Hyacinthine Spring

08 May


Hyacinthine Spring

(dedicated to the girl who doesn’t like to take her sunglasses off)



like insouciant chaos,

walk in mirth,

a stranger by your sacred hearth,

watching for

the splendor and victory of our nursing world.

Which will only be remembered and redeemed in the stanzaed film;

that frenzy coloring the mind of the romantic poets

that gloriously burn like blue morning glories

borne into a day’s dusking and wintering delights

so beautiful and so unwinnable

that watching this forecast game

takes upon itself the burning breath of first love

and other subjectivities made coarse and predictable

by bad storytellers

that have always gotten paid more

to misinterpret the eloquence of humble silence

like the true vastness of the mote

that spectacle that does not exist, yet will always be the matinee

always yearn for your surrender

once taken in.

What we cease to realize is that

this world is still a spoiled toddler

prone to tantrums and illogicality,

but it is wondrous

and should be preached

with a nagging question

as all children should

valued, especially by those that have yet to learn to read –

because this murmur will remain in print

long after the last aging speck of our dignity is gone

There will be time always

each step an inchoate experience

thus remember to liven up and never believe

anything that’s ever written again



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Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings

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