Sinless Mirrors

Paul Zeppelin

Description

Remarkably passionate and personal poetry that address emotions and experience in the world.
This book is the eighth collection of poems by Paul Zeppelin which deal with the unique philosophy and understanding of emotional and societal issues that affect a person’s life and ideas.

Sujets

• Poetry

Informations

• Publié par: iUniverse
• Date de parution: 22 janvier 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781663250049
• Langue: English

Extrait

SINLESS MIRRORS
 
 
 
 
PAUL ZEPPELIN
 
 
 

 
 
SINLESS MIRRORS
 
 
Copyright © 2023 Paul Zeppelin.
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
 
 
 
 
 
iUniverse
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.iuniverse.com
844-349-9409
 
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
ISBN: 978-1-6632-5003-2 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-6632-5004-9 (e)
 
 
 
 
 
iUniverse rev. date: 01/19/2023
Contents
Foreword
Prologue
Final Flight
My Window
Fiction
From Within
Enthusiastic Reader
Gourmet Recipe
Wicked Whiff
Stubbornly Unbowed
Fragile Kinship
Ultimate Inmate
Green
Border Sheriff
Foggy Senses
A Riddle
Reasons
Hefty Drink
Fig Leaf
Morbid Wit
Lady Pig
Birthday
Nightly Breeze
Great Sapphire
Too Often
Canaries
Somber Night
I Slept
Literary Damper
Tunnel Ended
Happy Eighth
Fishless Nets
Homesick Traveler
Crying Candles
Nobody Follows
Crystal Ball
Too Far
Quiet Dove
Eerie Smokes
The Bucket
Unique Concern
Great Divides
Awfully Brittle
Near Me
The Letter
My Existence
Life
Daily Yarn
Augean Stables
Espresso
Brown Eyes
Parisian Smells
Spooked
Ripened Figs
Forgot
Wish
So Long
Human Lives
Innuendo
Another Epigram
Old Epigram
Epigram
Lifer
Cherries
Broken Mast
Santa
Thorns
Abandoned Craters
A Gap
Ailment
Bagels
Beer Truck
Bottom Line
Ceaseless Marathon
Compared
Daily Yarn
Eighty-Six
Erratic Sky
Exhausted Soul
Fallen Heroes
Fermented
Flying Kites
Forgotten Art
Genetics
Golden Dime
He Winked
Imaginary Wins
Infinity
Kitchen Sink
Linguistic Pulp
Millennials
Much Younger
My Tale
Naughty Wink
Name Engraved
Oops
Pinnacle
Protracted Childhood
Remember This
Roman Holiday
Steering Wheel
Ten Inches
Three Apples
Tomorrows
Trembling Shoulders
Unending Journey
Venetian Masquerade
Vodka Tsar
Wisely Masked
Wedding Carriage
Venus Stripped
Unraveled Quilts
Two Sides
Two Hooves
Town Sleeps
Tombstone
The Shade
Still Soar
Singing Swan
Revolutions
Predicted
Planet Earth
Orchids
Nocturnal Cat
Never Soar
My Word
Amazing Void
Ancient Dance
Anesthetics
Asking Price
Basic Math
Beaming Yolk
Beaten Paths
Blindfolded Truth
Blue Moon
Chancing
Childlike Man
Chosen Aim
Come True
Competition
Constant Dread
Cutting Edge
Dancing Candlelight
Deaf Stranger
Drift Away
Ego Wins
Entirely Free
Existential Despair
Fainted Light
Falling Snowflakes
Fated Roles
Few Thoughts
Film Noir
Final Whistle
Forbidden Fruits
Freezing Kiss
Gloom
Gloomy Downfall
Glowing Place
God Grins
Golden Idols
Has Gone
He Winked
Heavy Pestle
Homage to Pablo Neruda
Horoscope
Humble Bard
Impenetrable Wall
Incoherent Dots
Infamous Apple
Long Distance
Manners
Misty Caves
Moving Target
My Barge
My Dimes
My God
Nostalgic Pains
Older Broom
Others Cry
Regrettably
Remorseless Sinners
Revolutions
Seven
So Long
Something New
Squeaky Floor
Subconscious
My Tale
This Hook
Tightly Locked
Treasure Trough
Trusted Thief
Via Delarosa
Warped Mirrors
Wasted Chances
Autumn
Most Wanted
Simply Tangled
Almighty Puppeteer
Gambit
On Bail
Behind the Final Curtain
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Foreword
Paul Zeppelin writes his poetry as a passionate but convincing stream of bright ideas, intense emotions, and laconic clarity without any taboos, whatsoever. He comfortably writes about “Forbidden issues” as religions, sex, politics, and ethics. His verses unearth the deepest layers of our beliefs and doubts, of our dreams and hopes. There is an ancient proverb: “Only the mirrors are sinless.”
Paul tried to be a “cold-blooded” mirror reflecting the world we dwell in, but quickly realized that his vibrant curiosity led him into a “no-way-out” labyrinth of, at times, dark conclusions about humans as such.
Being a pragmatic optimist, he often sees a ray of light at the end of his lifelong journey.
Judith Parrish Broadbent
Author of Golden Days: Stories and Poems of the Central South and Be yond
P.S. I am eager to mention that Paul never hides his admiration of Irish and Russian limericks, lullabies and counting rhymes.
Prologue
I see my verses as a current of fresh, often unique ideas,
Tightly intertwined with our sincere and ageless emotions.
I hope you like to read them and cross the creek with care.
Final Flight
I don’t have all I love,
But I intensely love
All that I have;
A little more the feisty half.
At last, I am a self-indulging hermit,
I am a solo master of my final chapters;
Life was indeed a prearranged disaster,
And I have been a target in that strife…
I am finally and ceaselessly determent
Not to obey the stop or any other sign,
But win the race and cross the finish line,
Then weep at the enigmatic happy end.
I want more distance from the sun,
It only blinds me every day;
I want to be much closer to the moon,
To her caressing silver light;
Please, wait, I do my best, I run,
Please, wait, I am on my way,
I’ll see you very, very soon,
I am climbing the stairway’s final flight.
My Window
Aloneness
Doesn’t enjoy the rite of springs,
Aloneness
Is dispassionate and awfully quiet,
Aloneness
Comes when my cellphone is silent,
But the out-of-date alarm clock rings.
And yet, I offer my poetic craft
To those who appreciate my rhyme.
I pour a flow of my verses like a draft
For transient, but forever thirsty time.
The ardent drummer-rain
Is knocking tango on my window.
It sounds like a long-distance train
That leaves behind a hint of innuendo.
Fiction
I am a child of doubts
And a protagonist of fiction
Confronted by the miracles of faith.
I am the one who went to see St. Paul
I am still alive; the angels missed my soul.
The rhythmic knocking of the wheels
And rather gentle rolling of the train,
Let go the annoying tasteless meals.
I hope the lasting trip is not in vain…
When I arrived, Paul was on vacation,
I overlooked his train, it left the station.
My future is unknown and unexplained,
It’s like a tenebrous masterpiece,
Somewhat mysterious and luring…
My life is not a one-way street,
I am not a one trip pony,
I am not lost between he trees,
I am marching to my own beat,
As long as I remember, and even during
The heaven’s unintended acrimony.
From Within
The fallen angel made a single ripple
In the small pool below my town digs,
I heard what said a passing stranger:
“The more I learn about people,
The more I like the pigs.”
Nothing on Earth is free:
Sometimes, it’s quid pro quo,
At times, it’s the abyss or glee,
Now and then, it’s ebb or flow…
The radiance of life
Comes from within;
It’s not a quiet strife,
It’s rather a break-in.
Enthusiastic Reader
Most books never escape their covers,
Only a few will reach our souls and brains.
Most books remind me of dog-tired lovers,
Or everlasting and pokerfaced, cold rains.
I am an enthusiastic reader
Of long obituaries in a local paper,
Just as a lack lustered undertaker,
Just as an ordinary bottom feeder.
I hold my own and sometimes thrive,
I outlived my doctors and most friends,
Only a few foes are still alive.
The means were justified by the ends.
It’s not the time to kick the bucket,
It’s not the time to buy the farm…
I found glee and safely lucked it,
Then threw away my radio alarm.
I hope to see another tender dawn,
The fear of a blue tomorrow is gone.
Gourmet Recipe
My wishes bounce
Off commonsense,
I am ready to denounce
My common self-defense.
I wasn’t made from a tangible material,
I’m from the black-and-white cartoons,
I even failed to manage lowlife criteria;
Am I no better than the horrific goons
That suffer from verbal diarrhea,
And constipation of a good idea.
I see the answer looms:
There is a colossal gap
Between the poverty and money,
Between a diamond in the rough
And a drop of dirt in a sweet honey;
I wonder what’s destined for my lap