Decay

Box shaped hearts and bloody roses.

Fast lane, life's marching onto death;

With coffins richly lined in silk and satin.

 

Manicured iron claws clasping;

At a World that forgot its tears;

Killing love, heightening fears.

 

Many machines marred by a machine;

Wheels grinding in shallow souls;

Sights set on selfish dreams.

 

And all will waste and decay.

Mise en abyme

The video below shows the workings out that I quickly scribbled down after waking from an intuitive dream. The Poem was inspired by the dream, so thought I'd include it here for you to view.  

This poem made it into a Physics Journal in America, which I was delighted about. The arts and sciences are inextricably linked and although they are often at odds with each other, in our enlightened [?] time; it may surprise you to know that many major scientific breakthroughs and discoveries have been made by Artists. In my opinion it is about time we bridged the gap between Art and Science and encourage Human exploration and creativity in any of its many forms. As an aside: My friend Robert Root-Bernstein, Ph. D. has some interesting information regarding this topic, you can find it here: https://www.msu.edu/~rootbern/ 

The poem spans subjects, such as: Quantum physics, Neurology and Fractals in mathematics, Nature and Time,  these are brought together to form a microscopic and macroscopic overview of how the Human mind thinks. That's not a great explanation, its difficult to explain, which is why I wrote the poem. Enjoy.

1.

Purposefully playing with Plato's peculiar solid shapes.

Meditating about the mysteriously, miraculous form.

Space-time continuum: a veil wrapped in many capes.

Landscapes of Superpositional particle waves, are the norm;

Right up until, of course, the viewer viewed and forcefully forced;

The transitory wave to collapse, at the point between synapse.

2.

Infinity unwrapped; potentials tangled, finitely trapped.

Multiple dimensions collide, implode inside of finite minds.

Rational brains chasing signs; trying to adapt, cells sapped!

Elusive point between two petals opposed on parallel bars.

Tracing thin lines around poppies and portals blind, never defined.

The ever shrinking dot goes way beyond A microscopic topic.

0.

3.

A quantum level quandary; halls full of crazy mirrors: black.

Wooded place on two spiral paths, within a maze of maths;

And I too, travelled roads less taken and wondered if I'd get back;

But for now, at least, I'll cease to cease and walk on multiple paths.

One day, I might be sitting and sighing in a morning Frost;

With friends from the past, to see a clear pass, between shadows cast.

4.

Creating inter-dimensional maps for irrational traps.

Prince of amateurs, resides within, from time to time, through my rhyme.

New discoveries, in every line and sign posts on desert tracks.

I stumbled on a place sublime; within my mind, outside of time;

Where the trees bristled and whispered great truths, in a foreign tongue.

Phenomena increased before thrice:  A non-material trice.

5.

Falling head over heels, for a Matryoshka model's figure;

Probing her core, to view beautifully hidden depths, once more.

Fractal Queen knocked on my door, set the tone, created the allure;

And what is more, my friends, I cracked the code and deciphered the law;

So now I chase her all day long and sometimes, between heartbeats;

She sings her song in silent verse and I, can hear, every sweet word.

The Weaver

Young Arachne: Lady, low she lay;

She heard a voice on one fine day;
When Goddess Athena started to say:

"I do take pity on your lowly lot.
I'd like to help you, believe or not.
I want to teach you how to sow.
A priceless gift I will bestow."

Arachne agreed to play her part.
Took the gift of a God given art.

Master weaver she quickly became;

Dreams in seams, none were the same!

Nymphs from far and wide they came;
But she mistook the rules of the game;
Head swollen, in measure with her fame.

They hoped in droves, to derive the prime;

Of how Arachne could spin weaves so fine.
They asked her again, time after time:

"Where did you learn to beautifully design"
Arachne replied, self conceit in her eye:
"Not one taught me to cast my spell;
It was all down me, that is all I shall tell!"

The Nymphs knew Arachne had deceived.

Only one other, which could have so weaved:

Goddess Athena! the nymphs perceived;
And as she sat sadly watching them all;
Athena decided to pay Arachne a call.
Dressed as an old lady; in rickety robes.
Depressed at the path, Arachne had chose.

Athena now in her old woman's disguise;
Tried in vain, to open Arachne's eyes:
"Respect the Gods for they are wise,

Skill and wisdom come with age, not lies."
Arachne angered, was not amused;
Challenged Athena with a mocking shrill:
"Goddess! I propose we pit skill to skill!"

Beneath Athena's old raggedy guise;

Goddess of wisdom and war did rise.
Those that could see, those that were near;

Trembled in fear, bowed down to the skies.
Proud Arachne, stood firm her ground.
Athena picked up the gauntlet and vowed:

"I'll teach you a lesson in front of this crowd!"

Both wanted to win - the spin started in haste.
They worked and weaved at a furious pace.
Beautiful weaves, they both conceived one.
Athena wove about her contest with Poseidon;
In the conquest to name the great City: Athens.
Arachne wove about the Cruelty of the Gods;
Depicting them compromised and at odds.

Athena told the Nymphs to adjudicate;
But not one of them could decide their fate.
Two tapestries so fine, impossible to define;
In their minds, no final winner could be assigned.
It mattered not, how they tried to deliberate;
There was just no way for them to equate;
Even when Athena was becoming irate.

Athena struck Arachne between the eyes!
Arachne immediately cried as she realised:
She should have listened not to her pride.
The newly felt, self-awareness of her arrogance;
Was in an instant flash, all too much to bare.
She tied a knotted rope fast around her neck;

To end of her despair, she swung without a care.

Goddess Athena now high on vengeance;
Sprinkled magic dust upon the dead weaver.
Mighty Athena with pure spite inside her;
Quickly turned Arachne into a spider;
For depicting Gods in a compromised guise.
Poor Arachne dropped a stitch in nine;
When she threaded tapestries beyond the line.

Arachne should have known to be wise;
Her head shrank, no ears nor visible eyes.
Her young slender arms, shrank in size.
She suddenly sprouted legs two by two;
It wasn't very long before eight of them grew!
The very first spider, Arachne became;
Her descendants still weave webs the same.

Beautiful webs that inspire the World;
But never a tapestry to rival the Gods.
Never again will they weave in that way;
Goddess Athena taught them how to play.
Play nicely if you don't wish to pay!
They'll always remember that fateful day;
When Arachne let her arrogance stray.