A poet in prose

"Always be a poet, even in prose." 

-Charles Baudelaire

Succinct                                   Finger words attempt to grasp the shape

                                                or solidify some things that matters

                                                enough to cast shadows.

Withheld itself                        Where we have both eyes

                                                and this simultaneous process of thingness,

                                                the space it takes when ones eyes are closed

                                                or looking too long at any thing,

                                                turns to creamains, a small pile, still smolders.

In rote repose                           Mind over matter is when matter takes hold

                                                of our mind and an argument ensues,

                                                this circular discourse becomes a deep rut,

                                                here we go again, making a smile with left overs.

Umbra                                     The darkest parts, those chunky photons assembled

                                                from all particulars and are open to letting the light

                                                expending the conservation in equal distribution

                                                of temperature into background

Where loss of certainty           as love and mild.

Makes one move around         Musical chairs taught us how to listen

                                                while in a hurry to save ourselves and

                                                change our point of view without preference

                                                for any place other than staying in the game.

Look                                        Listen.

Within                                      Many layers of glass make mirrors. 

Painting By Paul Fischer [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Titilating Entitlement

       All we have are letters.
We have made many names with these,

not to confuse utility with title.

When I say

This chosen wisely,

You have started to build-

What is in a Name?

Impressionism in colors.

Blend and bleed by disagreement.

I do not regret leading you on

down the stream, naming and pointing

at amphibious synonyms, 

like crayfish holding their feathered gills.

As only bends and boulders can dictate 

in a white water fury, insurgency in translation,

an explanation of how all minerals find their way

to greater meaning than assembly 

or Magic. Deception has its angle.

Words like water most transparent

when calmly collected. 

Dropping names sink

Ideas float
Titles tell This. 

Image By Romaine (Own work) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.

A poem weaves to night

There was a little poem
who lived in the Land of Language.
He went about his daily deeds and duties,
somewhat similar to yours and mine
as makers of our days and ways,
in pursuit of a perfect pleasure craft.

The little poem moved along,
one step at a time,
like you and I,
but on legs of eight,
which Occidentally caught the light,
sometimes,
like lines
(except not an octet).

He worked alone and in the dark,
the little poems eyes adjusted and accustomed
this way, preferring this process,
hiding himself during the day when others are out and about
and get in his way, breaking the connections-
concentration of the grand design in his mind.

Relentless still,
the little poem weaved his words all night,
starting over, adding on, redesigning
his cozy mental matrix
made for suicide moths drawn to
the light.
Blinded with sight,
blocking out the newest sign
a reinvented lyric, a trap in translation.

Lost in Confusion,
stalled and flailing-
signals are sent, along these lines,
the little poem reads the notes,
gathers and wraps more than needed
the little poem stashes his words
for other webs to weave
spinning their marrow
for a tomorrow
he never saw.


Image By: Luc Viatour [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html), CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/) or CC BY-SA 2.5-2.0-1.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.5-2.0-1.0)], via Wikimedia Commons.