Web Of Spindled Timeby Tom Henderson
WEB OF SPINDLED TIME
A Poetic Point of View
A...spiritual journey unspooled in free verse, short prose and original artwork...the image of spindled time perfectly captures the experience of encountering Henderson’s cosmic tome...This rhythmic alternation of inward and outward focus is one of Henderson’s persistent/em>/strong>… See more details below
WEB OF SPINDLED TIME
A Poetic Point of View
A...spiritual journey unspooled in free verse, short prose and original artwork...the image of spindled time perfectly captures the experience of encountering Henderson’s cosmic tome...This rhythmic alternation of inward and outward focus is one of Henderson’s persistent themes, introduced in the prologue—“Looking outward, at my world, / I observed the constant changes around me, / Peering inward, I analyzed / My own shifting feelings”—and revisited frequently, most memorably in several examples of concrete poetry...Elsewhere, various narrators on numerous “paths” and “journeys” invariably learn how much they do not yet know. In Blakean fashion, Henderson strives to deconstruct the tension of man simultaneously seeing himself as “the image of perfection” and as a “mere, and mortal, fool.” Wisdom, he suggests, lies in unifying both visions, often via paradox. In “The Flight of the Spirit,” for instance, the narrator laments, “I have searched for an escape. / But, death comes to all. / Escape then, is inevitable. / Life is short.” After further contemplation, however, he instead concludes that “chains are loosened by death. / The soul drifts into the freedom / Of eternity, / Forever has no end / If death is short / And life is everlasting.” For all its lofty philosophical inquiries, Henderson’s poetry is generally unadorned, marked by plain speech and the occasional simple rhyme scheme. Because the mystic nature of these revelations is likely to confound reason, the mind can be slow to believe...so reading in small doses may be the best approach.
Readers who see spiritual perfection as a journey, rather than a destination, will appreciate Henderson as a fellow traveler.
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Read an Excerpt
Web of Spindled TimeA Poetic Point of View
By Tom Henderson
AuthorHouseCopyright © 2011 Tom Henderson
All right reserved.
CASTLES IN THE SAND
I stroll beside
The rising tide
That rushes swiftly to the shore
Where I ran wild
As a child
And built castles, in the, sand.
Things are different
Than they were when, I was young.
I walk into the starry night
And think of things I've done.
I still remember
Before, I became a man.
I still remember
Those castles, in the, sand.
I JUST WONDERED
As I dwell upon connections,
I look upon reflections
And I wonder
Why I am,
Why wasn't I
Lightning in a storm,
A river or a stream,
Or a particle of dust
Riding on a moonbeam?
I could have been anything.
Instead, I am me.
I walk, I talk,
And I think constantly.
But, please don't take me wrong.
I was only singing my song.
And as I sang,
Of how unlike the oceans,
I can feel my emotions.
So, I guess I am happy.
I just wondered.
LITTLE BOY WORLD
When I was a child,
I thought so many things
Were different than they were
And I was happy then.
But like a firefly in a field,
A flash ...
Whishing well fountains
And strawberry mountains
Struts a youth so bold,
Down sidewalks of gold,
We have our fun in the summer sun
And every day we grow older.
Seasons come and go. We leave footprints in the snow
And the winters turn us colder.
And like all fairy tale fools with their Mother Goose rules,
One day I discovered
That it was different this spring, I'd had my fling
As a paper heart lover,
Time goes on, the world turns,
And another, heartache is hurled.
Little Miss Muffet can take it and stuff it because,
God didn't make a little boy world.
ANOTHER SUMMER PASSES
It matters not, how brief
My span of youth belief,
Time cruelly reveals
The corroding of ideals,
Growing up was a kind of death
And a part of me has died.
Maturity was a hollow thing,
Leaving, me, empty inside.
Elusively, I grasped
At things that could not last,
The light of memory flashes
And another summer passes.
Shifting values, fleeting thoughts,
Time, awaits, not many things.
But, it was different not long ago,
When, I was young and full of dreams.
But, you can't hold
What you can't touch.
Now, I'm older
And I'm wiser.
This time we recognize as present
Will, mingle with the past.
As it marches ever onward,
Toward the future,
Tomorrow's distant calling,
Its silent beckon,
Reaches out and clutches onto today.
Could, be, a million miles away.
Instead of killing time
When left alone,
At a time
TIME WILL TELL
Midnight casts its magic spell.
That only time will tell.
As twilight invades my privacy
I arouse from intimacy.
The mighty sun beckons my thoughts.
And morning knows my memory.
My past has made me,*ME*.
I was ... I am ... I know ... so well.
But, what I will be,
Only time will tell.
ECHOES OF REGRET
I fly upon the wings
Of the memories of my mind
As I am confined
To thoughts of faded dreams,
Blinding, are the lights
Which, shine throughout, the world.
And silhouette the shame
In, life's sordid, schemes.
I call upon the visions
Of my shortened childhood
As I lay longing
For a strength in my aptitude,
I hear the voice of silence
As it screams against the walls,
Leaving echoes of regret
In my solitude
I SIT HERE THINKING
Like a ship without a sail
We must go where the tides of seasons carry us.
While, the sands of time
Are shifting within,
That will remain
In the rain
Through the canyons of time
While, I sit here thinking
With eternity on my, mind.
Of butterflies and children,
Of rainbows and ribbons,
The world is a billowing bubble of dreams.
But, reality isn't always as real, as it seems.
River of time, your currents run deep.
Your waters flow wide. Why,
Of puppies and children,
Do old dogs and old men die?
In the storm, blows the wind.
The bubble flies higher than high.
Soaring, drifting, without wing.
For, life is a swift and fleeting thing.
PATHWAY OF PROGRESS
We drift into the future
Upon the lifeboat of today,
The tides of time rise toward tomorrow
While the winds of change blow yesterday, away.
The genius of man is exciting.
But, conflicts with too many, things.
And the future is not as inviting
As reflections of an old man's, dreams.
The wheels of progress keep turning.
They journey the whole world round.
Leaving this poor heart yearning
For the silence of yesterday's sound,
We're caught within the whirlwind of knowledge.
Blowing, twisting, faster each day.
And we'll breeze the pathway of progress.
Till, we are all blown away.
The wind blows wild,
The night is dark as death.
Life is short season.
The earth turns round,
Morning shines bright as dreams.
No one knows
Where, midnight goes.
Ah! The winds of March, the spring showers,
The hum of bees, the breath of flowers,
Beneath, a pulsing heart unseen,
The warmth of life within me, green ...
Awakened from a winter's rest,
To, hold again, the robin's nest.
But, now, an unfamiliar sound
Is calling out from all around,
Timber yelling lumberjacks,
Attacking me with a, woodsman's axe.
By what cause, does intellect
Rule the beast, plant, fish, foul, and insect?
The mind has power to think, reason,
Even to choose its fate.
But, has thought the right
To completely dominate,
Should not, wisdom
And life, give life,
The same respect ...?
JUSTICE CRIES OUT (For Lessons Learned)
Mans instinct and behavior
Is, centered entirely, around him self.
But, in this, only sadness, I find.
For man, in his greed, would
Destroy all other life forms,
Even his, own kind.
It weighs heavy on my heart, knowing
That even after wisdom has been revealed,
It is totally ignored, due to selfishness.
For the careless and sadistic nature of man
Seems to always override
The moral concepts of godliness,
In earnest devotion, I write, dedicating
These words to life's preservation,
To recognizing the rights of all creatures
Other than man, without any reservation,
In response to those who slaughter dolphins
And to those who fight in the dolphin's defense,
Of lessons learned, the price is paid
At the dolphin's great expense,
There are those who cannot see
That life should live in harmony
With every creature, large and small,
Man is master on this earth
But, are not all creatures alike in worth?
Justice cries out for one and all.
The kindly dolphins of the sea
Would be friends with you and me
And should be welcomed
At any fishing port,
To their friendliness and intellect,
I would give my fondest respect
Along with a highest
I pray to the God of all living things
So he might send wisdom that loving brings,
I would apologize for all concerned
*And make amends for lessons learned.*
Like a walk through a ghost town
Leaves, sorrow felt for empty places.
So does the casual lies in the eyes of those
With forced smiles on made-up faces,
Plastic flowers make me sorry.
Imitation makes me mad
Plastic people are only fakers
And in themselves, they're just as sad.
From the polluted skies of tomorrow,
Artificial rain may come in showers
To sprinkle upon a synthetic world
That is growing, so many, plastic flowers.
HOW HIGH TO CLIMB
In the early morning hours
I go soaring past the towers.
Searching, for, things elusive.
But, if by chasing after these
Brings tomorrow's agonies,
Then, be yesterday conclusive.
And, should I go farther on
I may never see the dawn
Of another morning yet to, find.
To be seeking someone else
By fleeing from thyself
Could be something lacking in the mind.
I could go some other place
And change my name and face.
But, could I change my true identity?
And just how high to climb,
Escaping from my time,
Could, be, the distance of infinity.
A WORLD LIKE THIS
Our rivers and streams
Are being poisoned, it seems,
By, all who, really don't care.
And we'll have a taste
Of our own human waste,
When, pollution fills up the air.
The eagles and birds
And buffalo herds
Have become, too quickly, too few.
When we finally choke
On factory smoke,
It will all be over too soon.
Yes, if I had a way
I'd leave here today
Hoping I never, be found.
And to a world like this,
I'd blow it a kiss.
Farewell, I'll see you around.
I guess, some reward is due,
(For our great accomplishments
so, take these lines of cheery thoughts
With all my compliments,
Take your cities and your countries
And make your buildings high.
Take your rockets and your airplanes
And traffic jam the sky,
Take your rat race and your freeways
And ride until you're through.
Take your racial obligations
And punch each other blue.
Take this time of self-survival
And just live it day by day.
Then, take your over-population
And pill the youth away.
Take the sweet smell of springtime
And squeeze it from the air.
Take your polluted sickness
And spread it everywhere.
Take the moonlight from the night,
The sunshine from the day,
Wrap them up in human feats
And throw them Goth away.
Take your horrible illusions
That we're doing weld
Wrap them round all our mistakes
And send them straight to HELL.
AS THE ROBIN SINGS
The youth of the world
Is quietly hurled
Throughout my mind and heart,
Who, will thou merit?
Who shall inherit?
Should I, depart?
As I lie beneath
The lonely and meek
And mossy grounds
That make, my only pillow?
Where growth the neatest
And the sweetest
To an aging mind,
All of this is but a part
of an aging, broken heart
And natural past that does now fade.
Yes, when the dark clouds hide the sun
And my span of life is finally done,
Who will mourn the progress made?
Still, the robin sings its song.
And I must try to hum along.
As the wind grows quiet and calm,
So much of this is what I am.
But, who will really give a damn,
After I have gone?
At our rate of birth,
What is, the earth
but a grave, of our own, making?
On a planet so small
We will cover it all
Simply add one more from all partaking.
Hey, all you sisters and brothers
Join hands with your mothers,
(Fathers take one final stand.
Let the epitaph read
God planted his seed,
And here lies the history of man.
MYTH OF MATURITY
When we are young,
We think of growing up
Wise and mature.
But, we just keep on Living.
We keep on learning.
We just, grow
When nature ends its cycle
For another to begin,
Green turns to red, gold, and brown
And I can see my breath again.
Silently, in sorrow,
Time has lost its sound.
The winds of change are blowing,
The seasons turn around.
Spreads its icy fingers in its quest,
As it clutches onto innocence
To lay, the many, summer things to rest.
Without the knowledge of the inevitable,
That ever lurking shadow of death,
What would life be but, a monotonous,
Continuous, display of selfish acts and deeds
Hopelessly devoid of any appreciation,
Without this threat of loss
Which is, ever so near,
One might never develop respect,
Gratitude, or even recognize
Life itself, precious as it is.
TAKEN FOR GRANTED
As I looked deep into
My little boy's eyes,
I remembered the things
The butterflies and pirate's gold,
The magic kites on strings,
The bedtime stories and fairy tales,
Childhood dreams of so many things.
Filled my eyes
And I felt
We never know what we have
Till we've already lost it.
But, we can never, ever
Bring it back again.
If we only knew,
How precious, these moments,
How much tighter we'd hold
And cherish with pleasure,
These many, many things
That, we just keep, taking for granted.
But, so soon, won't be,
REMEMBER THE FLOWERS
I remember we would talk as my son and I would walk
Through our little garden in the dawn,
We picked flowers in the spring and went fishing in the stream.
But, that long ago feeling is gone.
On a dark stormy night he asked, "Why do people fight,
Do men have too many powers?
Why do people kill when will the storm be still?
Does the rain really bring the flowers?
Somber and sad, he asked, "Will the flowers and the trees
Still remember me, when I grow into a man?
And, I thanked God he had time to pick the grapes off the vine
And to, hold a piece of nature in his hand.
With tears in his eyes, I think he realized.
Crying on that teddy bear he clutches.
kings can never stay the same and man is all to blame.
He destroys everything that he touches.
He asked, "is this really all it is worth, to just burn up the earth
And to give up all that is ours?"
"Will there be nothing left to save, with Mother Nature in her grave,
Who will carry, her, the flowers?"
There was nothing so, unkind as this vision in my mind.
The death of Mother Nature at my feet,
I said, Son, don't you cry for the flowers that will die.
Just remember that a memory is so sweet.
Yes, there'll be turtles in the wood and footprints where you stood,
Laughing and playing away the, hours.
There'd & the sound of honeybees, new leaves upon the trees,
And the whippoorwills, to sing away, the showers
Yes, there'll be flowers in the spring.
Even, if it's in a dream.
So, just sleep.
And remember the Powers.
For Dusty and Jamie, 1975
Upon the night of my tenth birthday,
A baby owl had come to play.
From a-high, the forest treetops,
From the sky, the baby owl drops,
To, be, my only friend.
His eyes of wisdom and mind so clever,
Throughout the woods, exploring ever,
The owl and I, together roaming,
Over hills and valleys combing
Till, we reached the bend.
Then, the nights were getting colder
And I saw myself growing older.
Gone, the hours in sunlit clover,
The time for make believe was over,
I grew up with the memory of a friend.
Now, on my own son's tenth birthday
A baby robot had come to play.
It's changing fast, from civilized
Into a world, computerized
And men becoming, less, than, men.
Change is consistent, no one's to blame.
It seems nothing ever stays the same.
And from within sky scraper rooftops,
The baby owl cries childhood teardrops.
To, be, my only friend.
Then, man destroyed the world I knew.
But, some survived, science too.
From the knowledge they had learned.
Built, above the earth they burned.
An artificial likeness to, extend.
Upon my grandson's tenth birthday,
Came different beings from far away,
From beyond our stars at night
To, teach my grandson of their flight.
And how, they should begin.
Man's emotions were left corroding.
Locked inside the cities, floating,
Man and science walked hand in hand.
But, I'm too old to understand.
It seemed they all had reached the bend.
And it's a long way down to touch the grounds.
Where, nothing grows and nothing sounds.
And a long time gone, from forest treetops,
Cries the owl forgotten teardrops
To, be, my only friend.
On my great grandson's tenth birthday,
There were no games left and none to play.
A human, heartless, simulation,
In this world of imitation
Where, nothing's real that once, had been.
And I, the ancient, obsolete.
Who'd dare to stand and use my feet.
To, walk through nature's wonderland.
But, alas! There is nothing grand.
And nothing left of nature's trend.
So, now, I'll rest and dream-receive.
Then, I'll go back and make-believe.
That, from a-high the forest treetops,
From the sky, the baby owl drops.
To, be, my only friend.
PRISONER OF MY MIND
Of a vastness, I believe
In perils and in dangers
And of visions I receive,
Of spirits and of strangers,
Guarding the horizons
As an eagle in flight,
Riding in on horseback,
A specter in the night,
And if I could, forever,
I would stay that long.
To, write to you in riddles.
And to, sing to you in song.
For, I step into the darkness.
A traveler in time,
In, limbo, locked inside myself.
A, prisoner of my, mind.
The seasons change and so do we.
As time, keeps traveling, on.
A dream can't last forever.
And I can't stay that long.
Excerpted from Web of Spindled Time by Tom Henderson Copyright © 2011 by Tom Henderson. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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