Friday, January 23, 2015

Incubus


Resembling the unwakeness of a Dream
blurred outlines
crisp sounds that echo hollow
sleep standing, meandering adaze
muffling the view
obscured by heavy air
pushing on pores
licking your eyelashes
in salty sentiments
sealed and enveloping
brilliant opaque light
shadows perceptions of depth
an oceans deep breath
fractals that float
bonded in obstinate anti-gravity
careless of time
synchronized now
grey matter of mass
drapes close on the sky
sinking in silky soliloquy 
rolling softer than thunder
momentary miasma
of soggy bliss
soup was ordered as a starter
to wet ones appetite
for a serving full of
mist
delayed

by fog.



Image  from Wikimedia Commons "Fog" (Public Domain)

A letter does not blush...


Haiku I

Bruised paper marked words
black and blue swollen intent
sharp-edged stabbing truth.














Image by Giacomo Galli c. 1620-1640, "The Penitent Mary Magdalene" (Public domain), via Wikimedia Commons

Saturday, January 17, 2015

Warm & Fuzzy Inside


Here We Are
Together again!
before- Have I told you
How glad I am you came
Back again, possibly again...

I think you think (like me)
any moment in time
when we read a rhyme
that carries a certain chime
it is truly sublime...

I hope you might also see
all that matters are these moments
a piece of bliss unknown
about you, about me, about We
I think we mutually agree
on perhaps a little poetry

I am so pleased you
got away with
a stolen moment
to just look at ME, and smile
your happiness is mine
(even though it's better to share)

Your time is my treasure
Your eyes are my precious gems-
they are beautiful you know
but you've heard that before
still...you should know

I'm dancing on air
when I've seen
you There
curious
about me too
I'm right here
waiting for You

You make me feel so special
I glow inside, I'm sitting in the sun
a bird just mentioned you
just passing by
carried on the wind
echoes the sky

It reminded me
I should return
and show my gratitude
for You on this cloudless
poetic, grateful Winters day
So, thank You for You
in every wordless way.


Image By Jan Portielje, "Love Letter" (Arts & Humor de Mulher) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons



Friday, January 16, 2015

After all


After doing some research
               in Philosophy and Being-
I came to conceptualize,
               thinking is pro-verbial.
After looking closer into,
                and reflecting upon what is Beauty-
I came to see,
                I bear no resemblance.
After debating what is Truth,
                the subjective and absolute,
I came to understand-
                people don't like its sound.
After feeling lost-
                from seeking and pursuing Happiness,
I came to find-
                it's a place that cannot be found.
After digging deeper into History,
                beneath the surface, between the lines-
I came to discover
                the past is exactly where it was supposed to Be.
After searching for the meaning
                of art, music, and goosebumps-
I knew,
                no definition was required.
After pondering all these
                baffling banalities and easily explained enigmas-
I realized,

                the art that is poetry is unexplainably the most beautiful music after all. 


Image by Antonio de Pereda, (c.1636) [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. "allegory of Vanity".

Stinky Drunk Skunk

Image "The Drunk Father" (c. 1923) by George Bellows (1882-1925) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

You have smelled, seen, known or are
the kind whose mind
can be enhanced by a potion
Aqua Veleno filled vials
vices of vitriolic spew
chemical concoctions
a mixologists malevolent
remedied reliance
addicted amnesiacs antidote
with spites of bitters
a splash of nasty
a sardonic sprig of superiority
chilled on thrown rocks-not nice
yet neat, to shake things up,
stirring in apathy
nefarious nincompoop
Salude!
Three Cheers!
Four for Health!
Down the hatch!
Fun's always quicker with liquor
unless you get sicker
Someone just un-corked a bottle
when they stepped in the room
Their stench phumes
see those invisible plumes
Pig-pen couldn't even contend
unless you took a swig too
or three
(with goggles it's hard to see)
That those kind that swill and fable
often act unkind, but don't mind
themselves when propped on bar shelves
Sickness, weakness or just casually blind
In your consent, treatment, or term
absent-minded of why you're there
stuck in sticky mire
bereft of any real desire
no garnish or zest
straight up
dosage of liquid courage
inebriation amalgamation
that mires the sane mind
slurs the world, skews the scale
towers built of sand
staggering and fallen stature
amplifies the tenor
increasing crescendo of blasphemy
while tone deaf
like your own ghost
who you've never seen
and claim is dead
incanted wild shiny eyes
fixedly unfocused
stained by devils blood
smitten with the sauce
hankering for the hootch
smiles and red cheeks
moonshine aglow
a vicious taunt
evil spirits foretell
a warning to be
en garde
in battle with Will
meddler and contriver of bad deeds
sower of bad seeds, spreading like weeds
laced with lascivious looks
just sad drowned trodden
sappy fears, soggy years
or claims wished never true
things you wish you didn't do
or maybe were just over due
but can never be undone,
now empty bottoms up
whistled empty wish on crystal lips
stashed, sailed in unread messages like ships
in the night
open seas surround an isle of regret
swimming on swills
repulsive, manipulating,
blind deaf and dumb
belching the way through dizzy
delusions and chortling hiccups
injecting idleness
dumbness
numbness
to turn it off
but it never comes back on
when your bottle is your only friend
until
The End.

Tuesday, January 13, 2015

Artemis Falls


                                                               

                                                                         Y
                                                                          o ur
                                                                          hands
                                                                          tingle my
Your arrow across the purple moon glow night  --beach haloed
streaks and sparks, metallic explosion reminds  --an omens delight
us the same flavour of blood on our tongue --bursting, waning, waxing
stain of mortalic after taste, singed with sardonic empathy --ashore releasing.
                                                                        W
                                                                        E hum
                                                                        ans EX  
Your spent time flowing soft in tame tides Femme --plorers seek
of the Forests where once witches brew, --to discover, ask for answers
rue Diana and her dryads heathen troops haunt --in corners where echoes
elfin fortresses delight, romping, tromping --recall, recant shadows of footsteps…                                                                         
                                                         S
                                                         ands
                                                         note grains
                                                         of Truth traces out
Your shadow passes casting glances --lines afraid of the dim
on sundials freeing the breeze to say---dark and unknown places
by the way You don’t belong but it was--leading to strange faces taunt
not You or I but the hunted who fear--races behind restrained by leashes-CUT

Free to fly.

Image by By (Marie-Lan Nguyen), 2007 'Artemis' Gabii Louvre [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Tuesday, January 6, 2015

Who Nose?


Is perhaps 'perception' a sense? Must we must be conscious of our perception in order to perceive it or because we perceive it, we are made more conscious of it? Shall we ask Aristotle...

"The problem might be raised: Can what cannot smell be said to be affected by smells or what cannot see by colours, and so on? It might be...argued that what cannot smell cannot be affected by smells and further than what can smell can be affected by it only in so far as it has in it the power to smell (similarly with the proper objects of all the other senses). Indeed that this is so is made quite evident as follows. Light or darkness, sounds and smells leave bodies quite unaffected; what does affect bodies is not these but the bodies which are their vehicles, e.g. what splits the truck of a tree is not the sound of the thunder but the air which accompanies thunder. Yes, but...is not the true account of this, that all bodies are capable of being affected by smells and sounds, but that some on being acted upon, having no boundaries of their own, disintegrate, as in the instance of air, which does become odorous, showing that some effect is produced on it by what is odorous? But smelling is more than such an affection by what is odorous-what more? Is not the answer that, while the air owing to the momentary duration of the action upon it of what is odorous does itself become perceptible to the sense of smell, smelling is an observing of the result produced."-The Classical Mind 2nd Ed. by W.T. Jones 

Perchance the Poet Nose...

Sniff! Sniff!
Smell, smell
I must tell
                     I will stick mine out here

Take a whiff
May I revel
in a poem to tell
of an organ that alerts one to fear?

Say a rat, or something much worse
it's a magnificent tool
never getting the credit its due
so if I may-

mention it's not really a curse
notched with nostrils dual
it only knows what's true
no tricks or slight of hand play

Surely some will argue
or opt for rhinoplasty
Like self-conscious old Cyrano
or Dante, DiMaggio, J.P. Morgan or Pinocchio

It's not worth all the fret
I think it fits your face
after all it's in the right place
crooked, long, slightly bent or bent just a slight

Everyone knows
of that certain human orifice
that sometimes goes
where it doesn't belong

On a liar it grows
or as a butterflies kiss
freezing snot
or burning hot

Achoo!
Something's Nasty!
Something in the fridge has to go-
Is this old fruit supposed to grow?

Elfin, stubby, button or bulbous
We're all gifted with just one
a nose after all is a knack
you wear that one the best

Wether being brown or pugnacious
stuffy or on the run
it never develops plaque
and it's not stuck on your chest

"Keep it clean", they say
and stuck to the grindstone
And it's rude to turn it up or down
or snip it just for spite

And Boy, that sonorous horn does play
a tune, while not having a bone
to pick, it's merely a noun
but can certainly wake up the night

It's your own special schnoz
sniffer, beak or snout
it just fits your bill
not to rub it in

It deserves an audible applause
Without a doubt I've figured out
It's growing even still
and with people and horses win

True, it cannot turn off
admittedly, sometimes that stinks bad
when invisible invaders incense
emanations of trash, sulfur and poop

Sure, go ahead wrinkle it up and scoff-
but for certain aromas-one must be glad
bread, books, coffee, apples and cinnamon scents
Just don't use it to snoop

Keep it to yourself
The face of your profile
You can thank genetics
for your one of a kind proboscis

Spectacles sit upon this face shelf
that's never out of style
it gets no health from athletics
(even if colossus)-Make way for ze French kiss!

Only in pictures and mirrors
do we ever see
what it really looks like
to be on you or me
with a nose
like none of those
but always grows
and always shows
which way the wind blows
or can forecast
by the shadow it can cast
behind is always the past
Cheers for the Nose
It may not be the one you would have chose
but that is not the worst of woes
to be worried about what one nose.


Image from Wikimedia Commons, Public Domain. The Reign of the King of  Covenant London 1956




Tres (trace)

Water Today, warm raindrops glass blurs, the blurry glassy, sharp sparkles sugar. Behind Evening, it was good. Leaves all turned into shadow...