Up Back
C & m a a
o see l o n g w a y
m a l o n g out
e n n h
d e r i n g r c
y o o
u & me
g
any w h e r e (but).
Image of painting by Juan Gris, 'Still Life with checkered tablecloth' (1915), [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Tuesday, May 17, 2016
What's your number
be identified by numbers
not by masses
or mass-
but by oneness-
or twenty-three-ness-I guess-
or like five and look alive!
or like five and look alive!
It conjures an image
somewhere in time, in our mind
space in our head-
space in our head-
A good positive number-
a negative angle-and no this isn’t acute-
it is chronic-al-always, regardless if I count
or you count or none of us counts...
Who’s counting down while looking up?
We should pick a numerical value besides our bank.
-Personal account-and equate each other thusly,
not rank or rate but separate-and separate
so our Nows don’t collide, or near misses and almosts
are guarantees-please!
sheer masses
like tiny tomes and Moronic Oxen-
Did you just say eleven?
Most just say seven-ness is blessedness,
everyone knows this rule-
everyone knows this rule-
I could be wrong, that'd be
a real word problem.
a real word problem.
An error in calculating
-mind you-
-mind you-
Not in reasoning.
Image credit: By Related names: Morgan, Walls and Clements Atlantic Richfield Company Patigian, Haig [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Image credit: By Related names: Morgan, Walls and Clements Atlantic Richfield Company Patigian, Haig [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Sunday, May 15, 2016
Shaking out olde rags
Tattered paths erase steps trod to crooked gait
Frayed regality clenched its hard youth worn spite,
And yonder in gilded hours the sun burns its envy
Gathers all ye spent colours; flames out to embers
Aloft nothing matches your plundering stride
stars nor nightingales flash iridescent tails to follow-
feet planted firm,calm thy nerves -O weary traveler!
Linger here, Inns and Outs have long now closed
While history makes repast to fill the o'er sated
with seconds. Ere-the noblest pastures lie
Certain and sure of you!
Will you not take thy eager soul strides?
To meet my waiting expanse half-way?
Image By Rocky Mountain National Park (C.C.C. trail construction Red Mountain Trail) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Frayed regality clenched its hard youth worn spite,
And yonder in gilded hours the sun burns its envy
Gathers all ye spent colours; flames out to embers
Aloft nothing matches your plundering stride
stars nor nightingales flash iridescent tails to follow-
feet planted firm,calm thy nerves -O weary traveler!
Linger here, Inns and Outs have long now closed
While history makes repast to fill the o'er sated
with seconds. Ere-the noblest pastures lie
Certain and sure of you!
Will you not take thy eager soul strides?
To meet my waiting expanse half-way?
Image By Rocky Mountain National Park (C.C.C. trail construction Red Mountain Trail) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
I can chillax, can you?
There is only one thing
you likely don't know about me-
And that is-
I make the most interesting
ice cubes-
Of course, others make these too-
and I know I do not do the freezing
alone-
But-you cannot deny-it is I
who puts the water right there-
where now there-is occupied in ice-
Nice-right?
I mean-
I made the molecules-merely
molded them there, made it "New"
like an Artist-Scientist-
BWAH-HA-HA-HA!
My lips must be numb...
And that facet too, micro-magic,
like Prozac-
s-s-l-o-o-o-o-w-w-i-n-n-n-g down those
neural leaps-or lips-I must be numb-or dumb?
And yet regardless, the swelling still subsides.
Cryo-linguistically speaking, I guess
I have adept-ed and tuned this chill-
And yes, I can perform this skill
upon request-particulate-ly
for any swollen or hot head guest
who may have hit their head
like me-
and like to eat their water too.
Image By CopyrightFreePhotos CopyrightFreePhotos.HQ101.com (Own work by uploader [1]) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Friday, May 13, 2016
As far as echoes go
a whale sings a song
(more than mating call)
I wish we had sonar or echo-location.
I guess few to none understand
me either-a bit of a riddle
I sense something more
than words can trap temporarily
always around, like sound.
I comprehend not wanting to know-
ergo-filling space with empty waste.
I wonder where others
put their excess words?
I feel we all have them,
a medium waiting to be heard
largely by you
alone
without a pod
in the abyss.
All of our words salt the sea
with trace minerals
of meaning and glimmers to glean.
Photo By Rwendland (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Spring Rite (Haiku)
May gray clears away
at sunset: seasonal tones
may be come clearer.
Photo By Mike Stephan, user:Mikosch (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
The Poet (Haiku)
Why do you poem?
An attempt to word wisely
while I understand.
Image by James Sant [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons (Enigma).
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