Buteo regionalis

Buteo regionalis:

Skeeter, he said.

Skeeter eaters, 

                         we were noting the explosion.

No doubt you know the kind,

                          And he’s telling me these 

                          hordes of skeeters

do not eat or attack, they do not even snack.

Now the water skeeters, are blood suckers,

                          Those bite back-

Jesus

Bugs,

he says of the miraculous vampires

that walk or stride on water, yes I confess

                           this is super natural.

Despite my slight Entomophobia

                           I think it might be nice to be plated

                           like the armadillo or rolly-polly bug

or hover just so, like a dragonfly.

The cockroach will survive the apocalypse,

by digging down deeper when the air changes.

We laugh about this, the order of the species.

He is the same guy that made people paste with honey.

An Africanized bee wags its bottom, pointedly, 

                            next to us,

Its head tucked deep into the dripping honeysuckle,

And I cheer-

Bottoms Up,

Honey, I say, I think we are looking at it wrong-

perhaps we are reading the final order upside

                             Down.

Irritated with me, 

                              He finally conceded.

Artwork By Smith, Jessie Willcox, 1863-1935 (artist); L. Prang & Co. (publisher) (Flickr: In the Garden) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Recycling poetry

When we are children,
all we take in
is Poetry.
In adolescence
we lean on Prose
without punctuation,
growing longer to gauge the resistance
of rooftops attached to support beams.
It seems maturity makes less time
for more meaning,
the old begin shrinking time
too little to learn anything less
than Poetry.




Painting by Eero Järnefelt, 1895 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Conversion: Haiku(s) 3

To start to learn a

Poem, beginning in love

Ends inside physics.

To try to poem

Muse in music but listen

Particulate-ly.

Make something better

Hang words, draw self, a stick man

The fire needs you.

Image: Edward Steichen, 1921 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Description from wiki: "Steichen was on holiday in Venice in 1921 at the same time as the dancer Isadora Duncan who was on her way to Greece with her dance troupe. With the promise that Steichen would be able to make motion pictures of her dancing on the Acropolis, Isadora persuaded him to accompany her. While she managed to pose for a few photographs at the Parthenon, it was with her pupil and adopted daughter Thérèse that Steichen produced this startling and remarkable image: She was a living reincarnation of a Greek nymph. Once, while photographing the Parthenon, I lost sight of her, but I could hear her. When I asked where she was, she raised her arms in answer. I swung the camera around and photographed her arms against the background of the Erechtheum. And then we went out to a part of the Acropolis behind the Parthenon, and she posed on a rock, against the sky with her Greek garments. The wind pressed the garments tight to her body, and the ends were left flapping and fluttering. They actually crackled. This gave the effect of fire -- 'Wind Fire' (Steichen, A Life in Photography, np)"

Simile like a lady

They say she was like

No metaphor-thus appears

Everywhere. Here. See. 


Art By Daderot (Own work) [Public domain or CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.

Skipping sounds

Thrown stones at glass ponds

Reflecting cracks or ripples,

though heard, no echo…

Painting By Józef Chełmoński, Pond in Radziejowice, (1898) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Pandora's Jukebox

Unlimited Skips,

offered Pandora’s jukebox,

my father would cringe at the threat

to his precious vinyl.

Alas, the Narrative has changed.

All is story without plot, idle fancies

and frankly, too many flat Stanley’s.

The fear of the Singularity

exceeds all ego. We are working on it.

It was being built with zeros and ones,

We made it already, collectively, our

demise of reality. 

Speculate non-fictive for a moment, 

we could and did, rewrite beginnings and endings, 

bringing us to this very event horizon, 

which dips down in sheer data weight

and plunges into a black hole 

by basic filtering. 

Not a platter disc, or with grooves going down

into a white dwarf rabbits den, 

Then again-Just play with it Sam.

Electric hat tricks, inside sleeves, 

static sings and scratches ears, 

signaling deftness, 

a rough hand and some callous-

manipulation of ideas.

As though alternate forms for information

without any human connection should not short 

out, being illegible. This also computes null

as Equality. Yes and No.

As with All things being equal,

the volume grew, 

we all screamed, hollowing out

room and grew all consuming, 

devouring these data shells up-time

until all transfers

are made complete

in clouds.

How high Unlimited Skips registers 

and subscribes me to this ad-free

subtractive totality, 

breaking records in cycles. 

Painting by Halfdan Egedius, 1896 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Rough drafts

Those screams are breathing
And if this is polishing
it is abrasive.






Artwork by Franciszek Żmurko c. 1896 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.