Essays & Articles
Technology, spirituality & the synthesis of ancient wisdom
Frontier
A frontier is every hour and the moments wastelands endless,A new continent is each day teeming with
First Cell
Who shall know the grim onslaughtFrom aimless hours that besiege,The mind is cleaved from thoughtAnd
Pale Worship
A toddler’s babbles must serve for hymnsAnd fumbling gestures stand for high sacrifice,A prone mind’
Redeeming Nod
I have sailed the choppy hours relentless,My old oar and keel grating and groaningThrough lashing we
Uncounted Futures
What manner of ardour is this of ThineThat binds and keeps me a prisonerIn sapless spaces with savou
O Fire
O Fire, poet primordial with pristine speech,Shepherding sacred words through mind and heartTo the k
Homage
To each Thy flower in bough and thicketHave I offered restless fevered worship,Winging through many
Careless Glory
How many banners raised on spires of thoughtTo blazon Thy name through changing climes,With how many
This I Can Give
I can bring Thee not the speech all noble,The well-wrought grammar and high metreFavoured by proud a
Tome & Lore & Verse
How many tomes have I perused,Scouring word and page for a clueFrom pile of words to dig and findThe
Beginnings
Om.
A Prelude
Om.
These Flames
And what then, what if Thou didst annulThe brief circuit of long-sought pilgrimage,Rendered our daem
Thy Love
Does it singe Thee, the passions fieryThat slip restraint in severe summer sun?The flame-hounds that
Spare Thee
Make me no more chronicler of Thy cycles,Standing on a turret within and watchingThe drama of siege
Belated Homage
I rummaged the passing hours to findSome clue for the daily due I owed,The debt borne by us the clay
The Lists
Where dost Thou enlist Thy prophets,Like jugglers in a sparse country fareSwirling hued hollow words
Old Squabbles
Bear not bitterness of old squabblesBorn when soul naive-gazed and youngWith stumbling tottering exc
I Know Not
Did I spurn Thee in some lives pastReclining haughty on a seat of hubris,Overlooked Thy urgings in s
Lasso
Ah Beloved, without mirth and passionately crude,Arriving with hundred unkempt strains of ardour,Lik