dark in day
1.
grey skies through painted windows
timeless darkness seen as memory.
the smell is given by light.
nascence of childhood refurbished
momentarily accessed through an accident
of pure lack of light.
a tremulous backstep slips through the mirror
like a refractory silent carnival ride.
quiet of a sprinkled sidewalk
where the best way to avoid the drops
is to watch them deface a pane of glass.
same light of scant electricity daytime
can’t make it out but can’t quite get in.
collapsed in fascination
at the brightness revealed
by the dimming sky
2.
constant interrupted sleep
waits for mispronounced sustenance
delivered by mo-ped
on a rainy stoop
next to spent miracles
& misbegotten romance.
slave labor of disused umbrellas
a pageant before stuttery eyes.
no second side
could be given through jazz bassoon
concordance filled with stumbling laughter.
no walk home need be made.
a tent pitched between floors
suffices to attain a smoke ring sporadic disposition
based on light & chill & unspoken cures.
3.
smells luscious
smells dead
everyone is so near
hunched over
flavor protector
preserved shallow nerves
orchestra turned honeycomb
stirs through revolutions
the same viscosity as protein
dinner music that is not me
the blended rasp
of symbolic portions
flames translated to english
as letters
placated brown rimmed hat
crown translated to flames
even more exotic
i haven’t dared ask you
what is in what
you’ve been stirring
it’s very simple
mixed with rattles & slams
out the window
on a single hotplate burner
it’s very simple
i think you’ve heard of them
4.
four & twenty blackbirds
bask in troubled paraffin places
the only reason i came here
was to cut out the palaces
without batting an eyelash
a smile & a wink
of last night’s daybreak curtsies
special functionaries barter over the curtain speech.
dress rehearsal flag.
apology-quiet descent.
a lot of text to invent.
praiseworthy demonstration of matter.
the skipped thick consternation
i’m so sick of it.
the wind’s secret metronome.
heartslick idiot
the silence can be like a snare.
this wasn’t the name emblazoned on worth.
fortunate collapse left me to a hidden pace
crescent salvation of eggshells
same as the next walk
to the threadbare doorway.
Showing posts with label cruel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cruel. Show all posts
Thursday, April 23, 2009
the tree
the tree: a poem by ezra pound
I stood still and was a tree amid the wood,
Knowing the truth of things unseen before;
Of Daphne and the laurel bow
And that god-feasting couple old
that grew elm-oak amid the wold.
'Twas not until the gods had been
Kindly entreated, and been brought within
Unto the hearth of their heart's home
That they might do this wonder thing;
Nathless I have been a tree amid the wood
And many a new thing understood
That was rank folly to my head before.
I stood still and was a tree amid the wood,
Knowing the truth of things unseen before;
Of Daphne and the laurel bow
And that god-feasting couple old
that grew elm-oak amid the wold.
'Twas not until the gods had been
Kindly entreated, and been brought within
Unto the hearth of their heart's home
That they might do this wonder thing;
Nathless I have been a tree amid the wood
And many a new thing understood
That was rank folly to my head before.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
the cloudcover is replete with blazes
hear a poem i wrote: the cloudcover is replete with blazes
Bowling Green, Kentucky is eaten up by a hapless drawl
Denny's & Dine or Don't
neon shamans to flighty coffee rings
dirty collars and lipstick rims
mangle reflected faces
the great smoky mountains mock snow and conifers in late march sunlight
wide-jawed peasants spit tobacco bits from their lips
stare vacantly at overturned tractor trailers and mumble bible verses
washtub trained prayers
behind-the-ears mantras
idle hands search for the devil's playmate
mold red clay into mississippi bricks
the ohio river swells kentucky road signs
and terrorizes southern indiana tank commanders
the smell of cabbage and blue lights
left as Magda's breadcrumbs
the waffle house glow hounds Shiva from the back seat
to sniff the 7-11 dumpster
hot nevada night sprinklers ricochet from every brick wall
the Hoover Dam is lit from below
a playplace for dry tours and Arizona
Kingman is too far to justify not stopping
to fuck in the passenger seat on two laytex strewn lookouts
framed by rock, steel highway barriers and clear skies
down below is either nothing
or your mother's birthplace
it cant be water
the only business in chamberlain maine is bedded down in july
with no breakfast in sight
the postmaster/mayor Dana steers up the driveway in his late 80's buick
welcoming low tide and lobster pots
a pair of 1930's Schwinns from Southampton insure a lunchdate
with grandpa
and dessert in the grass by Pemaquid Lighthouse
Dolan Springs is keen on August
school
is the largest building in town
church
is a mobile home
chipped plowshares lean against corrugated siding on town hall
the tavern is dusty stucco fronted by a steel coca cola sign
that would have been shipped out as a saucer sled in another town
i'm terrified of huge dogs, lumberyards, snow shovels and drowning
take three aspirin, flip a coin
and hang on the left turn
Bowling Green, Kentucky is eaten up by a hapless drawl
Denny's & Dine or Don't
neon shamans to flighty coffee rings
dirty collars and lipstick rims
mangle reflected faces
the great smoky mountains mock snow and conifers in late march sunlight
wide-jawed peasants spit tobacco bits from their lips
stare vacantly at overturned tractor trailers and mumble bible verses
washtub trained prayers
behind-the-ears mantras
idle hands search for the devil's playmate
mold red clay into mississippi bricks
the ohio river swells kentucky road signs
and terrorizes southern indiana tank commanders
the smell of cabbage and blue lights
left as Magda's breadcrumbs
the waffle house glow hounds Shiva from the back seat
to sniff the 7-11 dumpster
hot nevada night sprinklers ricochet from every brick wall
the Hoover Dam is lit from below
a playplace for dry tours and Arizona
Kingman is too far to justify not stopping
to fuck in the passenger seat on two laytex strewn lookouts
framed by rock, steel highway barriers and clear skies
down below is either nothing
or your mother's birthplace
it cant be water
the only business in chamberlain maine is bedded down in july
with no breakfast in sight
the postmaster/mayor Dana steers up the driveway in his late 80's buick
welcoming low tide and lobster pots
a pair of 1930's Schwinns from Southampton insure a lunchdate
with grandpa
and dessert in the grass by Pemaquid Lighthouse
Dolan Springs is keen on August
school
is the largest building in town
church
is a mobile home
chipped plowshares lean against corrugated siding on town hall
the tavern is dusty stucco fronted by a steel coca cola sign
that would have been shipped out as a saucer sled in another town
i'm terrified of huge dogs, lumberyards, snow shovels and drowning
take three aspirin, flip a coin
and hang on the left turn
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
night light
hear a poem i wrote many years ago: night light
1. up all night staring at the walls and the animals in the cracks on the ceiling by
the night light the animals talk to you and tell you stories and preside over your
dreams like a black robed menagerie hinting away nightmares letting you
dream of fun and interesting adventures with them or in airplanes in dogfights or civil war heroism or newfound reenactments of events past in this life the way things could/should have been-- fun- happy et cetera
2. looking through the new sears catalog picking out the coolest biggest toys you
know you'll never get for christmas hoping for something half that neat always
wondering about the people who really had that car bed or the cool g.i. joe tent
that hid their sleeping bag in the den and the eight foot plastic aircraft carrier
had room for more than twice the toys you had but made it more interesting with a skeleton crew maybe ghost ship like the latenight movie of the abandoned oil vessel that killed passengers and captain
3. walkie talkie listening in on latenight conversations not too nearby making up a name for yourself trying to make friends and figure out all the necessary lingo-
break one four break one four- a night cry for friendship and attention heard
through the cotton fields and down the nearby interstate each night
4. sometimes playing in the dark it's even night in the world of these toy soldiers as airplanes flew overhead out the window planes did the same over your bed night raids and rescue missions of your own liking mostly making peace with warring factions or betrayal for the betterment of this mock society in the end M.A.D. wasn't sure just a permanently momentary peace to pass another night
5. boasts and fears on a bestfriend's floor in a sleeping bag considering next
morning's soccer game or hike and possible strategy in woodland wargames
guns kept handy in case of intruders or parents or brothers invading the safety
of night light
6. bestfriend's little sister wants you to read her bedtime story not him and there is a fight over it that you win as he stomps off and you convince him later in the trundle bed that it's not that big a deal and hell he does it all the time and plus he can use the cool jet tomorrow after school and you plan the next battle no one will win and fall to sleep (losing another battle) smiling
1. up all night staring at the walls and the animals in the cracks on the ceiling by
the night light the animals talk to you and tell you stories and preside over your
dreams like a black robed menagerie hinting away nightmares letting you
dream of fun and interesting adventures with them or in airplanes in dogfights or civil war heroism or newfound reenactments of events past in this life the way things could/should have been-- fun- happy et cetera
2. looking through the new sears catalog picking out the coolest biggest toys you
know you'll never get for christmas hoping for something half that neat always
wondering about the people who really had that car bed or the cool g.i. joe tent
that hid their sleeping bag in the den and the eight foot plastic aircraft carrier
had room for more than twice the toys you had but made it more interesting with a skeleton crew maybe ghost ship like the latenight movie of the abandoned oil vessel that killed passengers and captain
3. walkie talkie listening in on latenight conversations not too nearby making up a name for yourself trying to make friends and figure out all the necessary lingo-
break one four break one four- a night cry for friendship and attention heard
through the cotton fields and down the nearby interstate each night
4. sometimes playing in the dark it's even night in the world of these toy soldiers as airplanes flew overhead out the window planes did the same over your bed night raids and rescue missions of your own liking mostly making peace with warring factions or betrayal for the betterment of this mock society in the end M.A.D. wasn't sure just a permanently momentary peace to pass another night
5. boasts and fears on a bestfriend's floor in a sleeping bag considering next
morning's soccer game or hike and possible strategy in woodland wargames
guns kept handy in case of intruders or parents or brothers invading the safety
of night light
6. bestfriend's little sister wants you to read her bedtime story not him and there is a fight over it that you win as he stomps off and you convince him later in the trundle bed that it's not that big a deal and hell he does it all the time and plus he can use the cool jet tomorrow after school and you plan the next battle no one will win and fall to sleep (losing another battle) smiling
johann gutenberg
hear a poem that came from dictionary entries & encyclopedias: johann gutenberg
even honorarily, by a synthesis of the
facts in the case of one john or johann
gutenberg, his mother’s name. he was
born between 1398 & 1410. having endured
a lengthy gestation, he lived til 1468.
there was no america then. nothing like
a new world was yet found.
johann gutenberg invented movable type.
movable type: letters that are movable,
positionable, re-usable. a revolution
in printing, the dissemination of infor
mation. knowledge. in 1455 gutenberg’s
large fol io bible was completed. several
other indulgences were printed in the interim.
notably indulgence number three of 1454.
his fortune ran genrally monetarily unlu
cky and crackpotickally inventive. he w
as convincing enough to get a number of
his ventures funded. johann gutenberg
hailed from mainz, near frankfurt, germa
ny. books were handwritten things. the
slow study of strokes encircling meaning.
johann gutenberg owed johann faust gold.
johann gutenberg, thought to be the inve
ntor of movable type. separate pieces of
type provide re-usability. flexibility.
speed, the ability to think faster. a
fashion of quicker forward movement who
johann hadnt dreamed he’d be serving.
in 1465 a noble or another handed johann
a hat with so big a feather it meant he
got paid for wearing it. so, johann had
a position for the final three years of
his life. furnished some comfort for the
things he’d once done to the benefit of
those following, the ones to come. good
thing johann gutenberg believed in magick.
johann’s movable type faces up to facility
in printing. rapidity in production and
distribution. evident progress in page-
filling & all manner of voluminous garble
readily splattered virgin sheets of vell
um fresh. it’s not even a fantasy-advent
ure story or an ecclestiasickal mystery.
crackpot means genius duly unrealized. a
sure sign of truth in progress, leave the
guy what thought u p something nice to a
mere three years of feathered hat import.
johann gutenberg invented movable type.
...
even honorarily, by a synthesis of the
facts in the case of one john or johann
gutenberg, his mother’s name. he was
born between 1398 & 1410. having endured
a lengthy gestation, he lived til 1468.
there was no america then. nothing like
a new world was yet found.
johann gutenberg invented movable type.
movable type: letters that are movable,
positionable, re-usable. a revolution
in printing, the dissemination of infor
mation. knowledge. in 1455 gutenberg’s
large fol io bible was completed. several
other indulgences were printed in the interim.
notably indulgence number three of 1454.
his fortune ran genrally monetarily unlu
cky and crackpotickally inventive. he w
as convincing enough to get a number of
his ventures funded. johann gutenberg
hailed from mainz, near frankfurt, germa
ny. books were handwritten things. the
slow study of strokes encircling meaning.
johann gutenberg owed johann faust gold.
johann gutenberg, thought to be the inve
ntor of movable type. separate pieces of
type provide re-usability. flexibility.
speed, the ability to think faster. a
fashion of quicker forward movement who
johann hadnt dreamed he’d be serving.
in 1465 a noble or another handed johann
a hat with so big a feather it meant he
got paid for wearing it. so, johann had
a position for the final three years of
his life. furnished some comfort for the
things he’d once done to the benefit of
those following, the ones to come. good
thing johann gutenberg believed in magick.
johann’s movable type faces up to facility
in printing. rapidity in production and
distribution. evident progress in page-
filling & all manner of voluminous garble
readily splattered virgin sheets of vell
um fresh. it’s not even a fantasy-advent
ure story or an ecclestiasickal mystery.
crackpot means genius duly unrealized. a
sure sign of truth in progress, leave the
guy what thought u p something nice to a
mere three years of feathered hat import.
johann gutenberg invented movable type.
...
Friday, April 3, 2009
april is the cruelest month
i hear it's nat'l poetry month. i have a bad attitude about poetry. i write poetry. i disdain poetry. i love poetry. i hate poetry. i eat poetry. i shit poetry. i put poetry in the catbox. i stuff cushions with poetry. i especially dislike poetry about poetry. egads!... but we do know aprylle is the kruelleste munth... ah and respond we must.
my response is to record you, the listener, a poem each day of this month. and post it suchly hereat.
to start, something i have not recorded in the month of april. but it is the most recent mp3 made. the thing i have recorded in the month of april, well, it's longer and incomplete as yet. perhaps, tonight.
letters from woodrow
my response is to record you, the listener, a poem each day of this month. and post it suchly hereat.
to start, something i have not recorded in the month of april. but it is the most recent mp3 made. the thing i have recorded in the month of april, well, it's longer and incomplete as yet. perhaps, tonight.
letters from woodrow
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