Tuesday, February 9, 2016

The Art of Archery


The goal is the pursuit
The aim is pointed at the → means
As an arrow whose tip says-go forward →
>>>My tail feathers drag you down<<<
                                         If freedom was voice
                                             let it fly with motive,
                                                   words from the quiver,
                                        speech is aimed at your heart
                               shot from the bow of pliable opinion
                                             and if the goal were freedom
                                  there can be no aim, a shot in the dark
                      seeking a warm body, swimming through cold air
               hangs on your breath, steady, waiting for you to be ready
                               to let your grip go, open palms, holding hymns
                  held afloat by a lofty timeline,  gravity holds her weight
                                                                           in parabolic perpetuity
                                                                      ↔ arrows chasing despair ↔
                                                                        releasing boomerangs in air
                                                                                  aimed at freedom
                                                                         hunting down happiness,
                                                             caught by one’s own loud trap
                                                                        the pursuit perishes,
                                                                  passion plummets
                              blue dried blood on the tip
     of your sharp tongue.


Image of Archery competitor at the 1900 Olympic Games via Wikimedia Commons, Public Domain. 

Sunday, February 7, 2016

Amore di sé


Atop the purple pale predawn sky
stirred my spirit to unrest
Arose to white worlds winking
afar and apart were we
but heavenly orbs lined up
in a row
Tho all alone at this timid time
watched, I was, enrapt in
warm thirsty waves of want
and shapeless yearning to be-
come drown in the love sent to
me in lights that others call
empty space.


Image by By Alice Boughton, Dawn (1909) (Camera Work, No 26, 1909) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Saturday, February 6, 2016

The gist of being Februist


Is it Februist to pen about pain-
Loves counter-refrain
Let's all complain!
That, my dears is the gist
of being purely Februist

And of amethysts
shaped by six packs
clustered quartz
like opinions
and craggy dominions
add it to the list
of being Februist

Golden locks too soft
lead too, hard as nails
too hot, too cold,
too much, too little
love and hate
soul mates
Valentined and kissed
You guessed it, this
is also Februist

So Life is a box
of chocolate filled
surprises and sentiments
to be tasted and tested
swallowed and spit out
notes to nibble on
Though the gifts we tend
to doubt
are the sweetest,
Yes, as the skepticist is
Februist

Only tiny truths, gnats in the know,
bugs in rugs and ermine expectations
make rime in time to thaw
trickle down pains
theoretically and say
in thirty ways from May,
time Marches on
gripes and grouse
when a Februist
storms through your House.

Image By Josephbanjo (Own work (Photo personnelle)) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons Rose with rime.

Linger to hear you near


I am
listen-
in
g
hiding
in the music
tapping
my shoulder
blade behind me
down
the hall
jumping out
at the antique
store
always
waiting
buried in a book
obscure
wrapping up
in warm words
under
lines

Cannons
re-loaded
taking the heat
under
fire-
gun to temple
questioning
fore-
head
drops
(off...)
taking it all
in
I am
listen-
in
g
for
you.



Image by Ferdinand Leeke (1859-1937)[Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Bottomless Pit


Always Yessss
Giving of yourself fills
instead of empties

Time is precious
Time doesn't matter
We have forever
We only have this 
moment

Your presence comforts
and tucks in loose ends
When you think you cannot
utter how much
it doubles

It is violent sometimes
passionate always
lights a higher wattage
elevates skin, tactile
and smell, enhanced
breath and glance

Always withdrawing
never replenishing
It demands One
greater power
at all times

It crushes the other under
its obligation
slithers into shoulds
inconcertina locomotion
nestled in your snaky needs
a serpentine fork
Loves anivenom

Consumes more than
its out weight in
carniverous ways
of sanssss sssseriffssss
charmed by the cold-blooded
constriction of I love you
insatiably




Image By NASA / Jet Propulsion Laboratory / University of Arizona [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. Descripton Details English: "Dark pits on some of the Martian volcanoes have been speculated to be entrances into caves. A previous HiRISE image, looking essentially straight down, saw only darkness in this pit. This time the pit was imaged from the west. Since the picture was taken at about 2:30 p.m. local (Mars) time, the sun was also shining from the west. We can now see the eastern wall of the pit catching the sunlight.

Scapeland


Limited by a point
in view
doesn't mean there are no
obvious clues sticking out.
We have a nose
for things
that reek
and ears to hear
when something rings true.

The horizon made crisp
by Januarys cold shoulder
brittle colors crack
under depth perception
all is in arcs
electrically
carried through thick-
space, this line is drawn
between the backdrop mountains
painted over the sky-aglow
colors like no others
demonstrating distance
with tonality.
-hummmmm-

Light blurred into white
sights set on time-lapse
of the tidal motion
we may be slow to know
the ripple can re-ripple
reacting unpredictable
but then, this happens
when we don't wave back.




Image By Rowan, Dick, Photographer (NARA record: 2406259) (U.S. National Archives and Records Administration) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Fragmentary figures


crystal eyes
Dis guys
thin and Lethe
soak and sponge
pour us
poor us
more
moor
aqua vita
vita nuova
amor fati
mere our
mirror
image 
Imagine

Imagine
image
mirror
mere our
amor fati
vita nuova
moor
more
poor us
pour us
soak and sponge
thin and Lethe
Dis guys
crystal eyes.




Image of painting by Paul Klee [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, Crystal Gradation, 1921.


Tres (trace)

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