Kalev’s Anti-Blog Four Poems about Chaos

Chaos I

 

Everything is lying between the lines.

The needle’s point, magnified, is round.

The coastline seems smooth, but the beach defines

roughness; infinity is wrapped around

inside, and then, again circling itself.

What I have seen of you so close, profound

in intimacy, is not what yourself

is far away. What seems so straight is curved.

The changes are at th’edges of myself

where you are lying duned, naked, reserved,

dreaming coiling within dreamt dreams awake.

So the turmoil seems smooth, the peace preserved.

Beauty is simplicity—but heartache

hides chaos—this emotional outbreak.

 

 

Chaos II

In Hunan, a butterfly’s wings flap once;

an imperceptible breath exhales off;

it blows into a breeze, an occurrence

of wind, and then great hurricanes spin off

in Atlantic waters devastating land

oblivious to a shining insect

flying from flowers. First, the reprimand

as well began with wings’ smallest affect.

Now stormy churns destroy all we built

along our beach, washing it all away.

Cyclones exhaust themselves around the guilt

that’s left over from a butterfly’s day.

Nothing’s the way it’s planned or hoped to last;

Love’s flight gives flight to chaos unsurpassed.

 

 

Chaos III

Famine worsens as worse things get when things

are bad; seven lean years stretch out to more.

There is never an end in sight. Downswings

do spiral down; the bottom is unsure.

I hunger deeper than Saharan drought.

You’re the moisture I want from cloudless skies.

You are the desert’s absence—not this doubt

of wet greenery that this sand implies.

How does this chaos end? Where is the rain?

The desert grows in light and in darkness.

The cusp of soil recedes each drying day;

there’s less to grow on. It won’t sustain

anything more than windy emptiness:

Then wandering will stop and I will stay.

 

 

Chaos IV

Now trial and error brings me nearer

to you than Euclid to a spiral cloud

light years away. Nothing is much clearer

than math; but love has reason disallowed.

No algorithm or formula describes

the formless singing shape of what we feel:

Careless collision makes melodic vibes

rotate within our own galactic wheel.

Numbers irrational—one, two—create

heaven’s music and motion in madness.

Yet, there must be an equation innate

within chaos to make some sense of us.

It must be: Each is one but both are two,

not two but one—oh well, I’ll try anew.

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About Kalev Pehme

I am an icastic artist and a Straussian. I am not a conservative or neocon Straussian. Sadly, there are too many of them. My interests are diverse, however, and sometimes quite arcane. I have a deep interest in Daoism, Indo-Aryan religion, Buddhism, Plato, Aristotle, and whole lot more. I love good poetry. I also enjoy all things ancient. And I would like to meet any woman who is born on May 29, 1985.
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