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Frederick Lovis Wallack

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Port St. Lucie, FL, US

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Coincidence

by

Frederick Lovis Wallack

Wife Self-absorbed, pre-occupied
engaged in commerce other side
of a foliage valley.
Corner of her eye,
she spies flocks of wings
change course suddenly.
How free they are
to change their direction,
not trapped
not by purpose, plan, or convection.
Simultaneously - birds scare
from a husbands buckhot suicide stare.

West Dennis

by

Frederick Lovis Wallack

On the Cape, wearing the same
Shot a few movies, yet ran from fame
Ran to Taos
Away from the chaos
Drank some Baccardi
Many, uninvited
Came for the party.
Criticism, you drew for lack of lines said.
Lines, went in
Some expelled out
Some with rhyme
Many without.
Too much tequila.
Case of gout.
You and the Everly
Became hombres three.
The medic came, Benzotropine rescue
Irony flashback
Epileptic Hallucinatory scene
Captured the weirdness of the
Aura supreme.

Whores of the Mind

by

Frederick Lovis Wallack

There is a certain pleasure-
Having read from a book owned by someone else.
I do mean owned, not borrowed by thousands from a library.
But by someone else that took the time, to make the purchase
Peered at the spine, lifted it off the shelf.
Wondering if there is enough money in your pocket for such a treasure
Wondered if it would be money well spent.

The library, that is a different story too
The well-thumbed card catalogue yellowed, browned, smelling of spit.
Some of the books well thumbed too.

However, the single owned book is a different story, definitely not virginal
But not well passed around either - library books are like whores
Whores of the mind. Fucking many a mind, Fucking them right there in the stacks
Or taking them home to fuck them there for a week or two - or better yet fuck the
Unsuspecting co- habitator of the home - the young one that picks up the book that looks interesting.

But still back to the previously owned book - to know that someone else’s eyes have cruised down the
Page that you know read, their hands turned the pages.
There are remnants of this person---evidence that they leave behind.
Pages might be permanently creased.
Pages stained from food, and drink, spilled in past ages.
The DNA left from a strand of hair, a fleck of skin
The scratching of the chin, from the stress of pondering.
More interesting still are the underlines, and marginal notes of a long lost scholar.
The writers were trying to understand,
or perhaps even re-write the words of genius.

The big dish, no food does it hold? (version one)

by

Frederick Lovis Wallack

The Quasars, the Quanta,
Fill big dishes in the desert
For the big dish, no food does it hold?
These dishes feed only the eyes.
Eyes that search the heavens for reflections of cosmic happenings to trap,
For the individuals in white lab coats to ponder.
Outrageous fortune makes the concave vessel.
The big dish is overabundant, filled to the brim.
Those living at the pedestal are starving,
Yet the dish does not see them.
They don’t even live within the sight.
For the sight of the dish is million of light years away
Ancient immense events.
For what the dish sees IS light, reflected in the big parabolic mirror.
Not the folks starving.
Huddled around the base.
Bowls empty, hungry eyes staring to the heavens.
Praying for nourishment.
For the big dish holds no food.

Oh Well

by

Frederick Lovis Wallack

The 70’s, I missed out on them.
I was alive, but merely preparing
For the fun that was not to be.
My pre-adolescence, was filled with tales
Provided by the media, expectations really
Of how wonderful and promiscuous life would be.
All you had to do was show up.
All the songs, all the evening TV.
Travel Posters on the wall
Everywhere you turned.
All the awesome oozing gooey sex.
That EVERYONE was getting.
Not me.

Geometry,interrupted

by

Frederick Lovis Wallack

Two twin obelisks, obliterated
And a polygon shape disrupted.
Stars and Bars remain intact.
Firmed up, reinforced by an upright
And transverse piece. Saved by -
Our Savior.
In the rubble of ground zero
It was found
A cross, perfect in its dimensions
Like all crosses are.
This one not created by the tools of men.

From Nagasaki to Elvis

by

Frederick Lovis Wallack

From Nagasaki to Elvis, so much went on.
Victory, Bebop, Television, cold war, Sugar Pop.
Ponderous forlorn fight melded into
Joyous mirth, careless and light.
In order to not loose our groove,
One conflict led to another.
Asian politics took its toll.
We were on our way, on a roll.
The Instrument of Surrender led to the Hula-Hoop
Sex, like history made Barbie doll.cheap
More risqué in her day was Miss Betty Boop
From the burned flesh, encrusted with radioactive blood horror
To the bland malt shop, sock hop going steady
honor
From Diz and Trane to Chantilly Lace
Rock and roll ruined it all.
A comic book, the world became.
War of bullets to War of the Paranoid.
A War of Race, interrupted by a War to Space.
Wartime rations, to TeeVee portions
To fill the ElDorado’s fins, No longer did you need "A" stickers.
All the energy saved, during the blackouts, lit up Bugsy’s strippers.

This time is important to me, because I was not yet born
To look back on earlier times—it is easy to think
That life was so much simpler-"The Good Old Days"
In its simplicity, life seemed so sophisticated
Was it created that way? To heal from the war?
I grew up loving Rock&Roll, and early Television.
Gene Vincent, and Lucille Ball.
I thought that was all that life had.
Before I heard about the beatniks
And Lenny Bruce
And all that Jazz
Historians and their books
Painted this era in Back &White
It may have been black VERSUS white
But it was so COLORFUL!

Cinema ofTime

by

Frederick Lovis Wallack

Like a newsreel in the Cinema of time
The Cinema of old
That was cold
On a summer’s day passers by would read.
The icy letters spelling out "A-i-r -C-o-n-d-i-t-i-o-n-e-d I-n-s-i-d-e"
Like it was a new invention.
Our homes, still Medieval, still obeying the whims of the weather
An open window may provide some relief.
The sign seemed to say: ‘Bring me your hot, fatigued, bored, yearning to snore’
To cool them, to awaken them
Relive the mind.

New? The Romans had it too
Like plumbing, and hot water baths.
Sexual depravity performed by proletariate, plebians, and politicians alike
Why do we turn back to the Roman’s?
There is nothing new under the sun.

Romans also had their Lyrics.
Ironic the name
We had our Lyrics too.
Chilly movie houses entitled this
The history of such a building- has its history too.
Got me thinking about all the theatres of the same name.
One in Stuart
One in Warren.
And probably so many more in so many other small towns
On the flickering screen was the news of the day
The news was going on outside too.
Bringing ‘us’ the "March of Time" Pathe News , Movietone News, Paramount News
The news of the day was playing inside.
Narrated by gentlemen like, Ed Herlihy &Lowell Thomas,
The news of the day was raging outside
Each one of these members of time bringing the exterior world into that special little town
Our little corner of the world.
All the changes that the world went through—people saw it.
Through the black and white screen
Now these theatres—the one in Stuart has had its own cadence of dimes
The recipient of funds that were raised for restoration.
Recently comes the stream of old rock stars—marching through.
Dave Mason comes yearly; McGuinn has been here too
Arlo has come—the kids (his) came later.
The one in Warren, my old hometown
Historical In the antiques sold within
And the memories of those since moved on.

James Dean Kinescope

by

Frederick Lovis Wallack

Black and white image made,
long before I was born
Disturbed, disturbing adolescent
"Why don't you get a job?"
the angry father says,
The same way my father would to me a few
short years later.
All you see is the smoke rising from the
wasteland bed
Coming from the rebellion cigarette.

Later he would look into the camera
Video picture would be sent out live.

Decades later all we saw-The grainy,
flattened, no depth of field
Recording with dark halo of what
would have been depth in the picture
wraps itself around the actor.

Sure this archaic recording process would
steal the depth from a lesser actor--- but
not the great--- not Dean.

The Gardener

by

Frederick Lovis Wallack

The best fertilizer, spade husbands will tell you
in the soil you have infused
is what is decaying, composting.
Following generations are,
watching, and listening,
the fruits of your labor, rife.
Present day youth are obsessed with slaying.
Your face, an icon,
Ignites emotion like a sabre.
A symbol, of the devil himself, a scion.
Cosmic leads a great life,
Sitting in his sweatbox, cooling his heels thinking.
Going to the occasional parole board meeting.
Without a worry to even what he is eating.
Along time ago, cuisine at the ranch, was scrounged
refuse soon to be rotten.
Found tubers were mashed in Beverly Hills.
Were you mad at the son of the day?
And found the Whitey’s instead?
Or mad at boy from the Beach?
That had the great drugs in his head.
Mad at them for not believing
the muse was singing through you.
Instead, we live in a world ever germinating
in the soil fortified in decomposing blood,
From the seeds of hate.
you have sown.

A Chimera of Time(sanitized)

by

Frederick Lovis Wallack

All these young kids using their minds.
Learning how to be kind.
Increasing the law of averages
Intellect to be found
Knows no color
No flowery speech needed here
This is the real thing.
It better bring some Cha-ching.
I ain’t got the blues
Too many people drinking booze
Criticizing Jews
They were killed our Christ, some say
Most Christians are taught to forgive.
Un -Christian of us to get down

Beautiful, and green is the color of -
My true Florida
Sunshine State?
A typical Florida rain came last night,
Stayed for awhile, and left.
I have got to say I’m glad I don’t have a palette that’s cleft.
The reality is that I am damn lucky, to have what I have
I chill-in the heat.

I have enough money to eat meat
But I can’t-I shouldn’t
I shouldn’t-It does my heart harm.
But the damn thing is that it makes my heart feel good.
Gives me energy
To be me.
I’m sweating my balls
I’m not getting any calls.
All the needy people I know
Don’t seem to need me today.

The Chimera of time
It is mine.
Mine the minds of the old
Before they’re cold
And smell of mold
Like the cheese of time.
Gotta write a Lyric
Got me thinking about all the theatres of that name.
One in Stuart
One in Warren.
And probably so many more in so many other small towns.
Each one with its own cinema.
Back in the day showing the "March of Time"
Each one bringing the outside world into that special little town
That little corner of the world.
All the changes that the world went through—people saw it.
Through the black and white screen
Lyrics on film, on stage, in song
Structures, are lyrical too they each have a story all their own.
A story in their architecture.
The architecture of time.

Architecture —to make an arch, as it is defined
My dad was one---an Architect—not an arch
Not an arch was found in his design
His was the love of the clean line
His other design was mine
Was me.
Was I, the kid he wanted me to be?
Probably not
His Dad, had the curse
The curse that I now have
Curse of the vine
It is mine.
The curse of the good time—
It is mine
The good times bring misery
Misery, it is mine
Misery like a tree
A tree with deep roots
They say a tree that is well entrenched
Has a root system that equals the branches
And if you think of it-
Like a mirror image
A person’s life should be like that tree
As equal, if not better, out of work life, as well as there is in.
No more defining people by the work they do.
Unless they love the work they do.
Man - I am in a negative mood.

A person consciousness should be like that tree.
A tree with deep roots
Yet, roots can come to the surface, revealing some long hidden textured tether
—Like a bayou Banyan tree.
The deep depth of our minds should be
seemingly shallow as the roots of that tree.
Deep as the Chimera of time.
Like a newsreel in the Cinema of time.
The Cinema of old
That was cold
On a summer’s day
The icy letters spelling out "A-i-r -C-o-n-d-i-t-i-o-n-e-d I-n-s-i-d-e"

On the flickering screen was the news of the day
The news was going on outside too.
From the same members of this age
Bringing us the "March of Time"
The "Greatest generation", according to Brokaw.
Long before Brokaw, and the instant Satellite feed.
The news of the day was playing inside.
Narrated by Ed Herlihy &Lowell Thomas
Pathe News, Movietone News, Paramount News
The same generation that created, Bob Trout on the radio
Retrospective show in "78, that I first I heard of Bob Trout—radio missionary—like Murrow
Reporting on WW2, from the rooftops, and the pits of the death camps.
Trout died recently
Reporting till the end on NPR
Last report broadcast shortly after his death
And not as a ‘lets broadcast this as a commemoration for the old guy’
It was broadcast on the already scheduled date.
He was still doing his job.
His old voice communicating intelligence that was still young.
His voice still younger than Dylan’s
Mind still together, still sharp.

Nether New England World

by

Frederick Lovis Wallack

Obsession with the underworld,
The Old New Englanders seemed to have.
Geographic destinations. in the land of foliage.
Just beyond the covered bridge.
Sinister names behold:
Satan’s Kingdom, Devil’s Hopyard.
It’s the Purgatory Chasms, Antique seisms.
So enthralling, so serious.
Puritanical zeal
Earth splits , breaking the seal
Cleaving the soil
revealing the caverns below.
Can it be a true
if in a cave
We are closer to hell?
Paying for judgements made at the tavern.
Closer to the surface is that limbo-land.
All those normal souls,
That made human mistakes.
Atrocities? No, much more bland.
Reside while they serve their time.
Restitution, in the balance -Paradise awaits.
Skip out! Escape!
through the tear of the quake.
Where do they go, Once freed by the ground?
Become the ghosts, that linger around.

Surf Wave

by

Frederick Lovis Wallack

The sun, and the sea ,and the soul
Combine.
The cool color style
The clean and current design
It is up to date, timeless,
belonging to the ages
If Frank Lloyd Wright could design a wave
(perhaps he is, right now?)
Awe inspiring
Like a church, It would be
As you stand staring scared
Toes tugged by the undertow
Pull at Achilles
Desiring to throw you down
To at least kneel
Ultimately lay prostrate
To meet the maker.
Knees wobble, feel the air suck
Sea being drawn
To build the foundation
Up to the spire
Just when the fear strikes
You become redeemed
Swept up.
Now you are above it
On the roof of the supreme
Sublime
Design.
In flight caustic sodium
burning eyes real blindness
Find yourself hurling,turning
Yet precisely propelled to the shore
Land in the rubble of a ruined Cathedral
Structures come and go
Ruins and memories may linger
Religions still strengthen

To Connor Clapton (notes written 3.30.91)

by

Frederick Lovis Wallack

Playful little one.
Exploring as young ones do.
If you were only playing in a meadow
Dreaming at the chance to fly.

Religion, Love, and Togetherness

by

Frederick Lovis Wallack

I’m going to buy another copy of the Autobio of X
The previous copy I owned -I ripped out
the Black Muslim part, without the sex
without even turning the pages
calling me a white devil he was
I didn’t realize then, being ignorant
That getting to the end of the book
Is more important as starting it
Whether writing it or reading
He didn’t get to finish his
I missed that he had a change of heart near the end of his life
And that change of heart hastened the stopping of his.
That maligned; a religion that teaches hate,
Could result in love.

Religion, Love, and Togetherness

by

Frederick Lovis Wallack

Religion,Hate, and togetherness

by

Frederick Lovis Wallack

A price was put on the head of Rushdie
Even the prince of the peace train
With his new name
decried hate.
So, it was reported
Years later (not that many)
Salman shows up on ZOO TV
Behind Bono, his face blown up (not blown away) on the Jumbotron
The crowd goes wild
Then, there he is, actually on stage behind the singer
Not visibly afraid
Perhaps a vest providing that security
The crowd goes wild
I realize now in 9/11 hindsight
What a lack of difference, a decade makes.
That it was not the religion,
But a few extremist folks
That maligned a religion that teaches love
Could result in hate.

Societies Subtleties

by

Frederick Lovis Wallack

As our society becomes more technological and complex
We forget the intricacy, and the subtleties
and the POWER of human nature
too often in our day
Human nature is used in the same breath
as to describe WEAKNESS
to describe where a person goes WRONG
"to err is human" but it is compassion
that is the STRENGTH within us
that fortifies the human spirit.
It is the stuff that we truly get RIGHT
That makes us capable of so much more
Than the precision of machines
For all the academic majors
Especially for those of us in human services,
for in this new millenium
robots we have become
We the human servants
Working for the billable hour
Tell the client they need to shut up
By the time three-quarters of an hour have passed
Filling out the right demographic form,
on the right day of course
Or the data won’t matter
it is the DATA we work for
No longer the PEOPLE with the real life problems.
We are all human beings
Our duty is to serve
The human spirit to raise
and not forget that
WE ARE HUMAN BEINGS

Submit a poem for analysis.

Who was this man?

by

Frederick Lovis Wallack

Lived fast
Nearly died young
In his youth caused panic from the airwaves
A practical joke on All Hallowed Eve.
Exposed a paranoia in all of us
How vulnerable are we
Afraid of a creation of mind
Transmitted through the airwaves
From vacuum tubes
To the neurons, and synapses
Of the mind

Devised an old man
Caused he himself (acted, looked) to be old before his time
His first feature the Times said was his best
For years that character was viewed
Eventually, many years later
Nearly at the end he moonlighted
Some light fare, to represent
What had by then became a cliche
He became that old man
I will sell no man before his time
He sold the old man’s vices
Again reprising a character of the Bard

His youth succumbed
While his old age was protracted
The big bloated rest of him survived
For a long time
Perpetually waiting to be reborn

Glad-eyed Lady of the low-lifes

by

Frederick Lovis Wallack

9am
Stoned happy grin
Trailer trash
With a rash
A bitch
With an itch
The mangy dog, With one eye
Scratches at the rat waiting to die
Soggy asbestos ceiling tile
Holding up the wet mildew used to be pink fluffy fiberglass
graying and musty
Under the leaky tin roof
Funnels the acid rain water
That is dripping onto the PCB laden ground
The oil tank ruptured years ago
Poisonous #2 leaching into the water table
Stoned mistress of the mid-day
Coffin-nail at the corner of her mouth
Watching the TV Interview chairs fly
Busy girl
Waiting for the day that she gets to go on
And the man of her nightmares gets down
On his knees
Out of blue, while the geniuses in the audience applaud
And the Honda Civic will drive them home
and they will wait for the arrival of the tornado,
to sweep them off their feet
Why am I so enthralled with her?
She lives right down the street.

Datura Zephyr

by

Frederick Lovis Wallack

Datura, and Zephyr
So seemingly unrelated at first read.
Simply a wind through beautiful flowers?
No it is much more ancient, diabolical
How their relationship is so closely tethered
So often a dark side is hidden by wonders.
Wild Flower sound the Resurrection Trump
Dangerous Conjur-man of visions.
Horrifying transmutation of man to animal
And back again.
Physical sickness from the devil.
Disguised by beauty.
The lure of euphoria
drives many to the angelic diaphanous form
Angel Trumpet or a puff from the wind of heaven
Wind driving the rails bringing loved ones across the land
Greek god of the west wind did derail in Iowa-
Rollin and tumblin crashing of steel
The breaking of bone
Why? Was there a break in the convection?
An interruption that disturbed the cosmic order?

Symmetry of War

by

Frederick Lovis Wallack

I am horrified by the symmetry of war
The prophesizing sooth saying
Proud airship in Jersey
Valiant-seaworthy ship at Pearl
Humble Man in Hiroshima
Symbols of an Ideology
Dying and decomposing
In an instant
Played over again 6 million times
Burned blackened skeleton
Skin gone, humanity gone
Burned superstructure
Lifeless hulk leaning
Burned musculature
Joyless throat screaming
The retreating troops
Recompensed with
‘We shot the first vehicle,
We shot the last’
Each, and every one of them
Appeared decimated by fire
And now we pay daily
On many highways of death

The Ghost of Charles Mingus

by

Frederick Lovis Wallack

Beth has a thermos -
Brushed stainless steel
It is narrow
It has no glass lining
It looks like the type of thing
That I would fill with martinis
And bring to Central Park
And wait for the ghost of Charles Mingus
To come sit by me on a bench
He would feed the pigeons
And speak to me
Through the rhythm, and rumble
Of the branches of the trees.
She fills it with coffee
To drink
While she drives
The kids to school.

Dead bionic zombie Star-Trek horse

by

Frederick Lovis Wallack

It was revealed in a recent article
That Star-Trek is finally being put to rest
—The producers—some 10 years now
Past the death of Roddenberry
Realize that it has been overkill -
That they have been beating a dead horse—
Reviving the dead horse—
Giving the dead horse fluids
To turn it into a zombie dead horse
, Put bionic parts into the dead horse—
Blasting the dead bionic zombie horse into space.

Driving by stadium on a balmy morning

by

Frederick Lovis Wallack

Not yet 8am, before the day of play began
Young player, in uniform, glove on hand
Walks with white manager
Long white sleeves, white hair
In the humid Florida air
White papers in his white hands
Away from the big field with the stands
Back to the training area, they stroll
Words - Oh, so droll.
Minor league player
He like many from other lands
Somehow I could tell the future
Was in that older man’s hands
Young man -alienated
In this southern town
Full of northerners
Trying to slow down
Young man, full of fantasies
Were they destined to die?
Or are they strengthened
Not dashed -just tempered
Hardened, hard wrought
By the sting of rejection-
And by the threat
That perhaps soon he will no longer
Be a Met
Determination -made reverie stand fast
Under the thumb of desperation
Makes future glory- that is built to last
Maybe, just maybe-conciliation
Is this walk the stuff of dreams?
Yes! He is off to Flushing, Queens!

Reaction to "Driving"

by

Frederick Lovis Wallack

Perhaps that player
And that manager
Were walking along that street
a seemingly nonsensical way
not to get from point A to point B
but just for me to see them
to be inspired in order to write that poem

Reaction to "Driving"

by

Frederick Lovis Wallack

Wintry Days

by

Frederick Lovis Wallack

Wintry Days going to the library-reading,
and then taking out Rolling Stone Magazine
and reading
it at home once I had gotten the wet -cold clothes off, and the numb fingertips began to thaw, and I could feel, and condensation would drip from my nose, and I would read how Ac/dc shrugs off a death, and how
Jerry Wexler used to smoke pot, and eat barbecue, long before he met Aretha Franklin, and how John Lennon died

Makes a lot of sense

by

Frederick Lovis Wallack

Our trip to Martha’s Vineyard—91
Beth and Mary went off shopping
I was incensed-why shop for things
That were manufactured on the mainland
Driven by a truck-put on a boat
Driven by a truck again-put on the shelves
To be purchased by people visiting the island.
The goods will go back with them on the Ferry
And driven back to their homes on the mainland
Probably right by the factory of manufacture
While they did this I sat at the bar
And drank a Margharita from ingredients
That were produced on the mainland
Driven by a truck -put on a boat
Driven by a truck again , and put on the shelves.
As I sat next to a biker-how far can he really go?
Whose bike undoubtedly was put on a boat_
He shook some salt into his draft beer.
I couldn’t help but to ask why?
He said "to make it taste more like bottled"

Christmas sci-fi dream poem

by

Frederick Lovis Wallack

Even the inanimate objects of the world knew that the Lord Jesus was coming
For every single thing -every tangible thing had moved
For God knew that the human mind was perhaps the most difficult thing to manipulate
Every object was arranged in the order of the Nativity
Smallest in the center
Two larger, nestled close by
Three larger still, carrying, supporting precious cargo
In a manner depicting offering
And at the Zenith, the north point
An object bigger than all the rest
Emitting light when possible
Everything was ordered this way
From the scattered papers on a desk
To the greatest structures in the world’s
Most metropolitan of cities
This all happened in an instant
And No! Chaos did not result
This new world order
Was not an evil design
The laws of physics did not wreak havoc
For the first time, in a long time
There was
Peace on Earth

I-solation Pod

by

Frederick Lovis Wallack

I -pod or Isolation -pod?
I have noticed something while running at the track_
I have noticed when people are plugged in, they -have their ear blockers in -they are isolating.
Isolating themselves from each other.
That might be understandable.
I guess I do that as well.
I have noticed is that I don’t even try to greet others when I see their white ear buds.
I do isolate without an artificial buffering from my environment.
I like quiet.
I like to listen to my thoughts.
I like to pray.
I like to meditate.
I like to listen to the voice of God.
I have noticed is that I have begun most sentences with I.
I was trying to figure out what the I in I-pod really meant.
Internet- I figured
Could rip CDs to I-tunes without being connected.
Perhaps the I means just that
I figured it out
I did

Driving by Stadium-Oct 07 revision

by

Frederick Lovis Wallack

Not yet 8am, before the day of play began
Young player, in uniform, glove on hand
Walks with white manager
Long white sleeves, white hair
In the humid Florida air
White papers in his white hands
Away from the big field with the stands
Back to the training area, they stroll
Words - Oh, so droll.
Minor league player
He like many from other lands
Somehow I could tell the future
Was in that older man’s hands
Young man -alienated
In this southern town
Full of northerners
Trying to slow down
Young man, full of fantasies
Were they destined to die?
Or are they strengthened
Not dashed -just tempered
Hardened, hard wrought
By the ringing sting of rejection
Strongest yet
The threat
Perhaps soon he will no longer
Be a Met
Determination -made reverie stand fast
The thumb of desperation
Makes future glory- built to last
Maybe, just maybe-conciliation
This walk the stuff of dreams?
Yes! He is off to Flushing, Queens!
Yes! He is off to Flushing, Queens!

Surf Wave Dec 07 revision

by

Frederick Lovis Wallack

The sun, and the sea, and the soul
Combine.
The cool color style
Clean and current design
Up to date, timeless,
yet belonging to the ages.
If Frank Lloyd Wright could design a wave
(perhaps he is, right now?)
Awe inspiring
A church, It would be
You stand staring scared
Toes tugged towed under
Achilles heel pulled
Desiring to throw you down
To at least kneel
Ultimately lay prostrate
meet your maker.
Knees wobble; feel the air suck
Sea being drawn
to build the foundation
Up to the spire
when the fear strikes
you become redeemed
Swept up.
Now you are above
on the roof of the supreme
Sublime
Design.
In flight caustic sodium
eyes burning blindness
Yourself hurling and churning
Yet precisely propelled to the shore
Land in the rubble of a ruined cathedral
Structures come and go
Ruins and memories may linger
Religions still strengthen