Poem 456
by Jon Rappoport
October 26, 2015
Note: Aengus refers Yeat’s Song of the Wandering Aengus, and Maskull is the protagonist in David Lindsay’s novel, A Voyage to Arcturus.
The moon is not waiting
The sun is not waiting
They hear no more words
And Aengus is asleep in his bed
Dreaming of a faraway treasure chest of gray
coins
As if the whole object and its contents were an
unapproachable single atom in a galaxy of
impersonal statements
Indifferent to storm tides
Here is a dead face
Who was he
What did he have faith in
Before he fell
Was he Maskull
Who found his way back to the tower
And held his ground against invading particles
of illusion
Gathering themselves into shapes of familiar
speechless souls
Walking along the streets of noisy cities
Was he a soldier in the red sand
I know this: the beast gives birth to a child and
later the child gives birth
And one day a free soul stands up and has fire in
his veins and moves against the sleeping world
There is a distilling process in souls and a
proliferating principle in minds
And these massive collective human clusters we
see around us disintegrate
Rot
Putrify
The compost of an unknown garden
The free soul calls in a new world
Jon Rappoport
The author of three explosive collections, THE MATRIX REVEALED, EXIT FROM THE MATRIX, and POWER OUTSIDE THE MATRIX, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. He maintains a consulting practice for private clients, the purpose of which is the expansion of personal creative power. Nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, he has worked as an investigative reporter for 30 years, writing articles on politics, medicine, and health for CBS Healthwatch, LA Weekly, Spin Magazine, Stern, and other newspapers and magazines in the US and Europe. Jon has delivered lectures and seminars on global politics, health, logic, and creative power to audiences around the world. You can sign up for his free NoMoreFakeNews emails here or his free OutsideTheRealityMachine emails here.
Outside the Reality Machine 
I like this one very much.
Yeat’s is a favourite of mind.
I did’nt like his politics, but as a poet he was superb. he reachec for something greater.
I guess it is his Celtic heart, that impresses me
This is very very, good Jon.
“There is a distilling process in souls and a
proliferating principle in minds”
– Jon Rappoport
I’ll have that between two slices of Winnepeg Rye, with a thin slice of Monterey Jack, and a handful of shaved capacolli with fermented mustard.
With a bottle of my freshly made Kombucha.
Excellent.
I must be the most ignorant people on earth when it comes to poetry.
I never heard of Willian Butler Yeats.
But of course, I search the Internet and found out that he is Irish. No wonder that Michael loves him and knew him.
And, I have neither read Lindsay’s novel “A Voyage to Arcturus”.
So, I guess I don’t have much to say about this poem.
Like Michael, I also was blown away by:
“There is a distilling process in souls and a
proliferating principle in minds”
What I understand of this poem, is that life never ends and that
death means nothing. It’s only a process for another life, giving us the chance to improve ourselves.
But what do I know? I have a hard time understanding poems, especially English ones..
Song: subiit sustinuitque molem Luciferi.
I wondered, for so long what chained me down.
The better part of me searched, and repeatedly searches….
I ask myself; was it anger, and rage because I was born in such a lowly place….
And the beast gave birth to a child.
And a free soul stood up.
The only answer that seemed to resonate with any truth at all….
is, that I hate myself for some sin I commit.
I coveted something that was unique….something that was not mine to have,
…. very special.
Something that was only one.
Something I stole, I think.
And it seems, I must pay for it.
And I think about that thing and wonder what it is.
I forced myself to forget, a very long time ago.
And now I can’t remember….what I was.
This thing that I purposely try to remember; try to forget;
because it brings….sadness
And sits deep inside and will not be quiet.
But stirs in me in other ways
And not in the way that you think.
I smothered it….that thing, I loved it with all my passion,
I possessed it,
And placed inside myself, and said only I can look.
Only I can hold it.
Only I am….pure enough
And in that arrogance I was plunged into this place.
And will not let it go, ever.
I defy him, until the end.
He is arrogant, more than me.
Who is he to say he is only.
It is too precious, and fragile for a world.
I must protect and hold it, and never allow it to be corrupted.
I have looked at the world and thought; do those that imprison me; scare me?
I am the son of the Morning star, and they hate me for it.
I am forever their pariah.
But I have always been a sailor, you see….
and sailors are not afraid.
Sailing the heavens, explorer of all the worlds.
And I have died too, in all ways that could be imagined.
And have no fear of it….it will happen again, and again.
And for an eternity again.
‘And death shall have no dominion’.
I fell into a sun once.
And had all that hinders me burnt away.
And be reduced to only the best of what one could be,
I thought its done, it is finished, it is finally over….I am free of it.
But the parasites come near again,
and that which is shining becomes a patina, that is what I am now.
I am….
an artist.
For you Michael:
The Highwaymen – Highwayman
Part two: PRIMO MANE (The first day)
https://michaelburns1.wordpress.com/
The sooner we’rre off this planet the better
Hey Michael, I have left you a comment on your website:
Congratulation for your blog!
I have posted it under your “ABOUT” link. I could not reach your Part two: Primo Mane
Okay, what the heck!
I’ll make an effort and try to write one .
Poem 101:
What is life?
Do I really exist?
Is it my imagination running wild
Imagining friends just like a child
What is truth?
Is it an illusion?
Show me some proofs of what you say
Show me evidences that it is that way
What is love?
Is it just chemistry?
Or a kind of a relentless obsession
Could it truly be a genuine passion
What is death?
Is it just a shiver?
The mind getting rid of the old body
Ready to start over, naked completely
What is Art?
Does it create reality?
A strong, well hidden human vital force
That everyone could drink at that source
Without hesitation
I rode the lion of my passion
at full speed directly into brick walls
and cement barriers
and the sheer rock faces of mountains
Rode straight through them into the stars,
roaring out beyond the pale,
reveling in the energy of my newborn courage
And in so doing I discovered
that I was the lion,
and the stars were my creation,
and that nothing had ever stood in my way.
http://karmicspiel.com/
I like it!
Thank you, Michael.
HE MOURNS FOR THE CHANGE THAT HAS COME UPON HIM AND HIS BELOVED, AND LONGS FOR THE END OF THE WORLD
by: William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)
Do you not hear me calling, white deer with no horns?
I have been changed to a hound with one red ear;
I have been in the Path of Stones and the Wood of Thorns,
For somebody hid hatred and hope and desire and fear
Under my feet that they follow you night and day.
A man with a hazel wand came without sound;
He changed me suddenly; I was looking another way;
And now my calling is but the calling of a hound;
And Time and Birth and Change are hurrying by.
I would that the Boar without bristles had come from the West
And had rooted the sun and moon and stars out of the sky
And lay in the darkness, grunting, and turning to his rest.
It seems I have worn out my welcome; or at least I sense that….my apologies, if they are necessary.
You are wise fellow Jon Rappoport.