The Immanent Flame

motion blur

Seasoned Love’s silent discourse,
Dusk of the long distance,
Beneath the mantle of lament
The peak bloom, gnawing decay,
The weight of favor;
Annealing fire, moulded by
Winds of duration
Unfastening the raw surf of sorrow.

Incipient caprice, theft of occlusion
Colored by common defiance,
Vile tremors of privation-
Native enclave,
The province of
Vacant, age-eaten elucidation.

The tangled weave, pathos and ethos,
Interior acquisition,
Furrowed paths of countenance
Evincive and drawn,
Affinity found, inhabiting the palisades
Of Immersion.

A furtive glance harbors
The trained gaze whose
Immanent flame-
Serous source,
Imbued piercing latency;
A taste of
The fountainhead.

Unprobed theater of the absolute.

Thin supple pith
Identity sealed in skin
Perambulator of meaning and
Lineaments of cure.
Bearing the image of ubiquity
Perceives in the other,
Sacramental Eros,
Subsumes the
Capacity to treasure.

©2013 W.S. Warner


Inconsolable Being


We are numb with the gravity and tortuous substance─ truth too real to view in high definition. There’s been perpetual coverage, updates, stories and shamelessly gratuitous abuse of the innocent. What’s missing is a reasoned and intentional palliative for this very troubling trend proliferating. Underneath it all, there’s a loss of hope. How can we begin to recover and find newness again?

Can we at least concede that in some ways WE are the problem? with our un-quenched desire to consume; we consume ─ violence, violence in sports, film, there’s a sort of violence in competition, in business and securing the “good life” even the pursuit of beauty and power; when everything becomes a commodity at some point we are left with a loss of meaning and in need of restoration and cure.

We want justice, we demand Justice as if we can PURCHASE it! We have a store called Justice. Rather than the banality of filling our appetites once again, we can take an alternative path: make time to breathe and think about what has happened, plunge into the reservoirs of our spirituality, and embrace what’s important in our lives ─ God, family, friends and nature and art. Perhaps retrace our own steps to see where we might have been complicit in some cosmic way. Sort of like the butterfly effect.

Most religions call for reflection and renewal, not only as a way to inhale (TAKE) in, but also as a way to exhale and breathe out (surrender). Realize we don’t live in a vacuum and we can thrive when we look outward and give of our resources to others. Christians and Jews are connected to the Hebrew notion of tikkun olam (to mend the world). On some level, all of us have the capacity to grieve and understand pain. If we are seeking “meaningful action” we should begin in our hearts and at home. Two things that move the heart: beauty and affliction. We’ve seen affliction, yet mercifully move in the direction of beauty.


©2012 W.S. Warner

Tides of March

Hearing fogged drops of rain
Precipitate violence in the Amazon
Against the placid Leaves;
Left disheveled the unfiltered forest.

Dampness divorced from its thin vapor blur
Plummeting memoirs retold, the cradled
Past returns its own, splintered─ light
Edging the threshold of infinitude
Axiomatic slippage each fell cold.

Fallen moisture recovered, once
Nourished the ancients;
Correspondingly, we align. Lineal descendants,
Tides of March, the sibilant water flows through us.

Hoary myths now hallowed imminent. Ponderous
Our torn skies cleft, clouds suffused in grey─
The emergent pour, cast a montage of
Freighted silence, implicit tapestries
Sewn seamless; our kindred froth ashore.

Pedigreed continuum bound in common plight,
Unseen flood of halcyon
Dust and flesh coalesce beneath the torrent;
Genetic lines merge ─ intersection of
Time and eternity. From the same water we drink.
Lineal descendants,
Tides of March, the sibilant water flows through us.

©2012 W.S. Warner


Providence summons
Natures purchase,
Beyond prosaic
Utility, toward
Austere terrain,
Ice crystal, dust –
Divine disclosure,
Ourselves –
Carnal cisterns of spirit
Skin; merging
Ordered by love.

©2012 W.S. Warner

In the Lavender Garden

Secretly bending glimpses,
my eyes and desire align
in tortuous agreement –
reflections of you
are not enough
Drew Barrie;
to insulate my heart
from the cleft between us.
Perennials, the color of
the smell of rain
and crayons
return you to me,
lend presence, a vestige,
to remember
the gift of you,
and fortify my resolve
to one day reunite.

Numbness and ache,
lavish tears set
against the
unimpeachable light,
the dream in your eyes
unequivocally green
each blink evokes faith,
found in
the blushing smile –
little one,
I observe in quiet
andoration, admid
our segregation,
ardor undiminished,
prayers give permanence
uttered in a pause
with each
drawn breath
ephemeral visions, alive,
like ballads and rhyme
Memories aflame, occupy
a sacred place,
my interior; profoundly
never to erase.

Searching for treasure,
collecting prized sand
and stone,
your pockets, heavy
with plunder.

Somber tones fill
the gaps of our history
finds new contrast,
certain hues
oscillating shades of gray
stirring cues
and dearth of winter blue.
Trees, bare and lonely,
in the crisp boreal air
of February
moisture, absent
like a father’s words
laconic, after
her irreducible gaze,
in the
opaque imagination.

Oddly, the arid season,
of aloof precipitation,
the will of the wind
euphony – sound unfiltered,
allowing me to grieve,
another year – gone.
Nervous Squirrels, sedentary
and quiet,
as if to mourn with me,
I miss my daughter.

The spring equinox,
poised with
symmetry, warmth,
the approaching day
of your birth.

Collateral emptiness,
penurious notions of
compared to
the day you
infiltrated our sphere.
Stunning you were,
your prominent
entry into creation,
tiny noises,
nestled and snug.
You are here,
equipped with an
absorbing mind,
designed, in a petite
fashioned frame.

Emotions, elastic –
diffuse and Compress,
in distance, friction
time and eternity
extend to the periphery,
absorbed into Zoe.
Grace and peace wash
ashore, rinsing
as poetry;
cleansing with surprise
and vigor
recall the loftiest
of tokens.

I too
an esteemed rock
smooth and orbed
long thoughts,
(my) citadel made
of three,
uniquely ensconced
inside –
priceless gems
that sustain me.

Enclaves of privilege
possessing vacant
until notes and
words gather to form
your story,
the world shifts
Altered anew.
Minor resurrection,
simile of
our reconciliation
visceral and singular,
teardrops of euphoria
resemble waters
of an April freshet

In the lavender garden.

©2012 W.S. Warner

Inhabiting Sorrow

Underneath the anger, there are tears. Beneath the fury, there is hurt, a river
of affliction -the day that possibility evaporated. I knew, the moment
it was gone. Telos obsured, like a mist, had left me.

Frost in February, morning at the local coffee house, perseverating, sedate
in privatized, cogitations – certainty dissolves into irony, the transient
collective with predictable cadence and singular objective. Borrowed
energies – preferred anesthetic in defiance of the placid, quotidian horror.

Angst wrapped in skin, clothed in remorse, like a muslin coat unable
to keep me warm, the palette of truculence, dislocated savant,
with guarded aversion – faces enucleating in tacit harmony, the muted tragedy
of the forgotten.

Yoked, the metaphorical satchel, freighted with the sentient debris, sifting
the fuckage, memoirs of failure, privation of venture and honor, objectified as
mere portent. [Existence] – the daily riot, becomes the necessary crucible.

Dissonance and detachment resonate the cultural banality, [being] displaced by
icon; [branding], ideas about ideas, life several times removed,
emblem over essence.

Existential renegade, exploiting counter intuitive, the paradigmatic prodigal,
favor squandered, in the absonant passage, bearing fruit of the undone.

Bones of contention lament, interminably, like a false friend, present in absence,
perceived in the lack, subtraction, slip-stream – the disheveled
palaver of the broken.

Acutely self-referential, misery enfleshed, its own reward, a post-war
discontent inhabiting sorrow, compressed and narrow, begetting
apathy in springtime.

Commodity of youth, the currency of beauty – permuted, commerce of the
ethereal and diaphanous. Human caprice, post-modern fog,
the flattened self,
The enemy of us is us, drowning in the decorum of narcissism.
The fattened calf,
immolating on the sword of autonomy.

Recycled grief, a recursive loop of gestating thoughts, marinating fluidly
within the interpretive grid. Confessional cyber community – exposed wounds
and concrete suffering, abstracted from virtual solidarity, refracted through
a reductive sentimentality, maybe they will ‘like’ it.

Iconoclast in exile, inhaling the incense of barrenness, surrounded by synoptic
drivel in understated – present tenses – alight in the now, axial axioms of the privileged,
who genuflect to the god of unfettered freedom.

Peripatetic intervals of isolation, self-imposed, hidden in a sanctuary of
derision, colliding with immutable otherness, the waters of chaos, calm. The
proleptic display, announcing eschatology. An ancient text written on the interior
expressed in myth and narrative the courier. The carnal and cerebral
arise, rightly flourishing.

Sense thresholds stirring, surprise and turbulence, reverberations of altered
domains merging – the temporal and ubiquity, the indissolubly resplendent
inversion – the invisible made visible. Opaque intrigues subsumed into the
balm of reconciliation – the first shall be last…

©2012 W.S. Warner

Venus in Bloom











Frozen moments,
visions of
luminous things,
pearls dancing;
embers of memory linger,
elegy of the lachrymose,
this horizoning self
lying low in saturnine
and repose – paternity lost
to the provisional.

The cross of lassitude,
scars of loss;
preface to
ineluctable autonomy.
Earthen treasure – immortal
footprints, the migration
of fair maidens across my
effusive heart.

Venus trio in bloom,
aesthetic allusion,
ephemeral incarnations
of beauty – perishable fruit,
transcending the plebeian.
Aerial substance –
the hermeneutic,
betraying desire’s
ambrosial tyranny;
The permuted passage –
savor the sojourn, submit
to the fated peregrination.

Purple orchids blossom,
immortal creatures,
in perfection
from the sheath
each plume,
the continuum of
splendor, mediate
the inviolable.
Eternity compounding,
time and essence suffuse
the already and not yet
into an
orbiting mosaic.

The susurrant devotions
of a satellite father,
summon the quest –
both, and,
absence and proximity,
conduits of
distress and peace
solace and
traverse the
same path.
Plunge though,
deep, the depth of pain;
deeper, sweeter
the taste of pleasure.

Engender and witness,
window into
surface azure,
the sacred –
inimitable gravity of
ma petite,
you – are
lived poetry
seen and heard;
cosmic order,
a mediating heuristic –
to love is to see,
in the dismal,
gift of distance.
child of delight,
evermore, Don’t I hold you?

Beauty and strangeness,
music found
in linear,
secret places
beyond the tangent,
purview of limitation,
arousing imagination –
infinititude as near
as it is far.

Long loneliness –
dissonance that
the tertiary refrain –
as exquisite verse,
and matchless liqueur,
sublime gratuity
doors of surrender.
in adoration and wonder,
I hold you.

©2012 W.S. Warner


Static, memories
emanating, separating
the postcard-perfect
still life of home
from it’s storied past.
Invisible, to drift
the florid aphorisms,
ending in
deleterious debris,
aftermath of
the inevitable.

Empty room, echo hollow
tabula rasa –
carpet clean, return
to callow.
Pregnant with obsession,
inside an idea,
a question,
the what –
against the narrow
and fatigue of should.

Tender, malleable
his youth,
assumed decorum –
residue of truth,
flattening of emotion
and misplaced
buried pathologies
in architecture.

Harboring apathy
and lunacy,
the pious
fetters of
doubt and indecision
into virgin
fallow energies;
fumes of decay,
the human stain.

Social edifice, inoculated
heirs of neurosis;
palpable, sensual pain
and transience, though
tacit remain
a haunted history,
The blind hyperbole,
forbearance, this haven,
the portrait
of immaculate condition,
nurtured with precision
and sterling pretense.

Suburban domicile –
house beautiful,
savage irony –
unseen treasure
ubiquitous innocence,
faces, tiny creations;
compliant vessels
modernism murmurs
it’s promise –
Brave New World,
four walls to
the misunderstood
speak louder –
unvarnished ambition,
never could
repair the brokenness within…

©2011 W.S. Warner












The sound of your voice,
linguistic forte
digital portrait combined,
reads lyrical, like Joyce,
the use of imagery –
elevating the plebeian,
resplendent –
the imposition sublime.

Pellucid prose, tête-à-tête
immersed in esoteric allusion
spoken with au fait.
Liberating my pedestrian
premise of surrender –
adrift, desultory,
delicious ambiguity.

Seduction begins in
the mind,
assets of imagination,
intellectual property;
side by side: lying supine
didactic invitation,
in assertions of diversion;
a chance to find
euphoria within our reach.

Linear alliteration;
fulgent flowing Fumé
fire and wine
private beach,
rhymes of elucidation
two bodies align,
I will learn if you teach.

Sensual epistemology,
figure of speech,
the Orphic; woeful
lover’s plight,
a porous song recite
art professor, verse confessor
tutor me tonight.

©2010 & 2011 W.S Warner

The Beautiful Thirst








My heart – delicate
and malleable
within two poles,
seamlessly juxtaposed –
beauty and affliction;
capricious container –
truth and fiction;
the sheer surfeit
of choice
reverberates with
imperious diversion,
settled invitation –
loud and shiny things.

Hard to breathe,
I’m in exile
slave to my emotions,
obsequious and servile
barren, cold and mute
existence – the brute;
tilted reminiscence,
scars of loss
contrive frames
around moments –
interminable –
being and time.

Infinite deity,
triune polyphony
artist of sublimity
smearing shades
of lonliness,
vestiges of faith,
to retrieve
hues of meaning;
oddly convivial
of reprieve.

Orpheus lost Eurydice
palpable discordancy
suffused in time,
could not resolve
without verse
decidedly sonorous,
the canvas, showered pain;
Jackson Pollack stain
Love – onerous,
deep beneath
the veneer,
it’s mercy  severe.

Fiction from the first,
Eden’s fatal gift,
lucidity cursed
altered cosmos murmuring
parlance of
disordered elegance;
effusive language,
art nouveau
tacit script,
ensconced within the fabric;
create a thirst –
torment, visceral
and immediate.

Ardor and innocence
once quenched,
pathos in proportion
to the pleasure,
conveyance of beatitude,
the past absorbed
into the treasure,
inscrutable heart –
devotion and turpitude
desire, loathing and paucity
affinity in abundance,
fear and doubt
inhabit certitude.

©2009 & 2011 W.S. Warner