With energy derived from forbidden impulse

The converts overthrow their inhibitions

Therapeutic intervention delays the madness

Until after the revolution of political consciousness

Face to face in the spiritual supermarket

The fear of aging haunts private experience

In the brief period of dangerous flowering

No effort to conceal the development of illusion

When the fort went to decay we were watchful

Not wanting to stir the silence of death

While under the influence of fear and removal

It contained 3,000 mongrel souls readily sold

Extraordinarily wild and unaccountable

The sadness of the ages and the taste of death

Makes a metallic syncopation of melody

There is some thing dead under the foundation

From the thorny sanctuary of my mothers voice

Streamlined models laced with razor blades

Tail spinning around through a secondhand halo

A tongue hidden while you grandfather tried

2011 By David Jacobi

Some months later

the fires of passion

recalled European music

observed in the night air

in no uncertain terms

Observing the sacrifice of God

As a living spectacle of antiquity

In the infinite blue night

Of a blind nightingale

I began to understand

the attraction that affected me

a chill, you have it or you don’t

the wellspring of exact definition

To be more specific

there are roots dug deep

in the very ancient culture

that no philosopher can explain

2011 By David Jacobi

The ritual slaying of the attraction

Is not easy to explain

Like the spirit of the Earth

In the most ample sense of the word

The intuitive part of consciousness

Jumps to a religious enthusiasm

Assuming, maybe too cavalierly

To understand the poetic magic

But the final ephemeral flicker

Blazed and burnt out

Like a brilliant comet

In his assassination

They are all dead

I have examined the bodies

They never heard the shot

That drained the vials and stood in silence

2011 By David Jacobi

Take home your heroes

That weep in triumph

At this lost battle in the wild wind

We’ll never know the quick rain

The hardship of being human

And tree-sap

On is all, on both sides

Nothing to be despised

Kill the monument

But don’t be fooled

About where these monsters come from

The forecast is an unquiet future

So there is false speculation

Beyond reckoning

To those enslaved and renounced

Laugh!! You humans, false inhabitors

There is a ledge of fine marble that

God carves great images into

Of war and plague and horror and beauty

The signature of His will

2011 By David Jacobi

Your eroticism is expressed

In a heavy agitated style

Demanded by previous generations

With resolve and determination

As I read the lengthy records

Of your spiritual experiences

Like a ship on the sea in full sail

How beautiful they might have been

I gave expression to my appreciation

If only aware of starving dogs

Give nature time and make lewd jokes

And when you go down make a good sunset

Like snakes of rain coiling on a windshield

Slicing the throat of the bully of mediocrity

You might get by in that bracket

Or become part of the ghostly hunt

During the celebration of contemporary decadence

I envision a nostalgic cult of lost innocence

Overwhelmed by an annihilating boredom

Cultivating a vigorous inability to feel

Life proceeds in particles

2011 By David Jacobi

Ethereal waves and flickerings of magic light

Blew over

What dead and dying remnants lingered

Showing to all, the bleached bones of potential

Or is it the beached bones of potential

Everyone can see, anyway

The magic fading away

No matter if bleached or beached

All seems lost, almost

Until the laughter rises floating

And bones click and clatter

Reminding us of the potential

2011 By David Jacobi

descending to the street

fandangos and improbabilities

turn their backs to silence

Synethesia

Ineffable and intuitively

they break the veil of mystery

giving complete references

for a tragic blunder, a vision of art disembodied

a child, left unadressed

Offers striking illustrations

Of unexpected synergy

Seven voices

Speak

2011 By David Jacobi

This is the first of several upcoming “collage poems” I have written and assembled. Noticing different sentence structures and word rhythms in various books I was reading I simply began writing down what I liked and put together what seemed to me to match and flow. These became my free verse collage poems, with some of my own lines scattered about usually acting as connectors or buffers. With a traditional poem I always begin with a subject in mind while with a collage poem I never do, letting the words gather and arrange to tell their own stories.