Showing posts with label Free Verse. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Free Verse. Show all posts

Wednesday, June 17, 2020

Missing



Between worlds
a thousand years grind down
frictions of simple existence
the body wears out cities.
as I slither through walls,
through sunbeams of your closet,
all you see is the brass horn of my tail.

Sharp Hackles




With all coded hackles sharp,
   what tree addict's integral is cubic.

If I return to my ancestral home
   on Baldy Mountain,
Will the Tengu come to duel
   and give winged instruction?

I think of friends on this earth
   who hide from what can't be seen.
Mountains are places
   where beings come and go.


Saturday, December 15, 2018

Regret not what is Sacred



Is that speck in the sky you?
Come meet me by the shore,
We'll skate across the pond.
Hand in frozen hand,
over dark fish deep within.
I'll pull you round me, limb to limb.

The words I later wrote,
Words you sent back whole,
Hopes I prayed you’d not reject,
Cut the laughter of our blades,
And scars the black ice of my soul.

Tuesday, February 7, 2017

I feel the Earth




A buoyant youth stayed behind, laughing, praying.
Kit fox man with wings flickered, then blurred,
in his faded star fleet uniform, and brown sweater.
His image, an electronic illusion, goggle eyed,
a grinding bull with candyman fingers looming
onto wheels of yellow and indigo.
He took the atomic casino boss 
whose fractal mass bled blue and yellow
rings of oil into a starless night.
Existence spiraled, rubble crushed, reduced to nothing.
I laid by the wall feeling her heart, just inches from mine.

Wednesday, October 12, 2016

Redux for Nicole





The muse is his in minutes,
so the king faced a line, a bridge
and threw a thread,
a poem of rope, strong.
We pulled that thread along.

Getting ready to bless up
Sing of one love!
El of E, you and sea,
on D, eyes an' all
Muse I see all vibes.
ee oh, ee oh,
no good poor city jails.

Blues, unconditional music.
Positive goal minutes soaking
face past days past souls
a Reggae album so blessed oh . . .
an internally strong confident mountain.

A serendipitous foreshadow,
of love on the mountain.
Arrangements getting tighter
Raspberry heart vibrations,
Seen on the floor of the forest.

Tuesday, March 1, 2016

Phonetic Key to Love





I'm serious. She writes:
"Sculptures, I see you all, but your ease.
  I see your LP, your record,
  As a call to your sword."

"Or as sculptures I see, you're a tourist.
 Imagine that I'm a genie who's come."
 I see you M, or I see you N.
 I'll see you in six, see acts sexual.
 Thanks to you all!

Concrete, yes, I see on Crete, romance,
And her old man's Cretan understanding.
You and her stand under, you and her,
"Companion, do you see MP anyone?"

Giving jives are sinful, merciful.
What could please, what completes,
As I am Siamese, come see I'm a symbol,
An opportunity, to top your pint.

My Mother and my other,
Brother we are there.
Father, I have other Sisters as I stir
Investigating you, we are the gate.
You envy, observe my b's or v's
Enervated that we never ate.


Thursday, February 4, 2016

Delving




Delving into philosophical questions,
‘Did Paul guess? How?
What were his chances?
1/256 or 1/2^8, five or twelve, 
into numbers we’ll delve.

2 to the eighth,
now Schrödinger's cat.
Quantum Theory and all that,
How did a mollusk, forced into solace,
Understand the waveform collapse.

Particles of light, infinitesimal yet bright,
Paul not at all.
Suppose it was planned,
A soccer ball playing the field,
rigged by dreams.


Dark





This piece was a gift from your father.
It was lost during your tour of the galaxy,
and was stolen by that woman
you envied, yet whom you learned from.
You're just jelly in the sea,
you grew but stopped glowing.
Your body will be devoured,
or you will be in Orion
before I ring the bell.


Almeria



A solution came,
Watched by fire, I held my tongue.
What kind of pen is this?
Raisin Bran means Raven or Bran,
a clever boy plays a soldier’s tune

It’s a battle or a dream
This language given here
Come magical refrain, come on, come!
See Almeria, the bridge.
Soldier, you’re the trouble I needed to hear.




El Corazón de la Frambuesa




Mi amor,

Entender cómo., ni por qué,
valentines aparecen.
   en los pisos de los edificios
   o en el corazón de rubí, bayas.

Estas son señales solamente,
   sientes lo que estoy sintiendo.

Mirar hacia arriba, mira hacia abajo,
  en todas las direcciones
    encontrará pruebas,
    como si, 
de todos modos no creer.

Entienda esto
y que entiende
el universo que nos une
           nos guste,
           o no.

Te digo esto,
    no porque no sea así,
    pero porque.

Ellos son.
Nosotros somos.
Es.

Thursday, November 19, 2015

Call




this piece
gifted
was the one lost
on your tour of the galaxies
stolen by that woman
who envied you -
you're a bit of jelly in the sea
you glow but have stopped growing
yet you learn
your body will be devoured
or you will be in Orion
before I ring the bell


Will we Progress?





Will we make progress?
Raised by fire
since we were tiny beings,
we relax torn muscles,
then limp into darkness,
to be eaten.
Why won't three lifetimes
as mountain neighbors
call back our youth?
How could foolishness
reincarnate beauty?
Do something!
You'll understand,
and incarcerate everything.
Love is just delivery from time,
Join me there, at least.

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

Stuart Little





It jabs me, how
the milky swirl of the cosmos
put love where starlight cannot reach.
Believe it all, trust, don't question.

Students, of perfection
with immaculate hair,
feather fans, fluttering curls,
Take your time sport,
your car has scented envelopes
with surprises,
Letters you said
flew from across the stars.

You put on the lightweight suit
and pinstripe blouse.
for the special guest . . .

And I whispered
when you crossed the table.
Introduce yourself!

You rained into my eyes
as I sat at the edge of my saucer,
and drank tea.

I told you I'd return,
lifted you into my hands.
I lied, carried on.
You pressed a wafer
into creases of my palm.
I left it at your feet
alongside a bag of letters.

Friday, November 6, 2015

Glossy Black



The mad engineer steps aside,
He baits a hook with one of her pearls.
Take note, a photonic illusion
as perfect as a lake in fog.

Missives from dark water
fishes, serpents, eels,
dance across the floor of our house,
They pivot and twist when they are cut.
Each deserves the right, somewhat, to decide its own death.

At some point much will be divulged.
All will be shown.
Only what has been shared
may be saved.

Miriam Dactyls met Sondre Destre,
I read her a rich psalm, thrice to remove
every troll and trill.

If Logos has gone, then Madness shall write its own record.
"The Liberty of Fools."

I doubt we'll see it,
September came and passed and then made time
for the beginning of a new reign. So be it.
Tigers are in the bush,
So are cobras, glossy black.





Thursday, November 5, 2015

Ode



Some quantity got exceeded,
Mathematicians make sense of it.

After a long time passes
we'll take much to ease our fears,
rattling within us,
when we sail to that foreign land.

Some illness took root,
in a group of us
now so powerful
they make the mistakes
that bring a new demise.

Walt Whitman did you cry?
I'm lost now.
Thomas Jefferson wrote
by light of oil from heads of whales
yet a slave brought him tea.
That which is self-evident, may outlast tyranny
yes, even if those that see it are dead.

No warriors, only terror
the new world, then as now
belongs to a few.

All those papers?
Dust in a mausoleum.

Our peace was illusory,
our monster worse than George
who had a head, two hands, two feet
and a wooden navy.

This black slug
mimics a branch.
A tiny head of bright red
makes you reach for it.
It watches everything you do
and makes you a slave.

The fall will come,
maybe not this life, maybe not the next.
Such orders falter more quickly than most.

They lash out, vulnerable.
Peaceful kingdoms have no history.
No architecture
marble palaces or concrete bunkers

The peaceful heart beats
in a home of mud and sticks.

Tuesday, October 20, 2015

Passport



Poetry is just scribbles,
in a mass of words,

Hairs lodged in the throat,
undigested fragments,
that beg to be transcribed.

Lift into light
take off the cloak!

Heavy wool, remove the thick layers,
naked white shoots pushing up.
Whoever thought life existed beneath
     all those rotten leaves?

I keep waiting, for the shakedown
When everything will unravel,
     and become less complicated.

In the center of all, huge bites are taken out,
The body is injured.

Holes in the fabric of time,



Principles



a rush . . .
as if all that was tall straight and stable
were now bending.

twinkling
a sleepy amazement
about all that men built

from the window of a late cab
speeding home
I no longer care enough
of what will or can or might happen.

the tide of events
spins irreverent, a sacrilege
toward a private ending.
my own?
how lonely that would seem.
.
my children are my children,
the die is cast
they need me or not at all
at times my wife is a person I cannot talk to

before her I was unfocused
I had principles I was naive to
in love with strangers
eyes to the heavens.
now I focus on the earth ahead.

yet know I lie buried somewhere
gnawing to find purpose
the source of my drive
what is it?
it wakes each cursed day
setting me on a journey
through a disconnected world
listening to a story I cannot hear.


Humbleness


My son’s clear honest eye 
sees to the heart of me
I am humbled

My daughter’s feet climb my legs and chest
I am humbled

We are all made humble
By our less humble nature

But as nature humbles us
We rebel against humbleness
We strive to be
something else.

Humbled
By my un-humble nature
So my nature
Rails against my humbleness

Were I less humble
I might lift my head
And drop my pride.

How that humbleness burns!

Tuesday, September 8, 2015

Are Raw Words Obsessive?





I

Perform for me this tea art.
Sweet Daughter when you and I are together, we'll live.
So let’s walk.

I am for tantra, fiery pictures above dust,
in a full glorious rainbow.
How many will never understand beauty.
Men gripe, offer unity,
Driven until you're caught, some bird.

Black peace could give us language.
My aesthetics you use, until she stills green passion.
Glass bodies in communication seek Music.

You trust your electric model,
never together under passion.
A traitor with a whipped tongue feels free.
I like this freedom, I believe in the drunk!

The animal I need makes my empty Death.
Clean sex and an electric picture . . .
Models grant no denial. Respect.
Could the old gal win at dice?


II

I see sculptures, manic sculptures after praise.
Only symbols, they are laughter.
When in such a worry, you and I.
Good character destroys what won’t give us night.

Grand Sir, first know. Let her draw her companion’s will.
Here howls a beautiful language.

The Mare above him was caught,
must know laughter, and be all danced.
Suffer to investigate a thought,
Life flies after us, set in a black limpid experiment.

See the two partners,
somehow forget if silhouettes capture a mad thought.
Improved though blue, please may you comfort us.
Praise only simple morphine to scale. Conserve it!
It’s an awful hidden and daunting reserve.

Life knows patience in heaven, as silence.
Free my esteemed fellow. Sleep!
My mate is innocent, how will you go and decide upon her silence?
I’m for tantric teaching.
Bed her to discover animal music.


III


Let's test our will.

Call me.

Model my hard question, through music.
We spoke of her money jungle.
Then she went crazy, have patience, . . . so choose.
Fly with a glass stranger.
Tropical, can we tell about glorious endeavors?

This impulse is soft, and looking spotted,
and that studio experiment in passion,
Brother, all around you sculpts an Angel.
Fill a glorious missive. Anger would have faith.
Share his joy. It will glitter.


IV

Our water is the bed, through my ear she goes.

Could we know blue?

Elves balance, cuddle with color.
I try to empower kids. Fly to me,
“I weld men. Follow behind me.”

She and Zeus chant face to body.
Shimmer about the rain, about the grand river.


Celestum II



What do I hear
when I hear voices?

Are they mine or yours or someone else’s
shells, ghosts, cast off homes,
or mistakes of language?

All the things that were never said or done.

What a pleasure to watch the wind
Catch a fold of the curtain then lift it,
and send a curl running across its breadth.
A crab across a rock before a wave?

A seething mind boils, then cools
Every idea an explosion, sending a thousand sparks showering
Thick crust cracked and bleeding molten rock
Late in the day sky and coral turn the green of limes.

Melts and so moves downwards
Through fire
Purifying itself
Thus reaches heaven

Under attack
Assume the female form.
Prepare to give birth.


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