Tag Archives: #words

ONEWE

WE are kin of the soil

but dig with bare hands only what needed and no more

what are my bones function?

there is the answer but I am forbidden to give it

i am to swallow all this raw meat

and what if the meat is maggotous?

what if the meat is breast cancer?

what if the meat is smoke-polluted?

what if the meat is mold-riddled?

what if the meat is wet from someone else’s shit?

how am I to know the truth?

never will I know.

is this why no one else takes this thing seriously?

and what is covered with a bit of tar emriculated pavement —

not tarred but organic and tarless emriculated — as my knees

like lemons when I kneel on it — I have nothing to fall down

to lose so I kneel in her tireless, humid, viscous astringency —

and all the arteries of my body cry out with their own unique melody

when I kneel to receive my fecund material gift from the dirt –

and this body now crushed in this specific form is the very image

of an ultimate answer to my continual dilemma of achieving what is

defined and defined is that it’s onewe are kin of the soil

:: 03.05.2022 ::

(*Onew Condition: the ability to freeze the atmosphere with a lame joke or gesture; to be excessively clumsy.)


SILVER CORD

Such were the words.

An old poet friend came to me, in 2010, to write poetry for a compilation I was putting together.

On that visit, he gave me a composition, the title being:

‘Silver Cord’.

I asked what the poem was about, knowing that I was going to write poetry about dying,
and a theme I was sure I wanted to explore.

He then told me that, this poem was also about the love we all hold so dear.

The poem depicts our link, from the beginning, to the end.
A relationship forged in the fire of human desire, bound together by a golden cord.

The poem is personal.

As the love-connection is inter-twined in the poem, it also represents my own.

The poem reminds me, at every opportunity, to love, and even if you never see your loved one again, you still hold them in the golden cord of love.

I am so glad, in my final days, that I can tell you all that I have loved and have been loved by; that love and that love will always be a part of me.

I had often wondered why the end of life happens in the way it does; why a person can die in the arms
of someone they loved, and know that they were loved.

But the poem has answered that question, and reminded me that the end is only the end, when we love.

Our life is just the beginning, our love is a golden cord, which links us all, and there is a joy and a love that goes beyond any pain, beyond any worry, beyond any ending.

We find beauty, harmony, and love where no one expected.
In death, love remains a relationship, not an ending.

I hope you enjoy the poem, now that I have managed to record its beautiful melody!

You, dear life, will remain in my golden cord!

P.S. I had left the poem here on my website, a few years ago.
I feel, it is time to bring it back.
I am sorry if this message seems cryptic.
It is my final gift to you.
My love to all my family and friends.

P.P.S. A special thank you, to my close friends.
You are the only ones who know the truth!

Signed
The Carnival Clown


RUNMINATIONS ON LIFE PROCESSES

SOFT slipper, coffee, cat *fed*
reading sad news i laughed
how the world blew its head
And anchors held their breath
must ask Musk about Mars
they’re sending pointy spears
into that atmosphere soon
Noticed how the sun changed
once we ran under its light
now burn scorned at its white
yellow used to be a thing
dresses, glasses, cars
and flying machines
/then cern came\ …rewind
things happen before their done
walked from work to home before
6 am and fell into a dream that
couldn’t be seen : i can never
count from infinity to one
but could really turn it on
/phillip are you awake: sir,
the universe needs to know\
[in the basement waiting
for the white van to come]

:: 02.22.2022 ::


The WAR Machine

Filed under: me | 73 Comments »

That is what i feel when i am
half empty.

That is what i feel when i am
half full.

that is what i feel
when i am
more than what is around me.

And when i die

it will all fade away

and as it fades away

i will feel again.

~ // // // // //

That is what i feel when i am
half full.

That is what i feel when i am
half empty.

That is what i feel when i am
more than what is around me.

And when i die
it will all fade away.

And as it fades away

i will feel again.

^^

*

*


NOW (ΤΩΡΑ)

Picking myself upward once again; this time within smaller pieces, feelings are dying within
the madness of what rules the air AND BELOW dwell sparks of lit Souls unaware whilst the hoard
approaches and feeds upon their dreams but never their Souls.
free of lust and love which at times will collide, your hearts won’t be blessed by action or by words
where happiness and wisdom reign the round of the table, around the loft, under the wine,
twixt the body and the mind, of me.
As the grey crust begins to show the deep brown of fresh clay. Every spoken word will bring down the mood
so I’ll focus on the one thing to keep my focus, I am alone.

Yet, by virtue of my physicality one hopes for a kind word. So, I’ll keep moving slowly, glancing back
to see if anyone has called my name or if a lonely soul who has wandered in from the road, after a long
bitter winter and often for centuries like day or night until I am emptied of the boredom into which
I’ve fallen finding no clue, in fact the world has grown even more bleak and seems to exist merely
for the sake of entropy and/or people who remain blind to their own shadow: I am yet a wonder.

Yet, there’s still something to be said of the smile of a baby whose touch wakes love in my heart.
A story to be told as a longing sigh even as it reminds me of another long ago as a grandchild can.
I am yet a wonder.

I’ve seen them come and go. I stand here in the darkness each time seeing one that knows I know,
he knows I know, he knows I know he knows, he knows I know, he knows and no one comes.

No one comes.

I have seen them quietly move in and out while other’s slept: I have seen the lights dim
and give up all light like a little league game where the score is tied — no one wants to win,
no one wants to lose, we all just want to play.

“Give me your hand and I’ll tell you something” I said. “I’ll tell you something. You’ll find out
where you’re going to be. You’ll know what this one is, and you’ll never forget, this was a friend of mine,
and you’ll never see him again. no matter what I promise. you’ll be in good hands.”

hold on.
hold on.
hold on.
no matter what, no matter what.
I promise.
I promise.


BABY FLESH INSIDE EMBROY

I smell your baby flesh inside
my embryo heart and took hookah
cord to strangled this dark romance.
My face fell downward to dirt
and kingdom ants ate my eyes:
built a tower of new tears;
a thin bridge toward your mind
She moves slowly towards me
like a doctor seeking new cancer
like candy pharmaceutical
feeding life / i’ve got a brain
oh yeah \ to surprise life
i crawled out of the vat of
dead babies to survive_____
She was sad, said, “take me to
my favorite place to eat to forget
this” her best friend cried.
I’d eat you if you were unborn.
Surprise! Hey, best yet: let
me kill your parents first.

Zero sum.

:: 02.18.2022 ::


FETUS

WALK unguarded into a dirty birth
catch a bus or disregard footstep
we all live within a city called laughter
selling out at Perth
The little bugs colored amethyst
are already at their work.

Charming faces of popular people
thousands of years ago
i laid a wreath upon those
ancient artificial skies
it’s hard so hard
to find the love lost
pacify weakness
Fetch a friend who is a friend
as long as they are not late
and until they bathe at midday
within the sea.

:: 02.15.2022 ::


FUZZY ASTRONAUT AND HOLY GHOST

FOR SALE: a leather heart of thoughts
the book of lovers called ‘words’
forget how you hate
tie the tongue to a diseased palate
inside your poisoned mouth:

we sell the bodies of priceless souls
inside pristine teapots

Holy Ghost come to me
fuzzy astronaut inside case
of helmet and suit
singing forget-me-nots
watching wild phenomena below
opon Earth’s skies
From the moon’s ancient machinery
–blood and hydraulic heart
of your Mind:

Monstrous, and lit without End.

:: 02.15.2022 ::


IN A WORD ARE THE LITTLE THINGS

IN a WORD are the little things
the meaning bigger than me.

Within a Soul is great soup
the tongue and her taste great.

Inside the nest unborn eggs
unpublic – slanted sight!

My unborn babies are largely great
inside only a single name:

a lifelong dying Soul as me –

Admirning time and her quaint space.

A poet? For me yes but you for
saving grace a possibility.

:: 02.14.2022 ::


WIDE BLUE SKIES OF KISSES

A blossom of heart
a brain of red storm
that soars in swarms
of indistinct dreams
holding frail fingers
of silver nails
writing two charming
words:

“loving you”

And within the scene
of heavy hair where
dew falls my trembling
fingers wander
wide blue skies of
kisses bathing jumbles
of blooming flowers

merci, interrupted by
trembling and saliva
whispering resumptions
on the lips or desire
for kisses___

A soul rising and dying
that constant desire
to weep in gray indolences.

:: 02.14.2022 ::