Old Man’s Last Pilgrimage | poem without dice

Old Man’s Last Pilgrimage 

On this my last pilgrimage
I travel by what light and signs
the sky affords. I do no penance,
seek no remission of sins.
Majestic highways and safe roads
took me to famous places of worship
in the far country of youth,
where I prayed and saw my dreams
come true.

 Yet archmagician time
turned all those gifts to tracts
of waste and thirst, where
I wielded number and calculation
to reckon the worth of friend and foe.
This I regret, though my riches grew
and glowed, yielding a measure
of satisfaction.

  Now new lands
born of the lifting mists
beckon to the nomadic soul,
uncharted streams and mountain paths
lead it to shrines long strayed
from memory,
mentioned in parchments long decayed

           where
I now hear musics not heard before,
smell scents from alabaster jars
and phials buried in vaulted tombs
to make sweet the sleep of queens,
visit old crimes that strange faith
has turned to things of veneration.

On this my last pilgrimage
I seek no evidence of fact
but firmer certainties, not hope
but truth of nobler substance
where, in secret folds, the mind
still dreams of wings.

Dimitris Tsaloumas


poem without dice

there are only two types of movies worth watching
movies taken of a road & movies taken from a road
this assertions of course open to criticism & possibly outright
attack just think how political discourse is altered when you
exchange all the vs for ws or js for ks for that matter
the poem taxis & avoids the spot on the lesion of ac
or aesthetic correctness preferring a kind of continental
sprawl the long line favoured by for example frank ohara
suitable for the beach or sydneys or melbournes streets
its no surprise to be a little heavier around the waist
& if you can get home without donating too much loose change
& other sentimental objects to the world hey thats
doing well besides my bloods internationally worthless
anyone can carry on in this way to the readers anxiety
inside time & expectations of nourishment if not
from the page then a passing waiter is your bladder
in order an ultimately meaningless question designed
by waiters to annoy & discourage diners from requesting
too many glasses of water meaninglessness accrues
like anything & any sense of the reader becomes faint
imagine stevie smith on her death bed playing an atheist
bishop she calls for her cat & draws him a door there
rudolph like many cats named after reindeer theres where im
going through the monsignor door like so many santas to follow

Michael Farrell

 

 

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