Pentacle in the center: space dusted off, spruced up, and ePubed

Live strong and long
weak or fast, rich or poor
with each day,
new deeds must be done
each moment be filled
illusions of loss, truth won
and being as yet undone

       Seeing as the last post here, almost 3 years ago, dealt with my Quadranine collection of poetry (which I was at that time going over having recently restored it back to its original form), it makes sense that the next post after that one would be about my new similar restoration project with my Pentacle collection of poetry, the follow-up to Quadranine.

       I have been archiving my writings these last few weeks as well as working on new things. While trying out an ePub editor, I liked what I was seeing come out, and was making fast progress with using it. My writings which I wanted most to put into ePub form were my notes, the ones I call the 5D notes, written mostly while going to college in 2004 and 2005, but also bit before then and a bit after. Also I wanted to make an ePub (digital book) of the 5D notes blog posts which were most of the only ‘original’ writing I have done in years now, but most of that is dealing with the past.

       I don’t think either the Notes themselves, or much less a blog introducing them, would be commercially viable or even of interest to most people. Few could really understand the dimension or time ones in the notes, not that they were explained fully enough nor necessarily meant to make more sense than they seem to, and the notes about politics or religion would turn many off as well. However, I think the Raw Notes, or all of them put together, have enough good ideas whereas almost anyone could find something in them which they might really like, or find useful, or have enlighten them to things maybe they did not know of or had not thought about yet. That is, if they were to read them all, getting past the ones that appear to be gibberish. The seeming gibberish served many purposes, not the least of which to weed out those who might not push or see past it.

       When I fret about bothering to write things almost no one would ‘get’ or find interesting, I simply think ahead a few decades to what others might know or where their greater capacity for knowing and higher curiosities might take them, and think, why did I hold back? The 5D notes blog not only is meant as an introduction to the Notes and how and why they were written, but parts of that blog are only more relevant to people like me. Any who have read or know all of them already, and to put all of that into better perspective or context, or to build a frame around it, all without trying to revise them or change them.

       One post at the 5D notes blog (5dnotes.blogspot.com) in particular, Rivers of life flowing behind the scenes: Faucets, Eternities, and Probabilities Undefined, I think came out very well, and it illustrates how I hoped to set up each post and to frame the past notes beyond just being another collection of them.

       Beyond the Notes and beyond setting up the Notes, which as I said are of limited interest to anyone, if literally anyone at all, at least in the present, I also made an ePub recently of some of my TruthRevival.org posts. As a collection of writing, the TruthRevival.org posts are ones that I can point back to and say, these last few years were not unproductive, and were ones in which I wrote some of my best writing. However those essays are also I think of limited interest to anyone, especially since it is a digital book of what is already available free online, so it is kind of pointless to think anyone would pay for it.

       Not that I think only to do things that are commercially viable, nor even bother to try much to monetize the writing that I do. But putting things into collections is a good way of getting together what you did in the past and see how it relates to each other thing you did or wrote. And reading it on a digital book reader is a more comfortable and easier way to find grammatical errors or misspellings. I believe this is because with a book reader, it is in a different presentation and format than the form in which it was displayed when it was typed, on which you did not catch the errors the first few times you reread it after typing it (if you tried).

       Which brings me to the Pentacle collection. I wanted to see if the ePub format and digital book readers could handle presenting poetry in a fashion which I would find presentable and maybe one or two people might be willing to pay for. The ePub’s image covers make my poetry books almost made for a format like that since the cover art, also done by me, I considered to be an integral part of the collections themselves.

       I had five original collections of poetry to choose from (not counting recompilations of ones taken from those five) and each had a distinctive cover which are nearly perfectly sized for small digital ink book readers cover art. As I have mentioned here previously, I consider the fourth collection, Quadranine, to be the best ‘collection’ of poetry I have written.

       But I also have admitted, I do not consider those to be the best of my poems. Far and away, if I had to randomly pick one poem out of any collection to see if I considered it to be good, or wanted to be represented to others by that one single poem for what I can do or have done, the odds would be far greater to find such a good one within Pentacle on the first try than in any other original collection. Almost all of the ones I think came out best were in that last collection.

       And that makes sense. Pentacle was started nearly 10 years (and covers over 10 more years before the last one in it) after the first poem I wrote which I though was very good, and because of liking that one, why I wrote more. That was the poem “The Burnout” written at the age of 16, which I still also consider good. But after nearly 10 years of having written many poems, they had become much more polished, used a much greater vocabulary which made it easier to “paint” images with words with much more relative ease.

       But I never liked Pentacle as a collection because I never saw it as a collection, but more as a grouping of individual poems that did not seem to have an overall pattern to them. With the other four, The Versatile Verse, Repetition, Triumvirum, and Quadranine, at the completion of each one, I would then go over them and put them into recognizable categories to become chapters. With Pentacle, that was not really possible anymore. There were not enough of them to do so for a long while and by writing far less often, there was a lacking of overall themes to them or any apparent inter-connectedness.

       Yet in thinking to do an ePub of one if my poetry books as a test case, only Pentacle really sparked my interest, partly because I had not yet revised it by including its outtakes like I did with Quadranine in 2008 and Repetition in 2006. But more so I think, probably because I believe it has the best ones overall, and it is closer in time to how I think now than any of the other collections could ever be. The most recent poems may be more complex and abstract, but to me they are better formed and more representational to how I am now and what I consider to be my best work.

       As I mentioned on the very first PolSci.com index page (and has been on every index page since then), “Poetry just was no fun anymore with Pentacle. I began to feel every poem had to be better than every one before in every way.”

       In rereading each poem after adding on more, it was fun to see it taking shape, and becoming something better than anything I had done before. But I kept putting more and more pressure on myself to keep getting better, to make each new one the best I had ever done. It gets hard to live up to such self-expectations and becomes not enjoyable after a while to even try.

       So as I mentioned on the index pages at PolSci.com, I decided to concentrate on writing songs instead for many years and did not write regular poetry at all purposely. I erroneously said on those index pages, it was 8 years before I went back to writing poems for Pentacle. I discovered now, it was seven years or slightly less than seven. With the ePub version, I try to bridge that gap by including some songs written mostly during that gap which I thought were more like lyrical poems than songs anyway. And adding those to it makes the new expanded version of Pentacle have a broader foundation and is more representative of the different kinds of poetry which I was writing during those years, 1990 to 2004.

       Like with the last post many years ago, I would like to put some quotes below from different poems, from the known ones and the outtakes now put back, but as I said, it is too diverse a grouping of poetry to be pigeonholed as to say anything I can put below is representational. There are good lines throughout the book, and even too many good lines in some poems for me to pick a few from it and say, these are the best ones. However, I will put some quotes here, as with the previous post, from previously released and previously unreleased ones, to give a sense of the expanded work, that non-collection collection I have come to call Pentacle, the most recent poems, the best individual poems, and probably the last collection of poetry I will write.

So soar I shall in my final few days
forever reaching after what is and isn't there
in the mists of clouds of mystery and wonder
rolling over the world that was never really mine
as seen from above in bewilderment and awe

Starry-eyed and Boisterous

From the graves rise all the victims of self deception
yet the soul of the imposter lies nowhere to be found,
so artful was he at convincing all eyes they did not see
with the vision needed to surmount the edges convolux
that he saw not himself by them
nor they he by any morsel of the truth

The Imposter

Survival but at what cost we wonder
while each day learning how high that cost climbs
for knowledge brings only more responsibilities
to be shunned if we are to continue on and prosper
in an ever more arid and poisonous environment
killing all those whose lives possess real value

Outgrown Innocence

Where do the rules have any meaning
when they favor those who heed them none the least
and guilt far less than others feel for simple negligence
escapes those who begat it all

The Brink

Shies, the contemptuous praises be
as the praiseworthy are owed their acclamation
to the very perpetrators whose life long wrongs
they sought with their very lives to undue,
fated to have the enemies of their passions
eulogize to all their struggles and erst
putting it in a perspective void of truth

To Wit

Standing still yet in the midst of my life as it was
drives home the fact that I see not with the same eyes
nor shall simple pleasures and simpler notions of purpose
again stall my timeless voyage into that elusive eternal beyond

Plateau

Looking back you say 'Hey,
things might have gone another way',
but could they or should they you wonder aloud
none to proud of having allowed the tragedy you see
by hiding or siding with those whose clothes
tell all that anyone needs to hear

Regrets

Now is the time which threatens us all,
threatens to destroy the spirit within Man's soul,
poisoned by the raw bestiality unleashed
dished out to mankind and dished out by mankind
for despite all that we have and have done
we have not yet risen above indiscriminate vengeance
wrought because we suffer greater still yet
and only seemed destined to suffer ever more

Now is the time

Wondering where wistfulness went
my mind briefly yet sagaciously moves
to a time when I thought not of myself
before doing and maybe, before being
letting not preconception deny experience

Contemplating Freedom

Waiting while wondering why
you wait to live but not to die
leaving all of the living left behind
walking through today seeing only tomorrow
with yesterday's dreams still driving your eyes

Waiting

Yet life is not to be bargained with or upon
and false securities inevitably shatter
for the dangerousness, the uncertainty must prevail
for only they hold claim upon tomorrow's tomorrow
and with them whatever blessings go
for us to know would be to rob our dreams

Waking

Without the fire in the belly,
the gleam in the eye,
the pensiveness of the mind
driving me ever to new heights
I revel in the quietude
seeking to master the sublime

Ever unexpectedly, joy

So to life leave mystery and to death leave the facts
so cold and unchanging written in black upon black
for living is standing with the truth to our backs
facing the yet-to-be true, the ever changing track
surmounting the known with each little act

In Ignorance

May our God be as forgiving of we
all too often led by our power gone astray
yet bold we must be for it is only our way
and only courageous assurance will rule this day
and make destiny bow to thee

My Country

What asketh truth,
acknowledgment or actions,
understandings of under-achievements
or nothing save simply saying 'What hey,'
when passing before passing away

How Tastes Truth

Tomorrow I shall awake
to the dawn of a brand new day
unseen, unknown to any who live today
and think and dream and believe
that they know what with it will come or may
as I too asleep to it still yet hail its new way
and dare embrace, to touch, to taste
in haste that which casts today away
for the sake of forsaking this day that stays
too long making me gaze longingly toward unseen days
and praise that which may bring only greater pains,

Tomorrow

Falling through time
I pause to lose myself
deep within my mind
as each moment
fades into a blur
of what was and is
and things which never were
yet may be
if their voices are heard
as they clamor to me
to heed their call
to make their maybe worlds real
if they can be at all

Falling through time

When the dust settles I'm there again
once the land is on the mend
just waiting to start it up again
‘til everyone is dead or friends
What rules don't break I'm sure to bend
jumping on to the latest trend
riding shock waves that trouble sends
and winding up on top in the end
Where I work don't matter no more
'cause the thrill is what I'm living for
and maybe someday I might score
some brownie points for stopping a war

Supersonic

They were surprised someone so wise
could get so far so fast
Love and compassion just wasn't in fashion
so they hoped that it would pass
Not to be put down, he brought his show to town
and the people came for miles
They all held the hand of this golden man
and came away with smiles
After awhile they killed him after a trial
but even then this story didn't end
and continues all the while
People love him still and they always will
and they find him all the time
They continue the search on Sundays in church
and in their hearts, love, and minds

Give to Live

Once you fear it Christmas spirit fades away
Its out of place and gets in the way
Its just too hard to always say "Hey
its been good to see you and have a nice day."
Reaching out to strangers just isn't the way
we ought to behave we are taught today
but some soon tomorrow on some bright new day
we'll see others sorrows as our own we may
Round that time of year you'll hear the people say
this time peace and joy, they're gonna stay
long past this bright new day, hey hey,
long past this wonderful day

Long Past Today

Everybody, they've got their own
them that don't, they just stand alone
with nobody to call or phone
when they stand to lose their homes
Who'll listen when I need to call
who'll listen when my back's to the wall
If you lose you're bound to lose it all
Somethin's missin'

Who'll listen

Listen up and you might hear
what its like to live without fear
of the truth becoming too clear
What are you, do you want to know
or instead would you let it go
rather than risk letting it show
We are truth and what we say and do
denies us or lets us shine though
to know ourselves by the things we do

We are Truth

The storm grows outside of my door
a chill blows through all of my pores
Everyone knows the tragic score
friends meet foes and roses galore
Death has come ready to chase
reluctant ones free from its embrace
and what's won from the evil chase
is a peace gun aimed right at my face
I can't see the sun coming out anymore
can't see the world being brighter than before
Clouds have come, I don't care what for
Truth and hope, they just don't live anymore

Can't See the Sun

Play it again, please, play it until
all sorrow's forgotten and time stands still
memories run deep, too deep to kill
but like silent film movies, practicality will
Follow you heartbeat always until
it leads you to moonbeams silent and still
like wandering gypsies, we dance on the hill
on flowering tea leaves too bright to mill
Leftover romance, perchance to dream
seemingly sober over what it all means
weaning the break and breaking the screen
between heaven and heartache, shakenly serene

Silent Film Movies

On a garbage strewn street
an unshaven dirty man wanders
in a setting naively thought gritty
amongst the terrors of the inner-city
that show the mentally ill no special pity
Accosted yet again by vicious youths
he barely understood the exchange taking place
when they cut him across the side of the head
and there, in the street, in the dark
he slept silently as he slowly bled

Shame on the Rain

In borrowed suits in a rented hall
by dim lit skies we heed the call
to gather forth in stolen time
to feast again and savor wine
and dance and sing and laugh and love
and embrace all that life is made of

The Dance

Be bold or be not
engage now or all is lost
time demands you a miracle
and cares not the cost

Cornered

To reawaken once again with hope
that today may be the greatest day
that I have ever known or will know
which has been for any or just for me
free of lingering reach of past woe
so indelible in its vivaciousness
that is sets the mark for all days yet to come
making them all point back to this one
not with jealousy, envy, or resent
but with pride, warmth, and joy
of the greatest wish won or the best achievement done
or simply the day that life was the most fun

Reawake

The road is a curious way to be
touching upon others places
momentarily theirs is yours
and through them you see

Going Home

But to the creator only sadness
when there is nothing left to create
no grander project, no unwritten song
to be but a patron, a spectator of what is to come
and find life anew by breathing the works of others

Codas

What you'll be in the end is with you now my friend
find it in you or find it out here too
Whatever you see, you'll want to set it free
and make it come true
Here in your heart there's a wonder apart
from all that you see and what will be
is all inside you to find out that you
were what you needed to be

Here in your heart

Wherever its all leading to, it will circle back again
it isn't a matter of place, not even a matter of when
its just a song we sing every now and then
Sing it now as we sung it then
and it will be forever again
future, past, just a mask, somewhere now its then
From now until forever, I know that I will be
just one little voice, just one little me
saying whatever was still is in a place we can't see

Whenever you (Long Version)

A pulse of potential
like a voice exclaiming
“I am here, I am here, I am here!”
spreads out into the infinite void
forever until it reaches some somewhere
to create someone or something which can hear
like a wave seeking a beachhead
to break itself upon
rising up upon itself and spending itself
seeking only to change something
becoming itself only in defining the shore

Potential

One light can cast a single shadow on the wall
with many lights one hardly sees any shadow at all
but ever more lights breed ever more shadows to see
more shapes, more perspectives fleshing out what can be

One Light

No one is ahead of anyone and no one is behind
No one is leading and no one is following
We are all pulling each other along
What's behind, beneath, or coming up supports us
What is ahead, above, or past us is a way to go forward
Beyond those and that around us,
the Universe might not as well exist at all

No one is ahead

Each thing in the Universe
is what it wants to be
What you want it to be
is relevant only to you
and whether you succeed in changing it
is irrelevant
for it will have succeeded
by its existence and your desire
to have changed you

Each Thing

I see all paths spread before me
and I see where each end will be
but between every now and every then
every road we can bend
and any road or place runs between we can see

All Paths

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