I know that’s how death will come,
Suddenly flying into another orbit when I am photographing flowers
It’s not a gentle transition.
No-one will know where I’ve gone.
One step wrong and I’m off the high wire
And plunging into the no safety net.
Flying for a while
Jumping into hyperspace,spinning electrons
Startle my wide eyes.
Transiting the new black sun
I’m on a double gold helix,
Spider on her web,
Into the future heaven on gossamer wings.
I’m off to see the stars.
And the black holes.
No one will come with me.
I’m shaking off,evaporating into mist.
I’m a flying saucer on a circus mission.
I can’t say no to a new invitation.
Make it fast and break with tradition.
Time is passing smoothly till that break In the music,
I’ve been transmuted into a different key
someone else will play me on their violin
I’m a tune, I’m a thought, I’m a whisper in your vision.
I’m under orders Ready to leave for my performance
On the electric carpet.
Death dancing to a tune on a violoncello,
I’m playing your words upside down
In a new foreign translation,
Accompanied by solo artists,ice cracking
I’m going in.
It’s too sudden.
Spinning faster to amuse the clowns,
too many ups and no downs.
I’m going right out of orbit
I’ve broken the pull of gravity,
And fly with pure equanimity
Into my future life,
I’m off at some moment
An instant,a crack,a loud smack
That was me passing
Among the many reasons poets choose to write formal poetry in the 21st century is an intuitive distaste for the imitative fallacy. To write about chaos, one need not write chaotically. It’s only a minor paradox to say that discipline and constraint unlock freedom. Steele goes on to say that form-minded poets are assumed to believe that “the universe is a nice, neat, orderly place.” On the contrary, he says:
I suspect that most people who write in forms feel that the obvious disorder and chaos of the world afflict us intensely, coming