(The) Professor New

“Art is how we see the world”

she said, and it was

pure poetry precisely
made New

by the way she looked

at exactly what she expected

to see, in awe

of (extra) ordinary beauty

and its blinding

ability to blend

Me to You

Grasping at Ghosts

“Imagination like electricity,”

he responded,

shocked at his own

physic-all-poetic-kinetic-energy.







Image of painting by Theo van Doesburg [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Minute drops

The first train blares its horn
ripping thru the quiet town
at five:eighteen
in lieu of the alarm clock
that ran slow-
it goes to show...

Kicking up dust and sand,
it may take some time
for the eyes to adjust
to light rays
lasering the pupil
shrinks as day
cracks the ceiling
wide open.

It smells distinctly like rain
that none saw coming
since there were no puddles
to prove it.

Tho the tracks
were both still
warm to the touch,
and the mist counts
as precipitation.

It adds up over time,
and passes the miles.
Blurring the light infinitesimal
strewn across space
in broad strokes.
Time keeps losing its place
on the train of thought,
while the whistle blows
such primitive perceptions
as these right
outside the window.

Crystal beads streak
backwards behind the ears
as memories
dew
condense and transport us
while wide awake
but a little late.


Painting by J. M. W. Turner, pre 1844 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Geocentric gluttony

The body is a satellite,
it probes the air around
taking in
bits and streams, intervals
in waves two miles per second
perpetually.

Its sensors are set
on hyper-sensitive,
it blinks and thinks
oft from aloft,
flashing reflections
for frozen photos
at shuddering speeds.

Collecting all inertial information,
which is then converted
upside-down
into mirror images larger
than they may seem.

Orbitally over and over obituary,
that last time around-
when all the light hits just right
for focusing fractally...

-Halo-

By and bye,
balance comes alone
as attitude control.

A hovering soul,
holding a body in space
that filter feeds on forces
consuming raw data
for a sensual feast
with a heavy tip
for the payload.



Image by NASA and originally uploaded to wikipedia by Reubenbarton [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

A taste of some summer

Stretched high
that unspeckled summer sky
in periwinkle blue, not new this
sea turtles neck nudges out in
summer sweater suits for bathing
out of doors,
forever and a day
to summers naked sway.

Coastline coconut and stewing seaweed;
this nereocystis inundates and permeates
in the roast of the midday sun and sea
crabs sidle along the tropic of Cancer.

In peach fuzz glee, the caterpillars
leglessly free and by happily hatched
plans, musts still wet
behind their neon wings.

Exuding beads of crystal saline
skin that shines, bronze and blonde
lemonade hair behind slathered screens
glistening with gold plates.

Every body mingles in the lazy
couldn't care air that is now
carrying charcoal, a rite sign of
summery incense and cannibal ecstasy.
Lust served raw and seasoned,
to whet craving appetites
savory a la summer mode.

Aflame we sear 

in ember days

while Venus blinks
the blues away.




Painting By Niels Frederik Schiøttz-Jensen,  (1855–1941) [Public domain], c. 1913via Wikimedia Commons.

Extremes

The sun peaks over
still with heavy lids.
On the other side,
the moon is full
of light-ness;
all the while,
Venus winks
at her valiant exposure
in longing along the same
celestial sphere,
wanting the words
to sync in solstice.



Photo credit: me (taken 6/20/16)

What goes up?

In response: it is unpredictable
Whose to say-
They know-
As though tempted to laugh aloud
in the face of morose climes, and
inhale all, indiscriminately.
Felt a scream well up,
savored its aftertaste like a wave
wash over.
Neutralized and
thought long about taking a trip
anywhere away without aim
now
the timing is never right.

What's wrong?
They say that's not like you-
And it is positively not attractive-
you couldn't agree more.
As a tiny and compliant
particle of the whole
that changes matters,
reactively
by the slightest exposure
to radiant negative energy
and bursts into nothing again.
You'll see,
it always works out in the end.







Image credit via Wikipedia, postcard series, The Dream of Flight.

Morning brew

The curtains tickle cool and
I get the impression crisply,
while I can, spots all separate,
the symphony tunes each section,
from deep purple set on dusty rose
to ashen greys settled on lazy lilac
unfolding the old periwinkle sheet
low-lit and pink pill speckled
as though white was never needed
in dawn's steeping sky
tweaking the tune of day
in the background.




Painting By Unknown artist – Artist [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.