Dream de Menthe by Eric Chamberlain

 

The Shearing of the Stag

 

The definition of God is a mosaic;
            A temple of colour;
            The blue notes
                       of white holes
            soliloquously rhapsodising a voyage of forget-me-nots,
            as we linger on the threshold of infinities of time.

Yet, though it’s impossible, to stay at the same place, and, (at) the same instance, to be, (at) (once),
removed and in tune, with the need for limitation and constraints and expansion and breath, I am
breathless as our memories fill space-time, and the outstretching quilt-work of stone that makes this
city tick is the mere shadow of Sunday afternoons.

Yet, as this word-wine of the earth heavies,
             I; a mollusc,
             I spray the hard calcium of colour in grace,
             and my undulating shell, as my tongue before me,
             on it, from it, grace is the sole message I might leave behind.

Now, as these long thoughts grow heavy,
            with the redness of a gloaming,
            stuffed with a lacquered sweetness,
            I support the edifice, and its laughter unrepentant,
            Its finality and graveness; that fruit low hung.

            And the wisdom of the universe remains:
            Silence and the sheared horns of a stag.

 

 

 

 

 

A Rhapsody for the Minute Hand in Autumn

 

This is an instant that is always – was always – will always be:
a fractional timbre; euphony; eudaimonia; the epiphanic:
an arresting choral jolt in the stillness you once eschewed that strips bark to seed,
gives life to those whirling dervishes derived of loving,
and returns the stars themselves to singularities.

This is an instrument,
An agent of signification,
Limited only by consistency,
That forms what must be and is and is and is.

And Time,
At extremes of torque,
As it splutters hot and cold,
And shivers blended residues of vapour,
Disturbed in complex beats by the din of beating wings,
Tense frames toiling through its still liquids – that feast for birds,
It ends here.

 

 

 

About the author:

Oisín Breen is a poet, academic, and financial journalist.

Dublin-born Breen’s debut collection, ‘Flowers, all sorts in blossom, figs, berries, and fruits,forgotten’ was released Mar, 2020. Previous publishers include the Blue Nib, Books Ireland, The Seattle Star, Modern Literature, Metaworker, The Bosphorus Review, La Piccioletta Barca and Dreich.

 

In the artist’s words:

Eric Chamberlain: “Windows Into Eternity (series) is a stolen, perhaps forbidden, glimpse of the spiritual energy just beyond the veil of our physical reality.”

Dream de Menthe is a splash of the essence and elan of life’s vital energy.

As an artist, I seek to show multiple figures, ideas, perspectives and layers at once, combing the physical and the spiritual. My goal as an artist is twofold: create an expressive personal outlet for the flow of energy and vision within me while evoking or stirring something in the viewer emotionally, psychologically, spiritually.

Please see more at
https://www.angelicengineering.com/