San Juan Poets

That movie about the artists

2012-01-01T12:13:00.000-08:00

Oh to live in the land of canvass and brush strokes
Terra cotta shades and smooth clay figures
Crusty bread and melon on the oak wood table
A slight breeze adding tree branch chatter
To the gentle patio conversation.

There’s a brilliant clarity to the scene
It reminds you of a dream that felt like home
A touch of humidity to spice the mood
Wood smoke merging with cumulus sunset skies
Twisting curlicue designs create the forgotten pattern
Of the time you saw it for the first time.

Oh to live in the land of swirling oil paint
Emotion tracing its transient forms
Bringing the sadness and the joy
Into an exemplary focus
Sneaking into hidden corners
Opening the dusty attic autumn light
Brushing final strokes from the comfort of the courtyard.

There’s an undeniable satisfaction
Even when sharing in solitary
Moving from the image that caught your eye
To its bundled trace in memory’s knapsack
To the scratch and slash and feathered brush
Of color, line, and Dylan’s Arabian drum
Paint spattered on your tee-shirt, on your jeans
You carry the creativity with you
Like a badge, like the fossil record.

Oh to live in that movie about the artists
Even their sadness seems purposefully heroic
Uniting inner isolation with the material world
Even their kitchen table is fascinating
And the pastel walls frame breakfast gracefully
All objects seem designed to inspire
To walk the halls is to dance in beauty
A coat rack is today’s poem
Light splashing the bedroom wall tomorrow’s painting.

Live then, and claim that realm
Find your own director’s chair
I’m cautiously calling for “action” myself
Always surprised when something happens as a result
Sometimes afraid
Sometimes sad
Often grateful
Welcoming the discovery
Of this new life
Godard’s wish for the movie
We secretly wanted to live.

Compromise

2011-11-28T14:44:00.000-08:00

Compromise: A bloody ornament that many have trouble with hanging on their motionless irritated trees, trunks engorged with something that is longing, their wish of being worthwhile.

Indian Sunset

2011-11-28T14:40:00.000-08:00

Two undone ships passing in the night

Beautiful new creatures carrying on among the mists in the fading Indian Sunset.

#2246 20110924

2011-10-01T18:48:00.000-07:00

Sagging bulbous
    soft green fig
So ripe that it proves
    gravity is more
    than a theory
barely hanging by its failing stem
Sweetness filling the air;
Harvest.

Naked rutH

2011-09-27T10:50:00.000-07:00

Deeper Earth

2011-08-31T06:30:00.000-07:00

Fourteen miles off road, due West,
the horizon bleeds an oil slick
that stretches out for miles like a song
that you can't quite chase from your brain
where your feet melt like glass through your boot soles
and fallen men beg for water or death-

In that dense gnawed up bit of sand
too dry to recall rain,
you left behind a single bit of silver that wormed
loose from your dusty pocket
a narrow hole that your hand had worked
in search of matches and a lone cigarette-

You've come to love twilight
in her cool, dark robes
that pour to the ground like your sorrow
for a mother that never needed and
father that never loved or even remotely understood
a colt-legged boy who'd find his own way-

Across the wind warped territory, in the small space
between here and there
you've dragged your fingers through deeper earth
a resting place, a womb for bleached bones
the low restless hum that never was,
that never existed anywhere but in your skull-

Miles and years from here, like age
that cuts the corner of your eyes to slits
makes no promises to those without spines
bites like lead scathes the flesh
is a face that no tree will shade or hand hold down
that no looming ghost dare cross-

The Ross & Dalby Show

2011-08-29T14:54:00.001-07:00

2011-08-17T09:23:00.001-07:00

#2233 20110806

2011-08-10T21:07:00.000-07:00

Hearing laughter and
light happy conversation
Joyous free movements
Breaking the morning stillness
in the town center
The smells of croissants,
bubbling mash
in the local brewery and
coffee roasting
Alternate
as I pass through the well tended landscape
On a sunny day.
Reflecting on
Healthy tax paying citizens
As a priority.
The value of achieving:
fewer major illnesses
and hospital and emergency room visits
less obesity, malnutrition,
homelessness, violence,
more sustainable wage jobs,
better education,
and a healthier environment.
We can develop a sense of harmony and well-being;
Voting for Gross National Happiness is not magic.

#2230 20110730

2011-07-31T13:25:00.000-07:00

Sinking toes into the
    submerged sand
    along the shore's edge
sculpins skittering
    close by -- tadpole wiggles --
mingling with the seaweed and eelgrass
drifting in and out
faint rainshower sounds
    riding on the waves
dense salty air
    softly blowing in from The Sound
Paw and foot prints
    claiming the space
    revealed by the tide
steaming from the
    full force of the sun
Parents searching
    and filling buckets --
    forgetting their kids briefly;
Summer dream.

#2223 20110711

2011-07-11T21:39:00.000-07:00

Shimmering
Hammered nickle
Oblong spotlight with
Unbroken waves
Running its length
Towards us
Beckoning us forward
Landing lights
into the sea
The moon
Over the Olympics;
Quiet.

THROUGH THE GLASS DARKLY

2011-06-24T18:00:00.000-07:00

Outside my window
Where the flowers meet the glass
A tiny bird lives out its life
Oblivious to the farce

FROM: BOOK OF EARNEST TEARS/TIMELESS JAZZ/CALLING THE DREAMS BLUFF/GHOST LOVE/REVIVAL THROBBING

2011-06-24T10:33:00.000-07:00

( fully discipline your mind and body or shut the hell up) and let your words be your actions.

212.

Desolate heritage
They are trying to steal my light
And I let them too easily
What is grace if you cannot share it
My despair is gone after a worthy howl
Ran into a brother to camp upon a desolate heritage
Foraging for a spiritual discipline
Stompin down those walls of iniquity
Evil is forcing me to be righteous

I’ve been livin life searchin for a break from reality but I’ve found one
Specially wit dis ego personal consciousness the only thing close is a stupid distraction
Even my song is a subconscious outlet of the mania everyone seems to be a victim to
The appearance of composure but raging on the inside
To be empty for a while makes the next wave of fullness exceedingly great
But things syncopate my lord and we are all phony’s
If I call you out I must call myself out at the same time
A curse of a materialistic independence in the land of the spoiled spiteful belittleful majority
Prisoners to a science man made
Jesus descended first before he rose and someone stole his robe walked around preaching a false doctrine
I want to leave anger behind but I can’t cause I am a human besides I am on my second death which makes me pace and experience all I can in this lifespan
You’ll miss me
I am bombarded with a situation no one can do shit about
I have gaps of a break from reality the ignorant have became wise in that case
How can anyone face a reality that leads to…
The world is broken but I cannot blame it for breaking me
I know nothing but it and cannot even flee it in a space shuttle let alone dream
If I was never taught language would I still have this consciousness that thought is disturbing
Cause I had no choice and if I had one I could’ve avoided…
Even when I act not to care it is false and my plea is out of a low ranking suffering/desperation
I have seen the lowest of the low and the highest heights and neither are full or lacking I guess all are deserving according to some scale that everything at some point when it all resets gets be god
First and last no longer applies
I know its nobodies fault but mines
But I easily forget that some have conquered themselves but died alone failing to…
Even christs miracles couldn’t
I will call you out till you strike me down less we be the offspring of a fallen angel and pretend to be of god
Cause even the devout cast out sell out
When did your cloud stop hovering over us
But yesterday a brother reminded me how you pop in
Which is good cause at first you paid too much attention and they either depended on you or mocked you I forgot patience in perseverance
Maybe my longing is older than I know
It always makes sense but during the lesson you slowly recognized that you first started out saying this is impossible until you start crafting
And time I thought it existed until I ignored it
How can you not want us to be a part of the world of flesh you created!
All we are left to believe in something happening that has never happened
Do away with
Do away with
Do away with
Did you the creation of this and us leave us or became
I know you will answer me with an action rather than a word maybe a dream or an acquaintance
Some of their eyes take a hold of me and I think god has took over them to talk to me
Or bob said I am not ready for purification
I stopped praying and only give thanks
We have been in a drought of actual signs
Marveled by devils dressed in light
We would follow a torch into a trap cause you have cut us off and the last covenant was of a love I cannot find
Am I your host or do I just have an imagination
Become straightforward with us or you will lose us
You listened to moses to spare a few
Or does the brew I drink matter
Is this christs new creation/consciousness or a diversion of the devil
If we started out on a journey and did not know what was before us not knowing where we are walking to and all over clues are foreign and perfectly contradictory and even the tour guide goes off path
So who are we following
So I decided to stand still and wait for death or a spirit that knows the way in a tongue of not of man or of fallen angel
I can already predict/visualize the stupid shit I’ll go through already
So why would i live through it well it is better than inexistence
When was the last time you manifested a creation other than a writing or a song dissipated by interpretation
Have you had a union/understanding that lasts always
I seek perfection and I hate it at the same time
In that way in any body can be god cause you never have to say the truth
You want me to play a song I know not yet of it would be premature
It would not fully convert their breed
You hold off your wrath cuz you obtain so much mercy
Us liars always give ourselves away
But I am here to admit the disappointment in this self that is selfish unless I have enough evil in my pocket to waste they take me into their place in my diluted grace and i have become their disease so I can see better
I think the letter I should be abolished from society and also the alpha-bet
Their god is their own belly and their brains are someone elses
If everybody could be the way they want to be they would but can’t
Who can take their scriptures literal in this modern mad world
I did not view my own birth so how can I believe
I was not their for year one a.d nor b.c so how can I believe its 2011
I’ve been lied to my whole life so…
I believe there is a reason and a sinner can be a vessel for anothers righteous works
So I give thanks for this stressful knowledge
If man created this archetype
I know the creator is the author of a greater surprise
The living have never been dead and jesus could be fertilizer for a
A harvest that will come from enough blood
How can reproductions be original and not produce something that is not already prophesied
Strike me strike me or let me listen to people who are phony liars my whole life
Is that your method of increasing belief….
You gone reap just what you sow
Do you know we have moved 60 degrees since you’ve left

FROM: BOOK OF EARNEST TEARS/TIMELESS JAZZ/CALLING THE DREAMS BLUFF/GHOST LOVE/REVIVAL THROBBING

2011-06-24T10:32:00.000-07:00

214.

Extraction from the sun by a flower
It would take four awakenings
I like my horses riding backwards while still projectiling
A dead beaver washed ashore from where I play my horn and the vultures swoon it was too true a rhyme to be contrived
A syndrome undeveloped a source for a medium we obtain knowledge and information for that purpose and others pollen others damming what do we actually give to the planet of the unknown creator of that which is of a cause of time before but then I dissect the word be fore fore be but I’ll go forward I’ll grow and stick to a covenant of my own written on my heart be.stow stow away this is the last call of summer true in the fall and winter my song will match that season I love the possibility of a new earth where people put aside their ego’s for a greater good but I mourn while I am here and any reason for prayer is soft under the illusion of seperation a denial of a holy proposal I want to be connected/corrected yet have the ability to eventually manifest something pure out of myself these choices I have made describe how one prescribes yet does not take their own advice off the wine everything could be untrue and nonsense hah yeah right they notice the pulse and gravitate towards foregoing language through a means straight to the sense/scene/shade if it be’s that kind of day where the constellations planned a random ventriloquist festival some leave and go on back to that captive mask/math but some carry it on till the whole has their water down to enough rations to say we’re all fucked from here on out might as well… maybe I spend so much conscious time in the, of the, on the illusion that even my dreams are full of their type of realities that distraction that inability to be a unconscious bird with a new song every day eating insects four days a week
What was gave to me
Ended up taking a lot out of me
In a good way

Empty yourself out and make way for the next tide
Arriving at any time

FROM: BOOK OF EARNEST TEARS/TIMELESS JAZZ/CALLING THE DREAMS BLUFF/GHOST LOVE/REVIVAL THROBBING

2011-06-24T10:31:00.000-07:00

216.

So we arrive to the four galore like one more than three but the next key forming to hit the highest or croak trying come let us tell of our cloaks and make an oath to be a silent movement the light which whence they do not know where… comes from this is not a time to lose yourself awake stay awake as…the…re-turns reverse rotation come to my… hands. V. .w memories wiped clean right after the… experience

FROM: BOOK OF EARNEST TEARS/TIMELESS JAZZ/CALLING THE DREAMS BLUFF/GHOST LOVE/REVIVAL THROBBING

2011-06-24T10:28:00.000-07:00

217.

You can tell the sun it’s a sun
And that I know of larger
Far far away where I’m coming from

FROM: BOOK OF EARNEST TEARS/TIMELESS JAZZ/CALLING THE DREAMS BLUFF/GHOST LOVE/REVIVAL THROBBING

2011-06-24T10:27:00.000-07:00

218.
Every planet eventually drifts into the sun
Whatever a sun is
All we can do is believe in something we’ve never seen
But belief is strong
Life becomes exterminated briefly in a long dream
The memory of your life-body moves on
Hopefully to a better dream transition

How big was the raindrop
When it first began dropping

The starting point of the note is ineffable
It almost comes out of silent vibration

I am awaiting an invisible stranger to become visible
Could be a materialized projection; maybe my life is
A pre-recorded series of events and gravity stops
Me during those moments of déjà vu

Who and what and where and whom will be there
When I wake up to the dream being over
Whatever that is
I believe in efficient creation.

FROM: BOOK OF EARNEST TEARS/TIMELESS JAZZ/CALLING THE DREAMS BLUFF/GHOST LOVE/REVIVAL THROBBING

2011-06-24T10:25:00.001-07:00

219.

Grassroots needs to be monopolized
All for the common universal issue
No longer exchanging in…

I READ THE NEWS TODAY

2011-06-19T23:52:00.000-07:00

I read the news today
Oh! Boy

About a man who set his
Dog on Fire

DANCING IN MY ROOM

2011-06-19T03:49:00.000-07:00

I want to dance alone in my room
Adorned in my swan costume

I'll have to follow footprints on the ground
A sort of merriment by diagram

I want to dance for hours and hours

It's too late for fruit
Too soon for flowers

MY HAPPY GERANIUM

2011-06-19T03:41:00.001-07:00

I'm into Nirvana
While my fathful companion
My house geranium
Sitting quietly
Meditating
Breathing in and out
Prefers Sinatra
Other than this
It's domestic bliss

Mowing Window

2011-06-15T22:19:00.000-07:00

In between the rains today,

I had to mow the meadow moist

and choked the blades some fourteen times

with grass and clover as thick as cheese.

And when I clawed the terminating turf

free of the discharge port

and carried the double handful,

steaming to the mulch pile,

the juices ran between my fingers

like hot, green wine.

And now my soggy knees, my curses

and my misery are all beside the point;

that nothing in my universe smells

anywhere as good

as moist, mown meadow.

San Juan Poets Anthology on Its Way to Becoming

2011-06-15T21:52:00.000-07:00

We are currently putting together an anthology of poetry from the blog, which will be published as a (hard copy) book. We will be gathering the poems this week, so if you have any new work you would like to be included, get it out there this week!

Thanks to everyone who has participated over the years! It should be fun seeing it all together in a chap book!

#2212 20110602

2011-06-04T11:00:00.000-07:00

Lingering
    emotional impression
An inverse of the trails
    left by a flashlight
    in the night
Fill out the story.
A songs' bass line.
Knowing
    that this is
    always there but
    not always fully
    aware of it;
Echo.

Tower

2011-05-24T08:08:00.001-07:00

Let them build.
The people
Whose hands searched
Endlessly.
Twining within
The myriad of
Trembling fingers
The weight of stone.
Stacked,
Smoothed,
Shined,
Repeated.
Like this,
It could never topple.
It erected itself,
Days upon days of hands
Connecting stone with its brother,
Becoming automatic
Even in sleep,
Until each breath
Was a wall built,
Steadied,
Risen.
The days,
Were counted by the cracks formed.
Years,
Measured in its height.
Inch by inch,
A decade drew near
And then another.
Before long,
Each foot became
Its own century.
Another section,
Another history,
Another life.

Soon
The tower,
Born by the strain
Of dreaming bodies,
Entangled in the
Weathered vines of time,
Relinquished
The ownership of the world.
And became its own
Life,
Its own death,
Its own sun and sea.

It dreamt of heaven
As the slumber of
Mineral bodies
Near an endless,
Luminous world.
Starlight
Reached;
Washing clean
The fingerprints
Of sculptors,
Slaves,
Teachers,
Students.
It held no memory
Save that of the sky.

Densities 562

2011-04-25T09:51:00.000-07:00

I'm okay
but I'm not okay about being okay
you know?
you know what I know I know it
like an invisible government
like a public mind
distracted family members
caught in tableaux
vivants and back again
feet in cement
just one more piece of scandal
exposed

Densities 477

2011-03-10T15:41:00.000-08:00

as soon as I quit
playing the game
I felt free
marginalized
uncreated

Densities 465

2011-03-07T21:28:00.001-08:00

my heart will self destruct
at the end of its poem
hands and feet enslaved
to the task
it took almost 60 years to open
my fist
with the other hand
that hid itself in shadows
let me say it again
I love you
with a love
that has nothing to do
with you
no matter what you believe
there’s more to it

#2195 20110306

2011-03-06T17:16:00.000-08:00

Picking sheep wool
    off of the
Ocean spray
    scratching posts
The raven couple
    prepares
to pad their nest;
practical harmony.

THE HOLLOW MUSE

2011-03-01T03:01:00.000-08:00

Finding my Muse
With love
She filled my soul
Overlayed
With vitriol

ARE ANGELS TRUE?

2011-02-28T17:40:00.000-08:00

Angels can be sweet and sour
Sometimes happy others dour
Angels can be sable or white
Angels can be wrong or right
Beware what you ever do
An angel's always watching you

Beware what you ever do
The angel is you

2011-02-27T16:51:00.000-08:00

#2193 20110227

Ripening fir cones
Dropping
Fluttering seeds
Onto the melting
late season snow;
Ancient elegance.

Densities 445

2011-02-27T10:45:00.000-08:00

balance disintegrates immediately
but leaves its signature
I think it is odd this fascination
with aftermath
the eventual absence of everything
they are installing cameras
to cover the kibble
with a badge and a gun
suicides were never here
in the first place
rain on the wall gone by noon
with a myriad of such incidents to address
there is no stability
and I enjoy that
immensely

Densities 437

2011-02-19T22:01:00.000-08:00

invisibility accomplished
a year without sleep
and you're ready to go
the perimeter is all wet
I couldn't help but fall
that was early on
I will stop at nothing
like everyone else
you can be in that world
or break it up
or you can find the holes

flicker

2011-01-22T13:54:00.000-08:00

She is moving over grasslands, facing downwards, looking under stones for something precious something known – feels her way by instinct . . . walking as birds do, casting her long shadow, seeing only things of shade . . .
now turns her body to face the sun, shadow also turning, spindly legs their beetle-black, withdraw – until unbidden fade, her own legs cold in rasping grass, she feels (but not enough), the agitated light, now folding in and out of cloud - and soon in stillness stays until, unbidden wind and muttering rain, a sound, no sound, no sooner night unfolding into stars, now out and into cloud, illume, but not enough, the ash grey dove grey sky, and she from stillness turns, by instinct goes – only this roar of nonexisting in her skull and this need to feel the world as
real

Densities 381

2011-01-22T13:44:00.000-08:00

He never understood to love does not mean to touch
order and disorder were indistinguishable
unbroken and broken were likewise invisible
later he saw it as a mere bias or tendency for old people
to insist on one ordering of things
rather than a process
a flow of nomadic play things
changing places
all part of the great unknown
the first question he asked was:
what if a pit viper had legs
as long as an elephant's?
fishing for reassurance
yelling in to the void
and listening in vain for an echo
for the first time

Densities 375

2011-01-18T06:58:00.000-08:00

still glowing from a fine performance
in front of a packed house
with unexpected superlatives
over punch afterwards
there is something about kicking ass isn't there?
blowing them away
listening to the echo of laughter's victory over tea
until you fade into the color of the carpet
and the numbers at the door
resign themselves to blushing sums
I cleaned dinner
and cooked the house
I didn't expect an invitation

mind your head (and your heart) as you walk out the midnight door

2010-12-20T03:15:00.000-08:00

Before the moon breaks like an egg
on your hollow
of waxing man’s cheek,
mind your head
on the cuneiform door—

the frame
that will beg you
for more

as you walk
towards candles
on alters towards

The journey, they say!

It’s the journey, those they ‘s
from the dungeon inside
the dungeon inside
the dungeon of they
say.

What do they know anyway?

HA! Is what I say
to those pragmatic foghorns
of they:

I will have what I will when I bring it!

What will be, will be, will be—

never-mind all those secretive cuneiform doorframes
growing progressively smaller
with each pirouette
and turn;

smaller with each pictograph word;
smaller
until you are the essence behind
every word
like a feather

off bird.

Until I am as low
as poor Alice,
awake outside
of the dream,
dressed in a skin
made of bells
out of sight of the queen
of all men’s
bittersweet
bleeding heart chocolates—

I will mind my head on the cuneiform door,
lest the yolk of this life
eat me whole.

© Kristin Reynolds 12 12 2010

Gutted Fish

2010-12-19T13:24:00.000-08:00

Now that my heart has been splayed open
like a gutted fish
Now that I have not run for safety
but stand, open-hearted and bleeding
before the hand who holds the knife

Now that I know (as surely as anything)
that THIS is love – stripped
of all its expectancy, all its dreams
in its raw, most heart-rending state

Now - I stand transfixed
staring into a night sky
which has (at this very moment)
zoomed light-years closer
surrounding me with her bright stars

Now I suddenly know
that I am one of these
and that, somewhere, someone else stands
transfixed …gazing up at ME

Keeping Company

2010-12-19T13:12:00.000-08:00

the ceaseless ticking of clocks
the hollow humming of heaters
fill the void where ought to be laughter
and chatter and the clanking of dishes
and the shuffling of feet

tick tick
tick tick
hummmmmmmm…

I rejoice at the smallest sounds of life
my dog licking his paws
or lapping water from his bowl
the clicking of his toenails
on the floor

tick tick
tick tick
hummmmmmmm…

at night there are no birds
to visit my deck-rail
nor roosters crowing
nor children playing
nor even passing cars

tick tick
tick tick
hummmmmmmm…

where is the lovely rain
whose steadfast comp’ny kept me
whose clear gentle rolling voice
sang the sadness of my heart to sleep
and caressed the crinkles from my brow

tick tick
tick tick
hummmmmmmm…

tonight even the wind has ceased
no loons are calling no frogs are singing
no ships are rumbling by
and darkness and silence and I
are keeping company with the dog

Adrift

2010-12-19T13:11:00.000-08:00

A lone star adrift in the darkened sea of night,
lost in the vastness of space - and time.
Seeking, searching, reaching for comfort,
the solid ground of familiarity,
confirmation of existence,
of reason, of purpose…

Remembering the solid curves of your body,
the taste of your skin,
the rhythm of your breath.
Oh, how these were my anchor,
my stay, in the stormy seas of existence’s doubt.

Oh, how I long to be anchored there again,
alongside you; to know my place
in this passing world
as surely as I know my own heartbeat.

Disillusionment

2010-12-19T13:07:00.000-08:00

to accept the unacceptable
to will against your own will
to die to be born
to let go your grip from your most precious jewel
for which your life – your entire being –
has been the setting

to upturn your heart-goblet
emptying its contents into the dirt
to carry the burden of intolerable sin
to have defiled the sacred – the highest will of God
to breath, to eat, to sleep, to wake
without hope, without desire, without reason

to endure the flame that consumes your heart
the talon’s-grip deep into your core
to stand beneath the burning sun
in the vastness of your desert-soul
to cry without relief
to gasp like a dying fish
to step forward into the fire
to lift your eyes to heaven – and pray

On the Loom

2010-12-19T12:47:00.001-08:00

strands of connection,
the golden warp of existence,
without which
the weave of daily life,
its myriad colors of events
and people and circumstances,
becomes as impossibly unsolid
and instable
as a tree without a trunk,
stars without a night sky,
sunlight severed from its fiery source;
without which
the weight of a single life,
its accumulated sorrows
and disappointments and grief,
becomes as impossibly unsupportable
and unbearable
as an elephant upon an ant’s back,
space without time,
the heart of man severed
from its fiery source

Densities 306

2010-12-19T11:32:00.000-08:00

it is a static Saturday at last the low down clouds gray the light
and the wind hits the walls on top of the hill gleefully
it is a ponderous task to attach casters to this roller coaster
I will myself to lift the drill and ponder its secrets
the bit box opens offering its variety ready for surgery
my disabilities are all here for the holidays too
my hands won't stop shaking
my eyes guess the best they can
I am bound to fail
I accelerate deliberately
one step at a time
without the necessary tools

CHRONICLES OF CHANGE AND TIME

2010-12-19T06:04:00.000-08:00

FRAMES

At six years old
I pursued the fantasy of technicolour
Melville and Orson Welles
Harpooned their madness
Blinding into my excitement
That made the sea gulls spin silver
Against sky
And in all ways with an avalanche
Of a new found timeless fear
That convinced me
Of the value in the human riddle
The very rumour of spilled wine
And the full measure of life
A snarl of sea wind echoed
Months and years afterwards
And the captain in death
Still hunts and beckons my dreams

End

THE HUNTER

We have known fear by another name
A secret name from a vantage of great distance
Past the rhymester bough

To know the strength of wild horses ablaze with riders of fortune
Of a darkened darkness in an immortal vision of Godspeed
A liberty in four tongues spoken as the familiar cries of the owl

A night bread of the strange infestations as a perchance to dream
Of conjoining sounds of a pleasure taken as nothing so sweet
As the taste from the wounds of deflowered maidens in black

Enacting a beauteous embrace in a naked diminished vanity
Destroying the movement and sacrificing wisdom in exchange
For the Goddess's grace in a sacred sun light's creatures hide

In neighbouring moving shadows and fully reverberated sound
Of salvation of a reversed beginning and finally with secret hurt
In an overgrown time recorded by on one against the beating

As the heart stops in shock as memory has killed again and alone
Once the fox is skinned and the rabbit devoured and the God Dog
Fades by the master's side in length and distance of a morning's
Mist and an adolescent fog promising to overrun the shoreline
By the limitation of forgotten lessons only the pain remembers

End

CHRONICLES

This season's rain an autumn spinet
As the wind etches light in darkened calendar pages asleep
Till the morrow that disobediently arrives anew

Sing with me as nature's tunes of bread and wine
Coloured glass believed familiar memoirs
Spreading birds of game aloud as waves and pines

A Grecian summer bride with the love of Arcades
Islands of unravished smiles motion silent overtones
The messenger as ourselves as deities of joy abound

Stratagems all but forgotton in the falling of music
And as Orpheus his affections turned arrow skyward
Youthful soprano voices and sunlit amber tongues

All sorrow now in the deepest hands of time's tide
Circles of roses and milk made oceans of dulcimer dew
Fear not there is not but a flashing of damask flowers

All fountains sing of ambrosia's lifeblood and honey
Miracles a paradise of delight built with the pleasure
Of a thousand symphonies of light in the eye of Rah

With a tumult replaced by fate's law
And then vanished the lustres of past days and nights
Beloved dwelling shapeless with eternity's destiny

This loom dark intricate time folded under the eyes
Ablaze with crystal as an arc of play and rest embraced
As all is recreated in the likeness and vision of a child

End

CHANGE AND TRANSFUSION

Anger in a weathered universe sharing media
Eaten by machines to jump-slip the maze alive
A million stab wounds are provided by down
Enjoy the ride of tactics that exit pure logic
Of most souls in green pools of evil short listing

Words ... such as these above

Alongside brass as a sixties aphoristic stance
Of unawakened predictions
Against a fitted sailor's screen of a fear of drowning
Quite uncomfortable an underwater lover lying still

And ... in the middle of this line

I do not remember dying

End

Densities 294

2010-12-15T06:58:00.000-08:00

at a certain age living
becomes a vice
you know it is bad for your health
to go on and on into extreme
decrepitude
without a sense of humor
possibly without your memory
just for the hell of it

Densities 282

2010-12-10T08:53:00.000-08:00

no men who love other men are allowed in our military
even on suicide missions
or killing women and children
they get everything ass-backwards
men who love women
full or part time as long as it shows
are far better killers than lovers
this everybody knows

Graffiti

2010-11-23T21:29:00.000-08:00

I save the world
By writing graffiti
Because I must
I write it in the dust

Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust

The Spider

2010-11-23T21:27:00.000-08:00

In the dawn
In the coming light
The spider
Rolls away the night

For Better or Worse

2010-11-09T23:21:00.000-08:00

tonight what small demon holds forth
against my happiness
what inexplicable small misery
chokeholds this night
and the delicate heartbeat
beneath and between these ribs?

the sinews breath
with every rising of the lung
the sunrise awaits with every breath
noticed or not
for better or worse
we continue the slow march
to the westward shores
mapped out long ago

there’s a magnet in the sky
that pulls us like waves
but we will not lie down
not tonight
not until the final sun
sizzles against the waves
drowning in agonyecstasy
swirling dizzying dance to death
we come

home is not in the sky but the sea
where fishes are the stars
and tides, the moon
and the elusive sun, the murky beam
that penetrates our depths

2010-11-07T17:44:00.000-08:00

#2173      20101025

Laying under the
    snowberry hedges
Hind legs stretched out
For one last
    moment of comfort
The endless seeking
    for mommy
    has ended
    as winter approaches.
No more loneliness and fear.
This fawn, still tiny,
    has no spots,
and for moment I think
    it is still breathing.
While burying it I couldn't help
    thinking about its' life.
Did its' mother die?
Is this a more realistic Bambi story?
Was it struggling all summer
    trying to grow on grass when
    it needed mothers' milk?
Or was it a genetic glitch?
How many narrow escapes
    had it fled
    only to end it here...
    limping and sick --
One last escape needed as the kids set about their
    morning chores;
I love you little fawn.

Densities 228

2010-10-29T15:48:00.000-07:00

Halloween is purple and gray above

brown below

skeletons of poplars bend at the waist

and the white snows stir in the cold blue

wind

and the blue rain

all the invisible blues

the sky that disappears

the sea that goes gray

the moon impaled on an icicle

that remains indifferent

I notice the stars are magnified

in cemeteries

it is the infinite that blankets our bones

with speech

and also muffles every utterance

in a chorus of inarticulate murmurings

the language of stone is about to be spoken

again

by the lipless ventriloquist whose silence

makes the dead dummies dance

Densities 220

2010-10-23T13:11:00.000-07:00

the last hour

the air gets thinner

takes so much longer

than all the rest

every minute sinks

in concrete

I am old enough now

to stay up and watch

the asphixiations

I shout at it to stop

but always stick to the

pogrom

amidst pumpkinheads

and hyenas in formal attire

herpetologists hand out

the awards

once I was a pinky

half way down the throat

of a snake

the seconds ran away

like gazelles on fire

time was a small black spider

that ate its mate as soon as it

finished giving birth

shapeshifter

2010-10-17T10:17:00.000-07:00

Metamorphosis reactor
mentally fingering
spinning my thoughts
to a suffering
and savory
gumbo
melting
my building
core:

crawl up inside
my hollow
of long,
iridescent
and lonely man’s
highway
of spiral
and sorcerer’s stone;

lift deep
the smooth
of my casings
to moons
eating other
lost planet’s
goodbyes
and beg
at my alter
of heart
no more.

There are galaxies
thrumming beneath
my arch
of magnets
and skin
and turning
time dancers
with bursting
of stars
in centers
of orbiting pits—

life
begging life
begin!
and begin
and begin
again!

Bring me your findings
by way of love letter,
addressed
to the demon
lurking inside
that long
Machiavellian hall;

kindly
address him as, Lumos
before leaving
your scent
of red rising wax
at the door—

then watch
as I eat
and then lick
my still
beating fingers,
and strip
my vibrating bones
at the gate
made of candle
and pillars
of smoke—

and know
we are all but a dream in the making
disguised
as our fate
being born.

my house of wind-chiming reed bones is becoming--so beautifully quiet

2010-10-17T10:12:00.000-07:00

I can finally see myself
think.

The sucker-punch to the gut
bickering,
dwindling.

The crumbling walls shudder less—
floorboards grow roots in reverse;
time has stopped watching.

A cloud-shaped woman
holds the spider’s end string
baring her home’s
knotted frame.

Owls come to her windows to pray.

It is so quiet.

The house remembers her days
in Eden’s woods—

sees through each tree’s eye,
still;
hears the heartbeat with the ears of deers,
the song of her skirt lifted high.

It is dead quiet.
Gone quiet.
These walls are alive, quiet.
Gossiping staff gone home for the day,
quiet:

after hours, quiet.

I feel my pulse in every limb.

An owl turns its head to see—
bite the head off the lazy horizon.

When He comes
peeking around walls—
a neo-natal vacuum made of dust.

He is the same every time:

nothing to say with no mouth;
nothing to do but keep watching.
He’s all eyes—
God’s perfect indifference.

Screaming outside.

And singing.

A parade of Hawaiian-shirted guests
walk single file
into the dripping blood sunset.

They are chatting:

praising in awe
the midnight gazelle
diving in
and back out
of Her golden thatched roof;

damning
the new boss
to hell.

Densities 210

2010-10-16T09:23:00.001-07:00

I might have 20 summers left if

I live long enough

I will caress each of them

with lightning over the mainland

wind storms that shake the trees loose

piece by piece

while the waters rise up

while the sun scorches the cities

while wild men massacre themselves

in the name of God the Economy

and the beast in the seed that lingers

I have always loved the dust

in all its forms and figments

as it slips untouched through my fingers

remembering michaux

2010-10-10T12:03:00.000-07:00

Against the window of your nakedness –
a mortal frost
eyelid against shoulder falls
to solitude that sorrow cannot mend
and wakes to absence,
morning passing to exultant day.

And in Krakow,
before the thousand-eyed cathedral,
a man sinks to his knees
wreathed in the gliding breasts of pigeons.
He is singing almost without sound –
Panis Angelicus
light fails and the birds,
air lifting through their feathers like breath,
in vain do they use their silence to reach him –
it is absolutely in vain.

shorelines

2010-10-10T12:02:00.000-07:00

now that the world will not suffice
I come here to your beach,
and watch as gulls ride shifting planes of wind
your flapping coat a shadow over sand

it is not time to mourn,
surrender in absolving sleep
all that skin had sought and found in flesh
in beauty that no memory can restore
or change this moment to regret,
the suffocating wave,
from which we could not rise –
but we have risen
climbed through stormy air
to find a shape that darkness cannot shroud
nor time's dissolving breath disperse

and here, where saltspray carves
its pattern on the sea, I watch you paint
until the light is gone

Densities 202

2010-10-08T10:17:00.000-07:00

my heart holding 3 people opens

it lifts the bar above my head

suddenly a multitude of strangers

in robes and hats and fine shoes

whose radio tongues babble nonsense

rachets the squeeze around my baubles

and my gemstones sing

another puts her head down in my lap

and weeps hopelessly alone

the others line up to be cured

in the name of the 3

of the 7 loaves

and the trees burning in our kisses

Densities 184

2010-09-22T21:04:00.000-07:00

I wouldn't call it love

although I am attracted to the whole

package

I am apt to ply her with rum and recite

poetry while locking gazes in a shared

intimacy that has no ribbons to untie

for tahseen

Densities 182

2010-09-22T18:45:00.000-07:00

I like my life

there is nothing missing

everything missing is a blur

riding words through a vermigrade rodeo of

switchbacks and hairpin turns

one wheel always over the edge

like it or not

look who's talking

its an obsession somebody owes us

it just makes sense

Densities 181

2010-09-22T16:16:00.000-07:00

the junk we collect

in our loneliness

gives us away

birds fall from the sky

cattle lay down on the job

monday's long wait at the station

where nothing came and went

sleeping 12 hours in 3 hours

and forgetting the feasting

and the beasts that nest inside

the banquet

a hunger unloved in a cage

hardly barely begun

Densities 178

2010-09-18T21:25:00.000-07:00

Another dead end

this one replete with a beautiful

woman

wearing a lead vest and

and a spiked collar

we made love under the

no outlet sign

it was okay

she was a tiny unopened rose

on a hill

dreaming of her next career

move

densities 169

2010-09-05T18:28:00.000-07:00

rats in the attic

rats in the walls

the chimes you gave me

the cold water squat

your silence around the silence

we can never share

is a wilderness of darkness

a wilderness of insomnia

an absence in shoes with a deadpan stare

densities 166

2010-09-04T21:33:00.001-07:00

I can't recall those fine feelings

just like that

they took a long time to die

I buried them alive

in our garden

I could hear them gasping for air

month after month

finally my skin fell off in the mirror

the rose bush died

now I remember!

DOING GOD'S WORK

2010-08-23T23:38:00.000-07:00

Knowing toilet rolls should face out
Even in somebody else's house

I always put things right

Like a christian
Riding a bike

Densities 150

2010-08-19T16:22:00.000-07:00

I say Spirit

inside the walls

the skin

behind the eyes

how to escape this dancing

corpse

before it stops dancing?

if only I could avenge a sentence

with a sentence

the hours on all fours again

looking everywhere for their trampoline

a tam tam and its microphone

a cymbal

no one can hear

Waiting for the End of the World

2010-08-09T17:59:00.000-07:00

Frankly, I expected God to be

more efficient and avoid this savored

burning. I guess He likes it. I could see

some other kind of pain – still labored

and indelicate, with a late

lesson, all as taut as penance. But

I stand chronic, bend to supplicate,

and hold the momentary dissolute.

Where’s salvation? How do I accede

when my redemption takes parieties?

Limits disannoint the body. I plead

recrimination, an innocence that frees

Him, whose expanse grows down to me

to make my punishment infinity.

~Wm Frawley (posted by A. DiMichele)

Densities 133

2010-07-23T13:34:00.000-07:00

lost another dollar today

I lose dollars everyday

so that others may live

yeah

when you think about

the Wisdom Schools

and there is nothing else on earth

worth thinking about

on the way out

not even a wish

when writing in the garden

2010-06-25T15:38:00.000-07:00

...it is not me gardening.

It is the gardener in the I
of the storm
testing the air with his finger
budding calligraphy
from his master’s pallet.

When I write, speak, live
from the seat in the center
of The Garden,
it is with either:

The voice of old gods—the riders of Shem;
a trumpeting messenger with news!
Or
The mad squiggled lines left behind
on the path by The Fool
on his way to the upside-down noose;
stuck on the card that played him.

But at the end of the day
when I am
lying in bed, eyes closed,
inside The Wayfarer’s Temple,
it doesn’t matter how the voice comes,
came—
always comes,
all that matters is:
that you read
all the way through to the end.

Let The Gardener’s seeds
from the earth of the sea
take care of the roots and the rest.

All you need to do
is listen to the wind through the trees,
while breathing
in deep,
the cherry scent essence
of words.

© Kristin Reynolds 6 21 2010

Densities 94

2010-06-13T14:52:00.000-07:00

why would anyone want to be born?

to be at war

with oneself

or to turn others into a bloody mess?

nothingness

that perfect glove

that fits your hand perfectly

it has its charm school manners

but one must be a cannibal

full of big ideas

eating your enemy's brains raw

you need the stomach of a wild dog

to win a meal at this table

Densities 86

2010-06-09T17:11:00.000-07:00

100 billion stars

and beyond them

100 billion galaxies

all held in place

set in motion

in empty space

which has many bodies

in its belly

as many eyes as stars

everything created points

toward the future

whatever I hold in my hands

possesses me

immediately

Densities 78

2010-06-04T14:20:00.001-07:00

my experience of delusion and truth

and how to tell the difference

during summer vacation

was my term paper topic in tenth grade

I wonder what it feels like to think behind your eyes

to dream the same dream just once

or fall in step with your steps when you have

nowhere to go

what do you think about the massacres in the fields?

the beautiful horror of it all

night coming on with its nocturnal appetites

who are up with the moon cleaning their teeth

I was badly bitten by ants when I was a child

they were so small I couldn't take it personally

cockroaches however covered the floor walls and ceiling

of the kitchen

the whole room swimming with them moved

around me

pulsating with a life of its own

it was monstrous

it was repulsive standing there in the middle of it

I kept thinking: I wish you could see this!

Densities 59

2010-05-26T18:18:00.000-07:00

back to the pogo stick
of a very good poet
if not a friend
or a very popular popinjay
who would rule the world
with clean skin and a clean set of walls
camouflage carpet and desk
I’m still carrying this matchbox steamroller
in my pocket
but I know its got to go
its making me late
goldfinches fly by with invisible ink
the woodpecker laughs then the rain stops

B e // a // t w i N

2010-05-21T16:39:00.000-07:00

=//=

K & T
sitting
...........
w i t h i n
long forgotten
j a z z w o r d z
..........................
b r e a t h takingly
.............................
a b s u r d t h r o u g h
a space // time of n…o…t

=\\=

The complexities of the momenT

2010-05-19T16:02:00.001-07:00

.

Without further ado,

between themselves, they had discussed,
among matters of importance,
the potential of impotence,
when without further disgust,
between the first and second floors,
they disappeared through open doors,

into the night of KatmandU.

.

The swimming pool storY

2010-05-18T16:16:00.000-07:00

.

I remember

p a i n t i n g

the village

g r e e n

.

S h o r t c u T

2010-05-16T15:05:00.000-07:00

.

Deep in the art
of a stubborn
graveyard
lies an able
s...t...o...n...e
......................
a magnificently
eccentric memorial
to a magnificent eccentric
who b e c a m e fluent in over
two dozens and seven languageS

.

Densities 10

2010-05-12T16:31:00.000-07:00

I will not be disappointed in the outcome

I already did that

I left scratch marks in the well's stone walls

I wrote that story a thousand times

running down the railroad tracks

out of breath on rubber stilts

up the glacial ravine

the vertical leaps

defying gravity

adding more and more

to my true vocabulary

my dumb alphabet

no longer able to scream

in the dark

out loud

Mantra

2010-05-11T18:30:00.000-07:00

a dead woman

crowned in nothingness

dry and dead

as dry dead blood

escapes

into Ligeti's concerto

for violin & orchestra

slips out

unnoticed

between skins

of death and breath

like cold air rising

from an empty stair

she floats translucent

as ricepaper, dissolving

into trembling ocarinas

without place

she embraces all places

her voices creep toward the sea

and the wave will take them

space folds

into four angles

into four sides

into scordatura strings

the rite

of the opening

of the mouth

(almost)

2010-05-04T16:20:00.000-07:00

she put my shoes out in the trash

a different one called the police

yet another threw my belongings off a balcony

and I watched them smash on the sidewalk

with the neighbors laughing

the first stood accusing me to my face of infidelity

I wished I had commited

the one I married called me a loser

but wouldn't let go for years

somewhere in the middle are echos

of doors slamming

objects smashing against walls

insults and vows of revenge

once or twice there was pulled hair and bruises

I remember blood in a bathtub

my mother would become a monster

once a month

and swear I was not the fruit of her womb

I have no more excuses

for them

or me

the last one shocked with kindness

smiling as she sent me packing

just as long as I kept my mouth shut

I (almost) did

diary of a woman who vanished

2010-05-02T04:17:00.000-07:00

bodiless

above a vast night ocean

I dreamed you were lost

in the enormous sadness of water

between the slide of monstrous ships

I called out

but the air grew heavy

with lines, triangles

the endless

creation and dissolution

of inner sky

formless

I woke with eleven

luminous strangers

peeling mandarines by silent windows

for a moment glimpsed

your ravaged lion's head

your bright blackbird eye

but I was mesmerised

by a vase of sun-edged magnolias

by drifts of dust motes falling

in afternoon light

like a thousand

silver egrets

your movement is sharp

precise

and I wake with your hair

wound through my fingers

the smell of burning cloves

in your mouth

you hiss

where are you?

what are you?

but I am

voiceless

except for the language of snakes

the dry rattle of their digestion

you speak and it begins to rain

have you forgotten?

we live only where the breath turns

my left eye closed:

a white horse wades up to its breast in blood

my right eye open:

Sirius rises – ashes return to branchless trees

Get with the Pogrom

2010-05-01T17:09:00.002-07:00

we've seen so many...
the Germans put an abstract, mechanistic,
dare we say, "high tech" blue-sky face on it...
but do they compare with 25 million plus in Meso America
under Spanish swords. Of course it took them fifty years...
are we measuring the damn things against time?
If we count the you-row-peon invasions of the Americas North and
South, in 300 years we pretty much wiped the natives out
and subsequent to the end of the Russian/German trip, Americans
got right to it again... not so much ethnic/racial cleansings
as across the board apocalyptic bomber pinpoint mayhem;
mostly by client stooges bought, taught, and paid for
by US of A's happyface consumptive SUV wonders.
I guess for sheer numb_brrrs Hitler's 15 years
takes the prize and the way we paperclipped
his intellectual minions was a damn crime
gettin' in bed with the lot of 'em for 55 years
plantin' 'em in Hunsville Georgia
where nary a soul noticed -
puts a whole new complexion on
consenting adults.

Everyone of us...
ethnicity be damned
paid our taxes, supported the plan;
cheered for our side in SE Asia and scapegoated
yellow, black, brown, jew, dyke, faggot, an' Arab
when it suited us; but we're gonna get even this time:
the train is leavin' on the same track
so we can fire up the ovens without lookin' back
and we're gonna let freedom ring and liberty toll
for a solid half billion new holocaust souls - for oil,
for rare earths, for whatever we think we want at the moment.
We'll pile 'em up like cordwood the way we did in the Phillipines
so we can celebrate our fundamental Christian righteous rave:
Profit first, comfort second, and
wisdom dead last.

Questions...

2010-05-01T17:09:00.001-07:00

Waiting in the wings

2010-05-01T16:58:00.000-07:00

Slipping among galaxies of thought
of her/him//him/him,
of her/him//her/her
of blue, of naught, porpoises, dragonflies,
atoms, particles, neutrinos, spinning sighs
of consequential push-pull: magnetics among others.
Love builds from respect, then trust
leading inevitably to mutual support
but
only if we pay attention in every direction.

Frames of Monk

2010-05-01T15:48:00.000-07:00

Skin blooms a weather of shower and afternoons
and weeks of Wave Mountain;
little monk walks Junes;
and August roads hot tars detain.
Exotic beating looms with shuttle clacks,
barks adrift and seadrift float flood from rain-
sailor’s warning, monk’s pain,
Glorianna’s skin tracks.
At night the wafting of the wood is balming;
the skin’s weather, the short shout of the palm.

Tanned mind hails on the virgins; that’s age’s envy
and only lust flatters;
Puer’s envoy,
from somewhere the future shatters.
The sea beats the young boy, monk’s young father
to the man, dwelling with divine squatters,
dwelling on the daughters,
mountain breaks up, rather
like the ordinary small man of thinning
soul, locked within the clastic rock of sin.

From stony fields of massy, clacking bones, she sees
him approach the courtyard
through locust trees,
leaping like poem’s laugh-last word,
or before falling, pride in one’s estate,
human backstory, ears that haven’t heard
now perched, like some absurd
pigeon, to click and grate
upon the gates of the institution,
above the hoary and inconstant stew.

Monk’s moon finally comes to the playhouse, condemned,
performing the Soldan
in a cage, hemmed,
rolling with the tyrant’s golden
train, pulled by his wife, ‘til they brain themselves,
Heaven and Earth bleeding on the Satan’s car.
That’s what comes of love’s star
dried of it’s fire by elves.
Arts of banishment, logically pursued,
arrive at poems where no passions stir.

Autumn delivers him from the oppressive swelter
and the freak intentions,
dubious shelter,
and the variant suspensions
of disbelieving; hard to remember
how I could have fallen so very far
short of the under-par.
Let us embrace somber
reappraisal of the situation,
rendered and chewed up in the vasty day.

Mountain mirages in the clear days, the short days,
the leaf will come down husk,
bit with sharp rays,
wood smoke nosing eastwind at dusk.
White cities beckon the road, sweeping wrack
of thunderheads with a gate of moonlight,
the dead month at midnight
when the road rises, back
of time, and the spirit-fates gaze dolefully
on the sleeper dreaming of an asphodel.

A Job To Do

2010-04-30T18:20:00.000-07:00

The walls in her eyes allow little light

to filter through the canopy above the snakes and bugs

her fingertipped tendrils search for holes

to get handholds creeping skyward

it sounds like a lot of work

Dragon's Blood on mountain tops grow umbrellas

in the blue air

life hunts where there's little soil and less water

magnets spin the crank shaft

twirling batons blur in the roar of imaginable speed

an Icosahedron plays the odds with likely positive outcomes

I have but a few odd hours in my pockets

and one tenth the passion of the past

resting in pools of shade

the roads turn dark on the fringe of a very engaging face

a university of suspicions sends out patrols

for the wandering monastery

I am caught and chained to a very small room

a church

a car

a prison

with a job to do

Crown Restructured Into Distinct Groups; Shaye Areheart Books Closed

2010-04-29T13:27:00.000-07:00

Hey folks! This is some pretty interesting industry news, here. -Susan
Crown Restructured Into Distinct Groups; Shaye Areheart Books Closed: "The restructuring of Crown Publishing that began with theappointment of Maya ..."

Desert (Buraydah, Saudi Arabia)

2010-04-27T18:44:00.000-07:00

A bush here, a bush there - a pure
fill of interstices. That is how
the hard and empty push of departure
takes its stand against persistence. Now

is the time to keep on leaving. The sand
escapes over the dunes, and the distance
is unsightable. If I could remand
the scene into a simple instance,

I'd corrupt the sweet blankness
into a result. But all that would
be gotten is something next. Such excess
poorly trades on boundaries for the good.

I seek the most that I can get from the least
and hold things closely, loose, unreleased.
*
~William Frawley

Lifewreck

2010-04-26T09:30:00.000-07:00

I live the ragged edge of an un-
finished building. My windows are just
holes. My door's disframed. If you must
get to me, ford the rubble. That way none

of what may come can be gotten to.
I'm a long time coming. No one works
me. Why should they? We go from stark
to stark, like an erased plan. Who

would want to live a life like this, chipped,
brown, waiting for occupation? I guess
I do because here is where the hard press
of nothing wins, with even sadness stripped.

My walls and ceiling lean without closure
I'm unexposed, just a mere exposure.
*
~William Frawley

Looking Down On Glass From A Great Hight Or Is This The Beginning Of Time

2010-04-17T03:26:00.000-07:00

Our own secrets begin ... aburbe condita
When it breathes history in a conscious
Possession of wisdom ... then again

It ignores and deceives ... ad aperturam ad finem
Too proud to listen in a repetitive flux
Of looped half conscious pilots ... then again

The ancients with sun centred pyramids of balanced souls
Ad majorem dei gloriam ... as they contact us through
Dreams of intertwined confines of illusions ... then again

Fragmented moments of entrapped wonder ... ad nauseam
Caught between reflected needs and useless games ... then again

All the combined symbols ... on the high priest's robes
All Greek myths and plaques of adornment ... ad valorem amor patriae
Then again ...

At the gate of infinity ... anno aetatis suae
Our psyche is colonized by the West in posture
Feeding an unbalanced hue to the pigs
Of a laboured stance ... then again

Take the Seven of a confused ideology ... anno urbis conditae
And Two of a sea paster's flight and then force feed
Five thousand of the next generation of American-Haters ... then again

Annus mirabilis ... across the country of the bearded giant
Oranges and crocodiles mate with an equal laugh
As a Spanish cut Moustache in a taller light screams for fairness ... then again

Peace Park ... cacoethes loquendi ... they cry competing with a
Sickly child on a rusty swing as his hands cross his chest
With the burden of the world on his bent back ... then again

You all do not amount to a song ... caveat lector casus belli
In your private winter of solitude
Molten gold will not save you nor the yellow of the sky ... then again

Searching for certainty is the new language ... beatae memoriae
Of choice as the night is filled with locked doors and damned
Red curtains ... then again

Two films on the one screen ... de profundis quietem
With a multitude of sub-titled mysterious in the smallest detail
That of a watchmaker's harmony
In his hands that are memory ... then again

We who collect ocean gems among the driftwood and weed
Ipso facto in vino veritas ... for us TIME is whispering
From another world from curved sea shells
In the collected memory of waves on blue windowsills

End

THE LOVE SARCOPHAGUS

2010-04-17T02:57:00.000-07:00

A skeletal inscription touches the layers
Of self-cynicism ... love
As an engraving on a marble sarcophagus

Are we not all ... deemed indifferent
In a freedom ... a freedom confused
In the warmest security
Of a woman to nurture ... love

To endure love ... its promised kiss
On both cheeks
With a concert tempo's mist
With promenade walks ... gaining momentum
With a genteel conversation and handshakes

A dream ... after the dream we all move
Through ... past the only moment ... that lingers on
When the melody of the themed movement
Is history and song ... and
So fucking what ... !

And you know
That you are not the only one

What happens when the services of words end
In the very last of the last stanza
Of the last line
Of love poetry and madness

Statues of ingnorance ... reveal themselves
As the soft chain is inhaled ... but
What has happend
What happens next ... ?

The highly crammed mind-fuck is over
Only the memory of fairytales
Lingers on ... and on ... and on

As your head is made into a safe
A safe for misunderstood psychosis
A truth found in art desolations
And suitors of unpublished volumes
Of thirds ... thirds in an empty city

The film carriages show invitation
To higher inconsistencies and taste
Where we write a memo to our
Short comings ... and

As love is engraved on a marble sarcophagus
As a record of where your love has been
Long after the history of your flesh
Is made dust

End

Anulios

2010-04-11T15:52:00.000-07:00

Black flowers of the sun

polarise in holes where light is not

their slim arms waving

in the chaos of solar winds.

A spilled geometry

orbiting the sun's red face

like the compound eyes of insects.

How lonely they must be,

and how empty

howling into being,

their absurdly flapping fall

to scream and implode on

the other side of sky,

exhaled from the thorax

of a burning bird.

How terrified they must be

turning above the buried city,

where shadows assume the form of lovers.

We were dancing, trying to grow horns,

but progress was slow, you said

because everything overflows

and we have forgotten how to pray.

Inside this empty animal all languages

are foreign. A snake flicks its tongue.

I hang stars on threads from a cage of fingers

for an audience of inner acrobats

and the moon watches, folding her icy wings -

she sees only holes dressed in light.

Don’t you understand?

I’m leaving this circus

Nautilus

2010-04-10T15:08:00.001-07:00

Today i saw myself
through eyes
other than my own
as a tour-bus trundled by
nearly killing me
as i teetered on the corner
in my flip-flops
This bus
with its’ wide-eyed
multi-cultural cargo
staring at me -
a distracted strawberry blonde
with loose, low-slung jeans
eyes like a startled deer
as i stepped off the curb
somewhere in Waikiki
...I was thinking
about the day
i felt your sanity sink
around me
as though i’d stepped in quicksand
and as the bus
pushed me back onto the curb
with a rush of air
i heard the ocean
rushing liquidly
in my ears
or maybe it was
my heartbeat
just like the day
i took our son
and sent him safely an ocean away
knowing
there was only one lifeboat
and i had to stay
on this island
a reluctant Captain
on a sinking ship
i go down
into the ocean
into a life spent
treading water
as i wait for land to appear
as my son waits for me
somewhere
the only sound
for miles around
are the fists of the ocean
beating around my ears
like a heartbeat
keeping time
until the time
we can meet again

S e c o n d : h e l p i n g S

2010-04-07T07:17:00.000-07:00

.

A..l..s..o
m…u…c…h
l…a…t…e…r ,
or more after ,
con val escence,
o b i t u a r i e s ,
r o o f g a r d e n
in F l o r e n c e,
and d a r k e n
l i b r a r i e s

[ . . . . . . . ]

At l a s t ,
a l m o s t ,
every single
Sunday roast,
of such a plural
scattered p a s t,
c a m e=:=b a c k
to my stomach
for an encore
of gastric
poetry

.

"COMING ATTRACTIONS OF HUMAN PARADIGMS"

2010-04-05T22:38:00.000-07:00

... this is the final decisive print edit of:
"Coming Attractions Of Human Paradigms" ...

For Anthony DiMichele.

... Coming Attractions.

Day breaks with another collision
In an out burst of red parrots
Feeding on the sharps of glass
Through a fashionable montage

A dying tribe of shamans
Living out of ox hide cases and duffel bags
Forever turning reason into labyrinths
And as unhappiness seduces all
With stale milk and that of a heavier flesh

With a gentleman's quill
All write blue verses
That of a baritone's cry
Of an unuttered multitude of myths

All filled with voids of Nazi logic
Commercial armies and particles
Of tightly leather bound stories
Hanging photographic memories

That are looped and played
On eight millimetre film
All reflections of a mid-awakening
The tempo of a great momentum
And a promise filled silhouetted night nurse

An adagio requiem to my paramedical lust
For the blood of young bridesmaids
As they stop over full of soft kisses
As a pleasure awakened in a wasted flavour

Showing the understanding of misgivings
A slow stop in mid-memories
The source in embracing the sea
With all its muscled organisms
And the androgynous engines of a space
That was created by countless orgasms

Her eyes are dirty stains in the moment before
The boundaries of tomorrows trust
Her eyes are lust and insights that unravel
To reveal the nine fixed boundaries
Of a phantom faded fuck ... fuck he says

In the blinking of an eye from the pages
Of Mr. William's lunch
Blesses the cosmic dust that rises dreams and demons
Mystified above the sculptured sound
Of sodomized night screams
And the demeanour of consequences
That become the ink in my pen

An absence of light of a past life with no exit
From the fingers pierced by thorns
With the solitude in an abandoned house
Filled with a void of shadows

DiMichele's piano walks through the mind
As remembered poetry folded five times
In this revolution of pain alongside
The experience of joy

Black geraniums
Take these memories with you
And leave behind the feel of a day
Of synchronized oneness

End

Dedicated To Anthony DiMichele ... Thank You For The Insight Of Countless Inspirations ...

The Foot Prints of Giants

2010-04-05T14:56:00.000-07:00

Blue clouds over brown children at play
create this day
can you inhabit the spark that ignites them?
indivisible bewitching absolution
they shine emerald
what I lack their brains are cooking
in the shape of a fish trap
I don’t know where I come from
demolished crumbling walls of a name
from something… terrible
the marvelous violence that crackles with patrimony
the void’s engine
primeval zeal of swamp
a serpent’s egg the size of a table!
in a ring of garnets a green moth
is caught in the mouth of light
boardered by the foot prints of giants

The Last Empty Frames

2010-04-02T19:08:00.001-07:00

The last time they were seen t o g e t h e r
was many years after their d e a t h .
Canvases were facing the w a l l s .
The walls were standing there,
where they had been b u i l t.
They seemed to r e c a l l
all kind of other things,
like long-forgotten
com p r o m i s e s
between reason
& the opposite,
unrelated objects
arranged for worship
on a semicircle of practice,
les imperfections de la recherche,
not utterly unsympathetic in situation,
a forest of inverted legs conveying, as it were,
a sense of contrasting urgency on top of a pedestal.
The prodigious size of the scene might have provoked laughter.
All this, as seriously serious as a substantial number of e m p t y
f
r
a
m
e
s
.

wolfpeach

2010-03-31T14:34:00.000-07:00

a little poisonous
but not really
just a bit
of the deadly nightshade
kiss
on my lips
do you risk
the bite
do you miss
the little death
that comes for you
in the night?
i am a strange
savoury fruit
blood red and dripping
down your chin
and between your fingers
a bit of sugar
but none of the sweet
my fruit
won’t kill you
at the very least

(at least, not quite)

White Stars on a blue field 2/05

2010-03-29T21:05:00.000-07:00

White Stars on a blue field 2/05 tom odegard
(long ago blood was the strenght of the physical body)

under tech no_logic discoveries
seeming inconsequential consequences build...
what are these recurring nightmares?
uncountable historic repetitions
of tell tale blood drained away?
white stripes punctuated by
fresh red bandages waving in the breeze,
morbid reminders of our war dead?
survivors of undeclared actions
with blown apart bodies, limbs, and shrapnelled minds?

Do these wind driven cloths underwrite our loss
and promise utopian futures
even as we fly them
to justify another war?

Our children's blood wastes away...

Anticipating Armageddon some folk
queue up for Christ's promised paradise
raptured into perfect bodies: special salvations,
immortal lives for the chosen.
Woe unto the unbelievers
whose children's blood wastes away
in prophetic cities of sand...

Are we sane, sapient, and upholders of compassion?
I'd recommend pharmaceutical mood_alters
promising a kinder present save for adverse
side effects: parenticide, murder, psychotic catastrophes.
The blood drains out of the living stars floating on a blue field
dead zone purities: What ARE WE seeking?

What want lies feverish in our flag struck eyes?
Want as in salivations, gastro-intestinal clenchings,
tetanies and thinglings in skin, muscle, tendon, bone,
textures, carresses, cremasteric reflexes...
satiated and renewed thru mindless sex, meals,
piecemeals, dangerous chemicals, instant gratification,
acquisitions filling up our lives with unlikely possibilities.
Everywhere, 80,000 daily compounds alchemically turn
gold into lead outside our cognizance: changing us in small steps,
providing illusions to comfort us with momentary pips of joy.

Oh yes, these satiations stuff us full beyond doing,
we are become the dragons of legend
guarding our treasures,
imprisoning our chiledren in towers of desire,
seeking holloweyed relief
from personal want...
so our blood drains away
covering us with a red and white striped shroud

What was our true unjaded desire?
Our formative want still hiding in our secret self?
That particular wish the obverse of which
crushes our utopian hope
in this endless holocaust of war?
blood wastes away

Earth's oceans die
her waves break higher upon the cliffs
roll farther inland on the Atlantic shore
while volcanoes grumble and
tectonic plates heave or grind.
What do these flags shredded by rising winds proclaim?
Where the remnants of our lost children,
our lost focus, our unacknowledged hope?

Close up we see ourselves: mute
transparent, our blood drained away.