Can it be Consciousness?

Can it be consciousness which irks, which works

Within us by a two-edged blade? Hedge-hopping

One will shout big glees in joy, forever venture;

“For who would lose, though full of pain, this

Intellectual being?”


What instantaneous gain above a brute creation

Is a reasoning human being, all whole, sensible!

One’s thinking within oneself, mind making its own judgements

Dividing using judgement




Low shaves a conscious nether blade, when bested heading home

The journey darkens, a latter haloed light glows dim

In moods from windows shadows seem to shift; to loom and brood

Cluster, so as to prove


Our consciences comporting, delving pencil-sharpened zeal;

Amongst uncertain splendours sped on miscellaneous days

The springs of April glories: here ride shotgun on the tail

Providing straight and narrow


More ever like an arrow as years muster, multiply

And testifying life; its ailings, fallibilities

Witnessing ever more so; lo, a moon drifts slowly down

And glory is all about us


Conscience: its kisses whip the impudent dissenter

Founding his law upon it, a grounded law with anchors;

Fits, circumscribes us, infolding redemption as rebuke:

The double brother moderators; the marks of Godly folk


Caught between two high stools thereby, as prised between a vice;

A Scylla and Charybdis, devil and a deep blue sea

There gives no play, no tolerance: Ah, ye victims to delights!

“Whatever way you look at it you lose”


Yet at that Garden paradise of pleasure (as is in

The Douay Rheims so called) were all our golden gooses soused

Framed, fitted for a rap, by a common attrape-tout

By a traitor consciousness no fig leaf met overlays


Acute sense of oneself, as judgement caller, clings

Conniving right and wrong by gambit mercilessly

And having known their difference, having understood,

Unable to maintain


Sustain, obtain, either a loss of bad; nor flush

Possess the good; the sole-self sundered, wondering,

Wanders on wontedly, in wanting heart-division,

Seeking for deeds’ remission, resolve to solve its debt imprisoned


Once made, the jagged scissors passing over, all foreclose forbidden,

Blades lay down

Wherein by clause had claught us

Taught us of what we were, and are, and whom remain so

Pressed mob-offenders, works of grave misgivings

Knocking and moping round us like an Attic chorus grief


Taunting the spirit’s wish to raise a venturous game,

Regardless; quite in despite our slowness temporising

Our strengths of will; death’s bitter bell yet tolling, culling

Way on down the hill; and here we couples linger strolling


The evening air, considering songs, revolving their condoling,

Holding to ears their facets, turned to catch their teens;

Wise pendant dreams send sailing, (and I deem them dreams availing)

To a latter shore


Be sure that, herein lies, and herein hies that rested word

Announced by Hebrew addict of sweet eloquence, attuned

Plaintiff to lyre-strings twanged, in long and longing notes of grace

Surpassing lasting


Wiping grimalkin conscience, that perpetual hammer-clapper

Of clangour, reparations, repetition, rut, sentence;

Melted falls failure’s failings, refined out; comes clemency

And constancy perpetual


Let intellectual ease reprieve us, unhand, let us go

Sew into a seamy priceless soul aloes of pure purgation

That that wonted weight of freight, so-much-alone self-conscience

In state of fracture…………

………….Turn us from this, O God: O God, remead our rupture,


Whence hostaged heavenwards we go, become our aweful Lord’s

Appointed leaven; arithmetics, essays in preparation

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