
where thoughts like tears
begin to shed their fears
and follow us along this road
where children of the forest 
wander out of our thoughts
as so many butterflies, free and alive.

– Steven Craig Hickman ©2014

 

Night of the Earth

“The will of the depths is therefore only the awakening of life…”
         – Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph Von Schelling (1775-1854)

Tears like angels
never seem to fall
toward heaven: the dark
“will of the depths,”
he called it, – a force
arising out of itself,
a mystery: the ungrounded duel
at the volcanic core of things,
where tumble the frail ones,
seething out of the lava
like so many children, laughing…

– Steven Craig Hickman ©2014 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.

Stone Bouncing Laughter

 

stone bouncing laughter –
perturbed light wakens water:
circles withdrawing 

 

 

– Steven Craig Hickman ©2014 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.

The Void: After Lucretius


Ageless, the dark traversal,
night travelers, twin gatherings,
meshed entanglements of light and dark,
trailings of a singular spark, heat flash –
storm tossed seas placental event;
dust and life, the shavings of dead stars:
the ungrounded force of spacetime;
swervings, fallings, unbounded turnings…
voidings of a gathering eclipse into nothingness

 

 

– Steven Craig Hickman ©2014 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.

 

Between the thought and thing…



Between the thought and thing:
a dance renews the drummer’s pledge,
the child’s laughter and the mage’s wedge:
the quick step in and out of fire,
the silence between the stars,
the river’s course, Vulcan’s pyre:
the gathering tribe, the bellows hold;
objects outer frozen light, a piercing gaze,
a daring all till time its face effaces all…

      – Steven Craig Hickman ©2014 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.

City of Bones

I came to the city of bones
amid shadows and loss:
(my brothers remember me in my time of need)

the broken spires ascending night,
mists like old tragedians hover silently;
voices low and throaty graze the cliffs,

difficult stones crumble with each step –
(our dark lives spun in moss cross
delicate tendrils leafing up and round);

mottled skins stretched flat against the stars
bend and shake against the cold blank light;
(I’ve seen my brothers in the halls of stone,

those are their eyes that once were gold)
across this great expanse, break
silent memories on a blackened shore:

(my sisters sing to me now and in my age of need)
bloody tears freeze the quaking sea, and…
as time the slayer orbits me, I wake…

– Steven Craig Hickman ©2014 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.

Stone

Hay golpes en la vida, tan fuertes … Yo no sé!

       – César Vallejo

A glimpse is all that’s needed
(carved shards of stone!)
to turn us back toward her gaze

a gaze not ours… a softness
that spills from stars
feathers of an angel’s inexistence

tributary flows channeling
under the harsh sun
death’s cravings scattering

anemones blown red against green
vigilant daughters of the wind
moving before the hidden guest

harboring neither thought nor being
but an aftering more subtle than time

     – Steven Craig Hickman ©2014 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.

The Lynx’s Eye: After Petrarch

The Lynx’s Eye: After Petrarch

Familiarium rerum liber (Francesco Petrarch)

Under the sign of shadows,
a traveler, embarking
from exile within exile:

traces of those sparks,
feint ardours;
lips touching, kisses

just there in Arezzo,
that ignoble city
my father fled;

I, on the arms of youth
(strong shoulders rising
Tuscany fierce in my eyes)

crossing the Arno
fallen, hooves cutting
the wild waters

not far from Marseilles
windswept seas, timbers
and burdens: memories

old age and friendship
– eye of the lynx
sustain us even now.

   – Steven Craig Hickman ©2014 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.

Reaumur’s Gaze

“The frogs had to be confined to glass jars, situated to suit the observer; the water level had to be adjusted, along with the temperature; garments had to be sewn; techniques had to be devised for dissection, collection of semen, and handling of eggs.”

– Lorraine Daston, Histories of Scientific Observation

What do we see when we see?
Frogs on the mantle leaping,
Jars in dubious mixtures mating;

Reaumur’s troubled gaze, pondering:
remains of a lifetime’s testing,
observing things in life and death:

letters, notes, drawings, books –
insects, frogs, dolphins, bones;
collections of objects observed, observing,

a curious mind unmoving moving:
graspings, cogitations; a naturalist’s mind
cuttings of a life, slices of oblivion

fragments of unfinished thought…
symphonies of sight and touch,
undiscovered gleamings, trailings –

acts of knowing
touching feeling nows:
an object’s gaze into rather than from his life. 

– Steven Craig Hickman ©2014 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.

Chameolen Dreams

a twisted leaf it walks away
a dusted moon it turns to grey
a leap it sifts the jungle floor
a stare it snares a kingdom’s jewels
a fiery chant it charms its prey
a liquid glance it shies always

– Steven Craig Hickman ©2014 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.