Gesture No.4

 

Like a beach ball 

Softly bouncing down the stairs—

 

The quiet descent,

Of objects it did consist,

Yet the motion suggested

A distant field.

The colours revolved

Within the round,

A planar spectacle

From the world of depth—

 

The faint pulses

Beat out arhythmically

Upon the colliding

Potencies,

Introducing

The stadium of silence,

The deaf motion

Of a distant cloud

Drifting along

In the open sky.

 

The colours of the scene

Faded to a homogeneous

Luminescence—

A strange combination

Of stillness and motion,

Sound and silence,

Unity of space.

 

MS21

Gesture No.3

 

Between time

The spaceless space

Permeates all

 

MS21

Gesture No.2

 

The swirling agreement

With the imagined other—

Only to find unity

Was always there.

 

MS21

Free Form No. 9

Free Form No. 9

As if time is foreign,

The battle of speed—

But unity pervades all

In concept too—

Behold! Time fades

Into present act.

MS21

The Singular Ground No.1

 
How far we walk
To arrive still here—

The impenetrable distance,
The immeasurable motion—

The spherical reality
And the cessation of time—

The silent chaos
And the life sharing laughter.

MS21

The Singular Ground No.1 - 2021

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

View available sculptures at:

mikesasakiwoodforms.etsy.com

Free Form No.8

 

The loaded words

Serving solely to misguide,

A fantastic journey

Into dream and delusion—

 

The adventurous ride

Into painted meadows

And high-tech cities,

We fly like Scrooge—

 

So lucid, so bright,

The words do hint

At facts so rooted

In common ground—

 

But alas, behold,

The lurking daemon

Behind the garb

Of loosely fitting

Robes and lavish

Yet cheap polyester—

 

The elusive form

Speaking only in riddles

And haunting tales

Calling forth fancy views

Of transient charm—

The expanding girth

Of one so smart,

The rarefied potency

Incessantly infusing

Its molecular odour

Indiscriminately through—

 

What a terrible trick!

Yet who's to blame?

For afflicted is all

By this evasive cause—

Hands thrown up!

Sigh light in knowing

Ills perceived

Are just illusion—

 

For here we sit

In silent being,

Ravished not

By dismal scenes

Of fading fights

And startling news—

 

The parasitic leech

Is shaken off,

Falling hard

Does wriggle

In drying death

And dusty dissolution—

 

Until emerging from

The desert ground

One violet pulse

Of pulpy growth—

 

With this timeless act

Of effortless strength,

The greater field,

The unwavering friend,

Shows its face

In ceaseless presence—

 

The very bed

Of all delusion.

 

MS21

 

 

 

 

 

Snow Outside

 

The quiet flurries of snow descended across
The light-blue-tinted-dawn-sky—
Only visible while passing in front
Of dark yet muted evergreens
Standing stoically in the snow.

The chill outside was felt inside
Notwithstanding the sweat-bearing windows
And the trembling heater in service.

Just as the cold was felt within,
So too were past experiences reflected inside,
Their factual intensity diminished over time
And their clarity impeded by the accrual of more.

The seagulls carving through the air from tree to tree,
Swooping and curving in graceful lines,
Were in fact playing in the falling snow.

The intellect of man, clever in its nature,
Serves the self but how dangerous to follow
Its command when not infused by the spring dawn.

MS21