Tuesday, October 20, 2015

Statuesque (Haiku)


my Buddha don't pray
He just sits and smiles all day
crumbling away

Saturday, October 17, 2015

A Release from Sext


In the afternoon
I hate myself most
garishly, as all
nerves frayed
with split ends, all noise
nails rubbing slate
I'm tired (of myself).

By then-Between us
at least, there is space
room to know that
it is not the nadir
obstructed with sunny optimism
what Others see, outside of me.

In silence, I seek serenity
I try-I appropriate-I displace
I operate-surgically, extracting-
a locality no longer near.
I sense us coming together,
a second in passing.
I pretend not to recognize
myself anymore.

When the skylights dim
my movements are lighter;
feathered words, pillowed prepositions,
untether thoughts,
the contrast crispens.
Finally,tension snapped-symmetry shatters,
I am now freed from my toxic unity.


Image by Hans Andersen Brendekilde [Public domain], A wooded path in Autumn (1902) via Wikimedia Commons.

Friday, October 16, 2015

Kinesthetic revival


Born out of our inertia state
while silently
our senses
are sewing
our patchwork genes,
to Be
delivered, redeemed, undone
the blank slate begins,
to write it all off
a pattern to follow
blindly, numbly, not for us.
Not able to notice earth's busy spin
its constancy keeps us safe
centrifugal, reactive, unresponsive
never the less, we regress...

What's more, Those, they
(such as We) that feel
First-
and make sense later.
We don't walk into webs,
our antennas always on high alert.
Hyper-sensitive, ultra-receptive,
gut feelings or (not)
knowing and acting
instinct and intuition
dreams become reality
-we enjoy-
coded messages
defying gravity
while carrying burdens
throwing our weight
testing our substance
hoping to make an impression
in the sand, on the sky
shooting for the stars,
hovering in a black hole
gravity swallowed whole
floating in Nirvana
and residing there
easing into eternity
for never and sway.


Image by I, Luc Viatour [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html), CC-BY-SA-3.0 via Wikimedia Commons. Water on web. 


Wednesday, October 14, 2015

Jog Lam


‘Tis not that I have
only little to say
(today)
my use of words
is the wrong way
my peeps aren’t worth a pop
my pennies are in pesos

Tho’ the flow
never ceases
the spring cannot unsprung
I dam it up
the words get too eager beaver
and my teeth stick out
(so I shut my mouth)

‘Tis loud in my head
the din always wins
despite nothing said
relentless ringing, chiming,
rambling and gambling
that silence will only
be truly mine
upon death-
I’m not in line for that
(yet)...

At times like these
‘tis my regret
to be resigned
to quietly waiting
with unwanted words,
the line I’m in
is not moving…


Image By Luther C. Goldman, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

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.

Saturday, October 10, 2015

The voice of Carmen Saliare


Plant the words as seeds in me
or show where they go,
plot me, my empty well,
pour into me
I know how to grow.
I am listening with my body,
stretching my energy out
heat seeking rain driving clouds
another way, the unexpected conditions
are idyllic...
The thousands of times I've dug deep
soiled and toe knuckles white
barely holding on to your vortex-
pinned, I lay limp, naked and fruitful
before you
go, awaiting your thunderous appeal
to higher senses, save the lightening
for those needing epiphanies.

Plant me the identity 
too vacuous and strange
to encourage, to make, to plan
words with acumen and divergence-
Yours, Condemned.


Image By Dlls publicdomaindedication.com (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.


Chorus(only)


From birth to death; Life
the volume fades, the record
reaches its' last groove. 


Image of Voyager Golden Record, The Sounds of the Earth, launched with the Voyager Probe on September 5,1977, by By NASA/JPL [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Tres (trace)

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