“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label root. Show all posts
Showing posts with label root. Show all posts
Friday, April 20, 2018
(r)ejection
Fair warning was given
about conjuring the friction of lightning
between fingertips by rod
and cone
resembling a dunce cap
Yet left alone with our (de)vices
the pattern unfurls and we sew through
our patchwork day
cross-stitching moments like frayed ends
we measure progress
in squares,
the roots are bound
to wrap and tangle.
Observers interrupt our busy work
with every blink, the weight shifted,
the curtain fell, the lever broke,
the shim slipped in
and stirred up so much hope
the air welled with thunder.
We should have known better.
We could have made ourselves welcome.
We did not know how to enforce Liberty for all.
There were signs
and symbols denoting the escape velocity,
with arrows, the Exit sign was always live.
It was easier to get in.
Painting by Abraham Solomon, c. 1859 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Wednesday, March 28, 2018
Saplings
Not a lack of empathy could turn us-
or the inability to love the ‘other’-
rationally,
rationally,
we small rats.
It separates us.
A green miasma seeping up
It separates us.
A green miasma seeping up
from the loamy soil.
Familiar, like family, the smell of our
(grand) Father.
Toes curl and cringe and yet
Familiar, like family, the smell of our
(grand) Father.
Toes curl and cringe and yet
we knew all about decomposition,
slanging dirt on white walls,
shit that flies and flows downhill.
shit that flies and flows downhill.
We recognize, collectively
all information is absorbed,
the leaves in turn
throw shade.
all information is absorbed,
the leaves in turn
throw shade.
Dark times don't always dictate
a Virgil. This time,
we were early.
a Virgil. This time,
we were early.
It only takes a conceit to break
sacred ground.
sacred ground.
All this diurnal mist adds up
and seeps in-
to crystal beads made for
costume jewellery
to be strung across
the sky.
There were stars
where pupils should be.
Scurrying mice and men gather
and seeps in-
to crystal beads made for
costume jewellery
to be strung across
the sky.
There were stars
where pupils should be.
Scurrying mice and men gather
blind,
feeling their way away
from a threat that smelt like a fresh
grave.
All information is recreated
to be fertile today.
It stinks making fresh air.
feeling their way away
from a threat that smelt like a fresh
grave.
All information is recreated
to be fertile today.
It stinks making fresh air.
Painting by Tom Roberts [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
And then...
Change is like that strong smell of cut grass or chopped wood that stops you still. Patterns, a symbol can be an illegible sign, at first...
-
1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
-
Today seems like a good day to burn a bridge or two. The sky resembles a backlit canopy with holes punched in it. In California...
-
This world is not for breath for feelings also come and go. As hard and light as Push and pull Go. Busy hands and bees-electricity, alter...