Showing posts with label web. Show all posts
Showing posts with label web. Show all posts

Friday, April 20, 2018

In other wor(l)ds


A new day called my name in the mouth of the mockingbird.
In the bullseye of the black widows web,
light is caught in crystal sections
as it tends to happen-sometimes
we don’t hear these things or fail to notice
where chimes and footsteps flail in midair

we were suspended there.

I proceed to contemplate the unwinding of
allotted time, in all its shrinkage and compression
I stuff what I can in my pockets
and balance my left foot precariously
upon the nearest dark cloud that appears
solid enough to leverage my being upon
while I levitate upon
accumulation.

At least, in this way,
the sacrifices won't seem so removed and far
fetched, as stars for life cluster with emission,
timing is everything
and nothing.
The silence can become crippling with
such volume of errant data,
unsynchronised heart beatings
in unison making static lines blur.

Meanwhile, the earth rolls inside of its shell
as if there were nothing to see here
in Turtle Town.
No lingering, loitering, savoring, reminiscing,
embellishing-
making no more mention of
names of things.

The best of it is yet to be made our own.
I take in the wind, I take notes
as I go
this way-paraphrased-what is said sounds familiar
as if we have heard it all before this way
our re-membership lapsed into disparate sounds
it sounded like a name.



Photo By Claudio Giovenzana (Claudio Giovenzana www.longwalk.it) [CC BY-SA 3.0 or GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html)], via Wikimedia Commons.

Wednesday, July 26, 2017

Point A


Home is where we start from,
Eliot said,
while one is busy making plans,
planted Lennon trees,
as though making a home and getting somewhere,
were lasting-
things are all ending around you.

It is not as if Paradise was the same as Innocence
and yes,
both disappeared,
were sheared from necessity
like baby teeth and training wheels,
and how it hurts worse
when home
and are overfed.

Home is a net,
or a web.

He picks up the guitar again and gives it
another chance
this time, she says, until
his fingers bleed.

The other one drives herself away
and is made stronger
so far
from home,
her hopes await.

They both grow from the 'here'
they call Home,
while I make myself busy
tuning the strings
to help them hear, or find
harmony in their spheres
and recognize the crystalized tone
of their own spin,
at least phonetically
one Here's
it to be, pronounced
Home or Ohm.

Raised from nothing but ashes.


Photo By Paik, Kenneth, 1940-2006, Photographer (NARA record: 8464462) (U.S. National Archives and Records Administration) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Wednesday, October 14, 2015

Worlds apart


You-There
may think
I-Here
pin words in place
For: me
(from: You)
i do
try to feel you
through these lines
a trap, a web, ripples, 
and the butterfly 
admittedly
my soul smiles
when the moon sees us both
on the same side
maybe I'll make a map
wrapped in a legend
a poem dangling on the net
groping for paper
I made a place to meet
Anticipating Always,
You-Here
I-There. 



Image By Kraigsta (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

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