Creatio ex nihilo
Asendentem de mari
Benedicto cerebri
The brain rose large and yellow
Above the darkened heart
Casting it’s sallow penumbrous shadow
Ominously
Onto the stygian blue main,
Shattering into scintillations of consciousness
By silvered ripples
Illuminating impulses of ionic ingenuity,
Lurching lumens of logic and
Shimmering shards of salient sapience that
Enlightened the gloom where zephyrs kissed
The sea.
To sleep,
That living death
Before we wake in dreams,
Lulled to unconsciousness by hypnagogic hallucinations
Ingressing and egressing
Waxing and waning
Animated anfractuous agitations;
The purple serpiginous aurora of the night;
Each pebbled thought now wet with lunacy,
Evoking essences of smooth darkness
Worn slick by the grinding garrulous grit of time,
Awaiting baptism by that salutary surge of photons
Pouring down from the exultant azure to drown pure
Thought
In the dazzling celestial light of unadulterated omnipotence:
The power and the glory.
Here now the mermaid rises from the deep
Her bioluminescent locks drawn back
By zealous Aeolus’s hands
Set soon to claw the waves into maniacal froths
White tipped with cresting rage.
She is unafraid;
Her sweet melodical voice
Calling to me from the shallow deep
Quite knowing that I cannot swim—
Nor can she tread the blank littoral band
That I call home;
Yet still she sings
Abyssal angelic chorales
Her sinusoidal silhouette
Swaying and seducing
Drawing me into shadowed subterranean caverns
With her impossible beauty,
Diamonds dripping from her golden hair,
Eyes of Neptune blue…
Ruber labia tua
Her tail a soft reptilian green,
Dripping wet with lust…
Glistening gloriously.
Forgive me father for I have sinned.
Where shall I sojourn tomorrow?
After the antebellum, the terebellum and the cerebellum
Have sunken into the comatose depths
And lofty dreams are now but flotsam on the sea,
The last of human breath ensconced in tiny bubbles
Mixing with the merriment of nereid’s songs,
Reminding me of where I long to be
Or might have been…
If only I could swim.
Yet think I must or I shall surely drown
And wash up on a lonely shore to be awakened
By baisers of blue and silver tickling my cheeks,
Eluting evil, or evoking ecstasy, heartening—
Informing my locus coeruleus
Of my resurrection…
My insurrection,
My circumspection,
My dereliction,
My genuflection,
My vivisection.
The sylphids sing hosanna.
What is this world?
How different from the one before,
The one above;
The one below.
The one to be.
The cerebral galleon now sunken in the brine
Where ‘midst it’s gyri naiads swim
And sing sweet siren songs
That lure lame hearties to that dark dank locker
Immuring them in sinuous sulci of sunken scopuli,
While on the beach we hear their muted screams
In shucked off sea shells,
Sibilant spiral sarcophagi,
Lost and languishing
Limbically laughing and lamenting
Loitering
Among the synaptic seaweed swaddled corpses of dead squid
And fish skeletons
Half buried in the sand.
The ocean has no memory;
As it was so shall it always be,
Osculating some petulant hind brain shore,
Some raunchy romping rhombencephalon
With promises of immortality,
Yet in its depths that sunken schooner sits
Abutting and ajoining
The substantia nigra
Pars compacta
Crenulated and grey,
Battered and blanched,
Barnacled by time,
Perseverating, on and off
Spilling its’ axiomatic enigmatic treasures
Its limpid learned lore
Upon the ocean floor.
Catatonic or convulsing;
Contemptuous crustaceans could not care,
Orange crooked legs clamber
Scattering sterling silt on gold gilt doubloons of doubt
While effervescent hope still floats above
Like water lanterns
Importuning deities gazing down
Upon the watery main, blanketing desire
With tears of condescending rain.
Life is garrulous and grey.
Astrocytic aspirations rise up to deal with dark matters;
How the meek have risen through pure piety
And arid arrogance to thirstily embrace
The purview of the gods.
Again the rain patters.
Yet on the shore a cracked cranium rests askew
It’s ghoulish vacant sockets
Starring out to sea…
Gutted of glistening glia
Grimly—
Ghostly—
Ghastly—
Emptied of numb neuronal nihilism,
It’s foramen magnum spilling forth
Nothing but vile vagrant vermin and
The unforgiving sands of time.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.
Loubert S Suddaby poems 