Tag Archives: #life

MONSTER FEAR

I am miserably prolific /mean butterfly eating my insides\
my writings less agreeable than my dreams:  no fun ||| ate
mud [check]  ate my own heart [check] stood up when i
should have stood down [check]
  wept and cried [x]
danced and went hysterically comical but carried the dead
child which was once me inside as the crowd laughed.
\
  And for ENCORE?  Doing it all over would be pure
poetic MADNESS!  /

i gave all my laughs and tears and guts whether sane
or madness creeps inside but bless who you are and for
the song you sing but no more___for all those hearts of everyone
a star burns out and others explode;  bless your hearts.

AND the claws of monstrous reality pulls me back into my head.

:: 11.05.2021 ::


ORAGAMIC LOVE

LOVE lee one:  do not come around here but Always the first time
giving up & waiting (between fern leaf’ing hug)s’ing between the
angle of life and living windows — thy wholly imaginary house
of inviolate darkness_____

x’pecting me except perhaps long
dim hours of sleep | a swarm of interpretations like rocking chairs
and hearing the news we’re all diseased.

Marvelously never knowing idleness brings tears of phosphorus light
into these animal-like gestures.  Three puppies in the Kansas small
town drug store window: like the woman i found in a shop window
in the rue Notre-Dame-de-Lorette.

Her tights were rolled in flour ready for the baking of a brick oven-lovely
heart.

Deep divers spelunking pleasures in all wonderous unknowns are the moments of
my youth — to be born in Sorrow, like Sorrow (true) then growing a stem outside
to see truth — GENEROUS SPIRIT APPEARS!

:: 10.29.2021 ::


PHANTASMAGORIC NATURE

If life would allow me ‘yes’ a garden from my heart-soil
would grow beyond sky.

Yellow-green blades swaying in step with that hidden song
twirling notes and trumping bass and lay between smooth thigh
nature scents caressing soul.

Life hunger betrayed too long.

Phantasmagoric nature reveal tulips upon a man-vessel bare
undulating passion melting there; if life would allow me yes

a farmer beating plowshare
be toiling in your fields
the harvest of a lifetime

if life would allow me ‘yes.’

:: – ::


HOW THE RAIN CAME DOWN

HOW the rain came down as drops of lit sunshine is why i started to laugh:
since life broke my heart
i found my Soul within a cloud so full of darkness
and thunder-song then i laughed

such deep blues

As though we’d just won a war and the world rejoiced
all inside my head — my skin said, ‘you can leave whenever
you wish’ i decided to stay instead

a heart full of silky scarfs of rainbow colors for us all
summertime out /as if life’s a real thing\

so i cried

as the rain came down as drops of lit sunshine is why i
started my laugh. Butterflies and lonely tears screaming
/reaching for air\ is how rain came down as drops of lit
sunshine is why i started to laugh instead of tears.

but my garden is green and lovely by the touch of my
private heart.

:: 10.24.2021 ::


MOWING LIES

We must meet in a toast you gave to me that other morning in the wood where the boughs of the woodlot are ragged and snagged with ice.

When you were gone I filled a glass with water and put the sunflower seeds in it and made this toast to you.

And then I wiped the water off of my cheek and put the sunflower seeds in a pile on the counter, and put the water in the sink.

When you came back that afternoon I told you that you should stick your fist out of the car window to prove that you were alive.

I wondered if you heard.

We must mow a grass lot of lies through, we will be mowing that grass lot a grass lot, lying.

It will be grass, lying on a hay, who at the base of that hay, dead in all her glory of flying away.

There will be broken pictures left where they fall, so many broken pictures that they fall to one side and miss the pictures they meet and forget about those they lose.

And then we will be mowing that grass lot a grass lot, lying.

:: 10.19.2021 ::


LIFE’S PUZZLE

I chanced upon an exquisite puzzle one day

It was TINY in size and easy to touch

I did not want to figure it out
but just to hold…

\I turned it this way, that way
— any way it would move! /

And at times interlocking pieces
would come and go.

Eventually I closed my eyes
and relied on touch and faith
and found it much easier to navigate
Life is such, that way.

simplicity.


IN ANGUISH I AM ALIVE

IN anguish i am alive. As we are whenever
a tear drop has always meant. Fiery and
at times absolute coldness – of all
recorded time and as our yesterdays have
confounded minds always forward toward
a dusty death of revelation.

Always (sometimes?) told by a poet full of
anguish and unrequited love —
that which signifies Nothingness.

:: 10.13.2021 ::


TIME IS NEVER OWNED

OH time is never owned cause time is always loaned
you can never give more to it and you can never leave
without leaving a piece of you
so the yesterdays we were others
today we believe we are we
and how life can help one
believe we’re better than yesterday — hold up yourself
to the Living Light: i once was youth and now ageless
so believe me.
And how the sun rises
and how the seas undulate
and hearts beat…
time is never owned.

:: 08.18.2021 ::


MURDER IN MY WORLD

i am the life
i am the death
i am fueled by
adoration for you
you are my whore
you are the mother
to my poems.
and i will never
leave you.

i ate the edge of time
and pulled my heart out
placed it upon the rock
of gibraltar like a gun
to my head

and how the world murders
words.  oh i love misery
and find energy in love
so in time…in time.

And how you counted stars
and tasted all your scars
and how we feel the same
flying away toward Mars   .

Into my world i lead you.

:: 08.18.2021 ::


WHEN RAIN STARTS FALLING DOWN

There are cemeteries that are lonely, graves full of bones that do not make a sound, the heart moving through a tunnel, in it darkness, darkness, darkness, like a shipwreck we die going into ourselves, as though we were drowning inside our hearts, as though we lived falling out of the skin into the so

And there are corpses, feet made of cold and sticky clay, death is inside the bones, like a barking where there are no dogs, coming out from bells somewhere, from graves somewhere, growing in the damp air like tears of rain.

Sometimes I see alone coffins under sail, embarking with the pale dead, with women that have dead hair, with bakers who are as white as angels, and pensive young girls married to notary publics, caskets sailing up the vertical river of the dead, the river of dark purple, moving upstream with sails filled out by the sound of death, filled by the sound of death which is silence.

Death arrives among all that sound like a shoe with no foot in it, like a suit with no man in it, comes and knocks, using a ring with no stone in it, with no finger in it, comes and shouts with no mouth, with no tongue, with no throat. Nevertheless its steps can be heard and its clothing makes a hushed sound, like a tree.

I’m not sure, I understand only a little, I can hardly see, but it seems to me that its singing has the color of damp violets, of violets that are at home in the earth, because the face of death is green, and the look death gives is green, with the penetrating dampness of a violet leaf and the somber color of embittered winter.

But death also goes through the world dressed as a broom, lapping the floor, looking for dead bodies, death is inside the broom, the broom is the tongue of death looking for corpses, it is the needle of death looking for thread.

Death is inside the folding cots: it spends its life sleeping on the slow mattresses, in the black blankets, and suddenly breathes out: it blows out a mournful sound that swells the sheets, and the beds go sailing toward a port where death is waiting, dressed like an admiral.

:: 06.05.2021 ::