turn of the year

On winter solstice, Nine set out, put Rivendell behind
The glowing hearth, the sound of song, were banished from their minds
Strange Quest! Whose purpose was to lose a treasure (not to find)
One mage, one elf, one dwarf, two men, and four of Hobbit kind.
Tall Boromir expected crowds to cheer him on his way
and damsels vying for his glance in Samite dresses gay.
He blew a ringing trumpet-blast, a strutting cock at play
But Gandalf scowled and warned he'd take that noisy toy away.
The Morgul-blade that narrowly stopped short before it's mark
spared Frodo, and he'd healed in time, in Elrond's verdant park.
'Though only Bill went cheerfully, as if it were a lark,
they left at dusk and stealthily pressed Southward in the dark.
Through Kazad Dum, through vernal Wood, through snow and fetid mire,
beyond all hope, they cast the ruling Ring into the Fire.

on a Grecian Urn

pink clouds of cherry-blossoms float within a sky of green
as if I've misinterpreted the frequencies of light
as sweet a harbinger of Spring as any I have seen
a Through the LookingGlass effect that some say can't be right
convention links one spectral band to one specific word
but other languages define a wholly diff'rent map
my expectation that you'll understand must seem absurd
between two minds, I can't presume to ever bridge the gap
yet still, I feel compelled to share this vernal scene with you
and trust your inner lexicon to correspond to mine
a vision of such loveliness I must believe is true
what can't be proved deductively must hint at the divine
a sky of green, a cloud of pink, on earth as up above
a poet's faculty's deranged when seasons turn to love

Qualia

I dreamed that you could understand the code that I'd devised
devoid of ambiguity as plain as broad daylight
and anyone who heard or read could look out through my eyes
a sweet, seductive fantasy that helped me sleep at night
I rushed to put it down in ink the moment I awoke
but trains of baggage came along with every word I chose
the clarity was the mirage, and all I clutched was smoke
that through my fingers oozed away and to the stars arose
Retreat!Retrench! at least in math, we share communion pure
that isn't just conventional, transparent to us all
but Gödel interjects to say I must not be so sure
 an edifice on such a base in time may also fall
I hammer language 'til it fits in heptametric verse
then launch it on its Viking pyre into the universe