Absolution, Be It Resolved, I, Minimus, Decry Denial Too Long Proffered - Truth Now Is-Was 'myself The Intruder' Poem by Warren Falcon

[SEE NOTE about this poem at the bottom of the text]

myself
the intruder, as he was not - Robert Creeley

I pose you you're question:
shall you uncover honey / where maggots are?
- Charles Olson

Sooner or later everybody's kingdom must end
...And if my hands are stained forever
And the altar should refuse me
Would you let me in, would you let me in, would you let me in
Should I cry sanctuary? - Bernie Taupin

1

O great light inward,
which cannot (what can)
be said of America by manners
obsessed, carnage stretched to
dry in a land where

'love may fail but politeness shall prevail.' (Kurt Vonnegut)

Blind, yes. As yet can't, perhaps refused,
reconcile the projected landscape, the leaking vessel,
landlocked, of State, 'Vespucius Vestibulis, ' Topeka
grasping still, scratching at collective far flung coastal
doors for the in-between, no place to be,

all things gray there, politely,
plus visionaries, artists, hog-tied,
flee though are, ironically, there born.

And have not been gripped, me, three
except by proxy, as were these 'just'
poets - justified - trying to true variant
visions into One, no matter imprecision
of facts, imposed muddles they be -

O Topeka ongoingly over and over,
for ore of meanings which are all spelt

MESSIAH

- always this word
begins and ends
such messes entirely.

Still we call it a country.

2

O absolution,

'it is only that the light,
o great light, of the land
pro- > > > > > > -jected,
was in our eyes, we
could only see our way
to slash, kill, toward said

Projected.'

Blindly now,
still, we seek looking back, vision,

darker inhabitants diseased off,
killed, or shipped on good Christian
ships, borders now paced of 'good
citizens' hungry for even more darker
blood,

'enough'

is not a democratic word,
but

'more' or, best,

ALL.

O blinding light.

Odysseus to one-eyed Polyphemus,
the real issue here, is an entitled
marauder, this unspoken, disavowing
thief (is) every shipwrecked citizen
located in his answer, he to Polyphemus,
mono-visioned shepherd, mourning his
lost ones (lost to Kingly entitled hand) ,
their safe-keeper, none too bright but
constant, faith-keeper, Odysseus-blinded,

he cries out,

'Who are you who unsights me,
who scatters my sheep? '

Wily Odysseus

(cleverness,
not faith,
is rewarded,
is the truly
valued in this
projected land)

calls back,
not afflicted of conscience,

'I am No Man! '

Thus is the dilemma of all these our
projected land's inhabitants, of one name,

Citizens No Man,

who remain willfully ignorant
(the greatest sin) or wide-eyed
pretendng, multi-Odysseus
in sheep skin more the predator
'No Man' lobbing rocks,
pretending to shepherd.

Let us now name it true -

EMPIRE.

3

I, Minimus, tongue in cheek, creak oar, row out too
into Homeric sea, not old Greek singer, long of breath,
but as Winslow, local seer, his paints, straw hat, consigned
to mistook heroics, pure accident, not to check the sky
maritime, ask captain if row boat worthy of even an
American sea, projected too, can go a-row-row-rowing,
claw oar into wave tips' whitecaps safe perimeters,
smell of earth nasal-yet to keep oriented to dirt.

Have, instead, reaped I redundant whirlwind
play America the Fool again, naively trusting my,
and country's, destiny are one, 'always good' in
spite of Melville's long eloquent

'discantus supra librum' - 'above the book' -

more truing than any, to spoil it, the projected
'pluribus unum' thing, for Mayflower folks tripping
lightly between the Hawthorns, their imported
gardens, and God - they think 'irritant tomahawks
can only turn out swell, ' they think, like waves
gathering in sea, full of themselves individually,

'Destined, ' they then and do think,
to break just for O America, the land's
and original inhabitants' own good.'

And now come poets each century heavier than
before, heavier than the other few, this new one, too,
only bards, a real few, to bar, board up the big gaps,
O great light gaping torn off, oft thee sung,
slung over shoulder, hauled, the burden,

o the load
it is now become.

**



NOTE: Absolution, Be It Resolved is a poem's revision in horror, not honor, of Election Day USA 2024 - poem is here on this site titled 'I, Minimus, Decry' was composed and published in January 2017...it, the poem, with some recent reshaping, editing, reflects even more strongly of what it speaks after nine years of a cyclops-ian mono-visioned mammon-fame worshiper intent on being emperor for strife/life. Alas, but, IT, said intruder reflects, as do all leaders everywhere, the psyches of the country they each lead and thusly the American Cyclops reveals undisguised the shadow of the country it nearly brought to ruin. Each citizen then best confront the inherited Cyclops' its arrival on eastern Atlantic shores some 500 or so years ago - intent of gold, gelt, land, territory for the Cyclops-ian Western deity (in various guises depending on local distortions in the then known (to Western) world. The prayer still is and should be as it was then, that of the original inhabitants of the land, 'GODS HELP US ALL! ! ' - WF]