James G. Piatt

We Are So Trivial


In the gaudy undulating pink and orange dusk
created by the ebbing spherical furnace, flocks
of geese flutter frenetically in the sky forming
an enigmatic vee. They are but dark flitting
inconsequential feathered specks drifting in the
obscurity of time, covering an insignificant
portion of sky, nothing, but a sudden
darkening, a tiny spot in the infinite sky. They
are like darting shadowy thoughts that
intensifies man’s worries in the twilight of the
fading time of existence, images of a gaudy
ambiguous meaninglessness that pulls a dark
covering over one’s mind, restraining the
importance, and meaning of one’s life:

There is a sense of a deepening of futility, the
inanity of our very essence: An existential
purposelessness that covers existence,
exerting its dark nature like a shroud covering
that, which no longer breathes or has
significance. Like the speck of geese in the
heavens, men are but Insignificant specks in
the universe, meaningless pieces of skin and
organs striving to become something that
matters, and failing that at least something of
minor significance in the history of unimportant
things. But, I am only an irrelevant poet
crunching words on paper, which have no
meaning, even to me, and therefore this poem
is only an irrelevant single note in the multitude
of complex chords in Beethoven’s symphony
No. 3, Eroica.We Are So Trivial





The Gray Wolf

The gray wolf wails an

Unnatural eerie sound in the

Wee hours of the morn,

It whines poignant notes

Into my unconsciousness:

It sends forth strange reverberations

Into my mind, unnatural sounds

Of that, which, is dark and

Disquieting: It is an alien sound,

An irreverent moaning, which

Descends into my ears, and

The dank earth: It is fused with

All that which lives in the darkness

Of the night, and plunges my mind

Into the earth until it tastes of unreality.

I have never seen that gray wolf that

Yowls such a wraithlike song, for

It always leaves unobserved into the

Murkiness of its own shadow,

And my dark memories...





Madness


There is madness, between
Truth, and
Duplicity;
A disconnect that I yearn to
Reconnect.
I crave to be that which I can
Not be,
To know
What is…
Unknowable.
I decry the darkness of
Unreality, and seek
The deep ocean’s mysteries,
Which baffle the
Philosopher’s and
Scientist’s quest for
Certainty.
I dream of a certainty,
Which my being,
Screams to understand
Without dilution…
A have a hunger which seeks what
Is undiluted, and pure:
As I immerse my feelings into
The stillness of the hollows of
My probing soul,
My broken memories spew
Into the ambiguity of inexplicable
Truths:
With my human abstractions
I listen to the false sirens
Howling in
My seething mind:
Come to me oh dear certainty
So I can listen
To your warmth and smell
Truthfulness,
Come to me in the calmness
Of the night, so
I can hear the sound of
Vanishing voices, and
Sense the honesty of the
Essence of reality…