Thursday, April 28, 2016

Night words


Orb-sessed with moon-ness
stalking the same language: Flow
aglow in phases.



Painting by By Casimiro Sainz (1853-1898) (Pinterest) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Saturday, April 23, 2016

Buried castles


Hind cloak and dagger you poise to guard thee
And conceal thy truest strength in mask'd
provocation! Lo' er thy weaponry
in defense against poison'd darts unseen
And penetrate those crystal streams, shatter'd
baubles by sounds may smash back to thine own
conscious fortress upheld on stilts aloft
none too far for arrows thrown in spite
to carry venomous signs of violence
symbolic gestures we propose to one
exchanging vengeance in our vows to keep
symbolic peices, armaments left and l
of leaves fallen-pollen armies make charge-
And stark violets by lillies  mark'd on graves.



This is an attempt at playing with Shakespeare's Sonnet LXVII.


Image By Wikisense (Own work) Scaligero castle[Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Friday, April 22, 2016

Imagine in Nation


What doesn't ask
doesn't care.
There it
has been said,
did you know
I care?
We are in War and Love
above all else
I dwell in neither possibility
but probability
namely the art of science
or the scientific artist
these are the best of We
wherein domain and abstain
are eminently plausible
coextensively
if it has feathers and quarks
respective of space
and time to think of asking
who cares?


Image of painting By Ernst Karl Georg Zimmermann (1852-1901) (Dorotheum) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Sky scrapes


contrails drew all day
as one would fade, another blade
cutting in on blue, gilt by sun
without a red handle
on it to be seen

what chalky lesson
is trying to be relayed
that the entire sky should
altruistically accommodate
and become frayed to mineral slate
from all points of you

grey matter made of our machinated arts...
and those parts of paths remain staining royalty
bleeding lines out
ward, the cons alibi
covering for clouds
on a crystal eyes day.



Image by By Willow2012 (Own work) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.

A-flow-T


It was up-side-down-which
is not up There
is no up-any-way
that the dhow
knew the way the wind blew
and grabbed it as the how
to get There
the Tao
and even keel held bronze pins in place
on the starboard to cease and assist
sunken ships weight and wait
with least resistance finding that
flow
feels easy like you know
down pat what is
up
either way anyway
if you don't flow
with it
you'll never know
smooth sailing up-on destiny's dhow.




Image of painting by By Maxwell, Donald [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

The writing in dust on mirrors


They lied
              all along
They think
              they were lying
(to them-selves)
               it showed through
eventually
wear and tear:
tears and wears

feeble few
who knew
               the lies were untrue
and said
(to them-selves)
                it was naturally so,
unfolding
upholding
For now
                 yet I know
the decay
                 eating away
Bones and Memories
(buried)
Stones and Sticks
(thrown)
                  shatter glass houses
and mirrors
reflecting angel dust
                                 and cobwebs
clouding what could never become
(the whole truth)
after blowing
                   living a life
being numb,
breathing evil wind
it's too late-
                   nevermind.



Image by By עירא (own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Wednesday, April 20, 2016

The Creative Process by e.e. cummings 1 and 2 (plus 5)

                    
1.
Of my
Soul a street is:
Preternatural Pic-
abian tricktrickclickflidk-er
garner
of starfish Picasso
thrombosis trees
hit
my soul
repairs herself with
Prioress of Shari mind
and Matisse rhythms
to juggle Kandinsky gold-exchange-standard
away from the grind gifted
muscles of Cèzanne’s
logic
          Oho.
           A streamer
There is
where stramineous  birds     purr

2.
Picasso
you give us Things
which
bulbous: grunting lungs pumped fulgurate of Shari They mind
you make us shriek
presents always
shut in the sump screech of
simplicity
(out of the
bizarre unbolted
Something gushes vaguely a squeak of planes
or
between squeals of
Nothing grabbed with circuit breaker shrieking tiger-eye
solicitation screams whisper.)
Lumberman of the Distillation
your brain’s
axe only chops hued inherent
Trees of Ego, from
whose living and bifoliate
bodies lopped
of every
preternatural
you hew form true time


The above two poems originally composed by e.e. cummings have been given the 5 up adjective treatment whereby each original adjective is replaced by the preceding 5th word in the dictionary. Normally this is a 7-up process but I like the number 5 better. 

Image of painting by Wassily Kandinsky, Yellow-red-blue, c. 1925 [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...