Igorgoldkind - Hello Poetry

But I was, Between 11 and 12. I was a Vulcan ruled by Logic. Chief Science Officer on a starship Disdainful of the soft, mere humans Who surrounded me. Who had invaded my planet Polluting my atmosphere with their emotions. With indomitable desires, With their fear and their jealousies. With their pleas to my heart And their illogical presumptions.

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Feb 28, 2018

Feb 28, 2018 at 1:51 PM UTC

Igorgoldkind

I Am Not Spock

But I was, Between 11 and 12. I was a Vulcan ruled by Logic. Chief Science Officer on a starship Disdainful of the soft, mere humans Who surrounded me. Who had invaded my planet Polluting my atmosphere with their emotions. With indomitable desires, With their fear and their jealousies. With their pleas to my heart And their illogical presumptions.

12

A boy goes to school  And tears his schoolmates apart  With metal piercing bullets  This is normal now. Igor Goldkind

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Feb 17, 2018

Feb 17, 2018 at 4:17 PM UTC

Igorgoldkind

Haiku

A boy goes to school  And tears his schoolmates apart  With metal piercing bullets  This is normal now. Igor Goldkind

5

Today was every other day.  My boss says "Hey Joe, where you going with that staple gun in your hand?" I draw a blank on my face and turn to face his . "You don't really know, do you, Joe?   You don't know where you're going.  You don't really know who you are.  You don't know much of anything anymore,  Do you now, Joe?" Then he laughs at me  In front of everybody He laughs and points at  What everybody but me can see.  And everybody laughs and they laugh and they laugh  But nobody talks to me anymore. My boss don’t talk to me anymore. My neighbors don’t talk to me anymore.  My girlfriend don’t talk to me anymore.  My doctor don’t talk to me anymore.  My mother don’t talk to me anymore. My father don’t talk to me because   He's long since gone  Flown far away from the words to this song. I call my girlfriend up on the telephone  She says, "Joe, I'm not your girlfriend anymore"  And hangs up the phone.  Nobody talks to me anymore.  I call my doctor on the telephone  He says, "hello, is there anybody there"? I say, "it's me, Joe, doctor help me, nobody talks to me anymore!" My doctor coughs and hangs up the phone.  Nobody talks to me anymore. I call on my priest in the church down the road  I say "Hello, Father? my Father, is that really you?" "Please tell me, dear Father, what should I do?"  My priest says "Joe, God don't love you anymore"  And throws me out through God's front door.  Even God don't talk to me anymore. So, I go down to a bar to have a little swim.  There's a bar stool there where the Cross should have been  The bartender looks at me, But he doesn't say a word.  I hold up two fingers pointing up at the sky So he pours me a double, ten-year-old rye. Which I toss down and motion for another All the while calling him "my brother". The bartender stares at my face As silent as the stone sleeping inside of that wall. Nobody talks to me anymore.   On the street, the headlights blind my blinking eyes.  Strangers push past me, some I know, most I despise.  A cop car pulls up and flashes his bright light on me  The cop points his flashlight in my eyes so that I can't see. But we already know, there's nothing he or I need to say.  He won't arrest me. It just ain't worth it to talk to me anymore. A ghost walks up and stares into my face. He doesn't say a word;  just hangs there in space And spins ribbons of colored lights  Inside my head.  There's no knowing with ghosts no more The dead don't talk to me anymore. Suddenly I see an explosion of lights  There's trumpets and harps and angels in sight A liquor store, neon vision of light Promises me the spirits of salvation  and delight, If I just step inside.  While next door, a gun store slowly cracks open its door . . .  I am my father and my mother's son and  I’ve never before bought me a gun, But nobody, nobody talks to me anymore. Igor Goldkind © 2018

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Feb 15, 2018

Feb 15, 2018 at 4:58 PM UTC

Igorgoldkind

Nobody Talks to Me Anymore

Today was every other day.  My boss says "Hey Joe, where you going with that staple gun in your hand?" I draw a blank on my face and turn to face his . "You don't really know, do you, Joe?   You don't know where you're going.  You don't really know who you are.  You don't know much of anything anymore,  Do you now, Joe?" Then he laughs at me  In front of everybody He laughs and points at  What everybody but me can see.  And everybody laughs and they laugh and they laugh  But nobody talks to me anymore. My boss don’t talk to me anymore. My neighbors don’t talk to me anymore.  My girlfriend don’t talk to me anymore.  My doctor don’t talk to me anymore.  My mother don’t talk to me anymore. My father don’t talk to me because   He's long since gone  Flown far away from the words to this song. I call my girlfriend up on the telephone  She says, "Joe, I'm not your girlfriend anymore"  And hangs up the phone.  Nobody talks to me anymore.  I call my doctor on the telephone  He says, "hello, is there anybody there"? I say, "it's me, Joe, doctor help me, nobody talks to me anymore!" My doctor coughs and hangs up the phone.  Nobody talks to me anymore. I call on my priest in the church down the road  I say "Hello, Father? my Father, is that really you?" "Please tell me, dear Father, what should I do?"  My priest says "Joe, God don't love you anymore"  And throws me out through God's front door.  Even God don't talk to me anymore. So, I go down to a bar to have a little swim.  There's a bar stool there where the Cross should have been  The bartender looks at me, But he doesn't say a word.  I hold up two fingers pointing up at the sky So he pours me a double, ten-year-old rye. Which I toss down and motion for another All the while calling him "my brother". The bartender stares at my face As silent as the stone sleeping inside of that wall. Nobody talks to me anymore.   On the street, the headlights blind my blinking eyes.  Strangers push past me, some I know, most I despise.  A cop car pulls up and flashes his bright light on me  The cop points his flashlight in my eyes so that I can't see. But we already know, there's nothing he or I need to say.  He won't arrest me. It just ain't worth it to talk to me anymore. A ghost walks up and stares into my face. He doesn't say a word;  just hangs there in space And spins ribbons of colored lights  Inside my head.  There's no knowing with ghosts no more The dead don't talk to me anymore. Suddenly I see an explosion of lights  There's trumpets and harps and angels in sight A liquor store, neon vision of light Promises me the spirits of salvation  and delight, If I just step inside.  While next door, a gun store slowly cracks open its door . . .  I am my father and my mother's son and  I’ve never before bought me a gun, But nobody, nobody talks to me anymore. Igor Goldkind © 2018

71

Own What You Own Learn to recognize your own history. Like the grass before a scythe ****** is after all A sort of suicide. The sacrifice of someone else's self. Like the granting of a favour For the sake of your own insecurity. Or out of jealousy for what we covet From those in whom we can no longer recognize, The better part of our selves. ~ Igor Goldkind https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0EdRT56WK7Q

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Feb 11, 2018

Feb 11, 2018 at 2:13 AM UTC

Igorgoldkind

Own What You Own

Own What You Own Learn to recognize your own history. Like the grass before a scythe ****** is after all A sort of suicide. The sacrifice of someone else's self. Like the granting of a favour For the sake of your own insecurity. Or out of jealousy for what we covet From those in whom we can no longer recognize, The better part of our selves. ~ Igor Goldkind https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0EdRT56WK7Q

13

Your Soul So who is this Soul that you sing of? This silent witness Who counts the leaves off of trees instead of gathering them? Then raking them into a funerary circle, Into a giant pile, your better self will fall from, Or jump into? Up to your eyeballs, Up to your own little crown of thorns.

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Nov 27, 2017

Nov 27, 2017 at 6:50 PM UTC

Igorgoldkind

Your Soul

Your Soul So who is this Soul that you sing of? This silent witness Who counts the leaves off of trees instead of gathering them? Then raking them into a funerary circle, Into a giant pile, your better self will fall from, Or jump into? Up to your eyeballs, Up to your own little crown of thorns.

10

Igor Goldkind and John Kingsmill will perform TrypTych: The Third Act of Creation in its entirety at tonight’s Art and Poetry event in Balboa Park around 7.30 pm With authors Tomas Gayton, Jim Moreno, and Chris Vannoy. People’s Choice Poem Performance Awards follow featured readings and performances. DJ Gill Sotu will provide music and sound throughout the show. This interactive arts and culture experience will include beverages, snacks, and plenty of time to mingle. Bring a snack or beverage to share and get in free. Info: 619-957-3264. * When: Friday, November 10, 6:30 p.m. to 9:30 p.m. * Where: San Diego Art Institute1439 El Prado, San Diego, 92101 https://www.sandiegoreader.com/events/2017/nov/10/poetry-art-at-sdai-fri-sept-22-gayt/?et=219255#

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Nov 10, 2017

Nov 10, 2017 at 4:36 PM UTC

Igorgoldkind

The Third Act of Creation

Igor Goldkind and John Kingsmill will perform TrypTych: The Third Act of Creation in its entirety at tonight’s Art and Poetry event in Balboa Park around 7.30 pm With authors Tomas Gayton, Jim Moreno, and Chris Vannoy. People’s Choice Poem Performance Awards follow featured readings and performances. DJ Gill Sotu will provide music and sound throughout the show. This interactive arts and culture experience will include beverages, snacks, and plenty of time to mingle. Bring a snack or beverage to share and get in free. Info: 619-957-3264. * When: Friday, November 10, 6:30 p.m. to 9:30 p.m. * Where: San Diego Art Institute1439 El Prado, San Diego, 92101 https://www.sandiegoreader.com/events/2017/nov/10/poetry-art-at-sdai-fri-sept-22-gayt/?et=219255#

6

Ode to Victory Steel and rain-splattered chrome Shield the gyroscopic Dharma Wheels That just keep on spinning, Keeping me Upright, Flying through the air. I am Sonic My dominion is the horizon Between desire, destination and the rumbling between my thighs. My engine is as powerful as my mind. As strong as 80 Horses that pull me over this curve of Earth. Victory, you succumb to my hands, And the shift of my weight on your saddle We are living gravity together: Whitman’s body-electric, Just beneath the ***** aroma of engine oil and gasoline. Riding on the back of the California black striped serpent From San Diego to Santa Rosa To the very edge of madness And back again, Victory, you deliver me from myself, You growl when I awaken you in the morning, Nearly choking on your petrol cough. Occasionally, you sputter complaints at me when I ride you up that hill But your joy at reaching the summit Is the sweet surrender to a gravity we both crave. Victory, your piercing gaze illuminates the night. All fog of air & mind flee desperate before your flight. You are the clear sky after the rain: the clarity before thought or rhyme Our momentum keeps us running ahead, Out of reach, of God and death and time. ©Igor Goldkind 2017

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Oct 20, 2017

Oct 20, 2017 at 5:12 PM UTC

Igorgoldkind

Ode to Victory

Ode to Victory Steel and rain-splattered chrome Shield the gyroscopic Dharma Wheels That just keep on spinning, Keeping me Upright, Flying through the air. I am Sonic My dominion is the horizon Between desire, destination and the rumbling between my thighs. My engine is as powerful as my mind. As strong as 80 Horses that pull me over this curve of Earth. Victory, you succumb to my hands, And the shift of my weight on your saddle We are living gravity together: Whitman’s body-electric, Just beneath the ***** aroma of engine oil and gasoline. Riding on the back of the California black striped serpent From San Diego to Santa Rosa To the very edge of madness And back again, Victory, you deliver me from myself, You growl when I awaken you in the morning, Nearly choking on your petrol cough. Occasionally, you sputter complaints at me when I ride you up that hill But your joy at reaching the summit Is the sweet surrender to a gravity we both crave. Victory, your piercing gaze illuminates the night. All fog of air & mind flee desperate before your flight. You are the clear sky after the rain: the clarity before thought or rhyme Our momentum keeps us running ahead, Out of reach, of God and death and time. ©Igor Goldkind 2017

32

None of us gets paroled  From the prison cells we lock ourselves into.  So that we all can fit together inside  These jigsaw lives that we lead . Which of course, eventually all blow apart. We are merely the fragments waiting to be reassembled. Every moment of thought is but a small drop in time.  Each piece fits the next piece.  Although we may try to avoid,  The murmurs of our own thoughts.   It is our hearts that yawn and awaken slowly  From their long winter night’s sleep. You and I are mere mortals,   Who dreamt of a life without end.  We are the ones who make up immortality.   For the sake of seeking sweet comforts and sad joys.  This is the story we tell ourselves Whilst slumping back to our cells.

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Oct 20, 2017

Oct 20, 2017 at 5:10 PM UTC

Igorgoldkind

There is No Escape

None of us gets paroled  From the prison cells we lock ourselves into.  So that we all can fit together inside  These jigsaw lives that we lead . Which of course, eventually all blow apart. We are merely the fragments waiting to be reassembled. Every moment of thought is but a small drop in time.  Each piece fits the next piece.  Although we may try to avoid,  The murmurs of our own thoughts.   It is our hearts that yawn and awaken slowly  From their long winter night’s sleep. You and I are mere mortals,   Who dreamt of a life without end.  We are the ones who make up immortality.   For the sake of seeking sweet comforts and sad joys.  This is the story we tell ourselves Whilst slumping back to our cells.

18

I am propelled like a bullet from a gun barreling through space, Through your flesh, Through the time you have misspent on this Earth now ending, Too late to regret the bending trigger of my gun. I penetrate your ****** Your Mind, Your sense of inner self, Tearing through your false resistance like a runaway train. I cannot stop, I am momentum personified. Ripping through your many lives, Decimating your hopes for the peaceful tomorrow that now will never come. Because my trajectory is certain and yours is a wet pipe dream. You are obliterated into fragments by the curling of my finger. Now Isis will never find you. Fear is a man’s best friend, And a little pressure goes a long ways.

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Oct 20, 2017

Oct 20, 2017 at 5:07 PM UTC

Igorgoldkind

The Bullet from My Gun

I am propelled like a bullet from a gun barreling through space, Through your flesh, Through the time you have misspent on this Earth now ending, Too late to regret the bending trigger of my gun. I penetrate your ****** Your Mind, Your sense of inner self, Tearing through your false resistance like a runaway train. I cannot stop, I am momentum personified. Ripping through your many lives, Decimating your hopes for the peaceful tomorrow that now will never come. Because my trajectory is certain and yours is a wet pipe dream. You are obliterated into fragments by the curling of my finger. Now Isis will never find you. Fear is a man’s best friend, And a little pressure goes a long ways.

123

An aesthetic is a polished stone of truth. Where beauty shines its insight Onto a multitude of reflective curves and planes. Small wonder the world smiles upon the couple. Who have shifted the surfaces they slipped from. Orpheus and Eurydice reunited: Having finally tripped out of the cave and into the sun. Their outward smiles shining with the inner joy of a sight regained: Love is the greatest beauty of them all.

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Oct 20, 2017

Oct 20, 2017 at 5:05 PM UTC

Igorgoldkind

The Truth of Beauty

An aesthetic is a polished stone of truth. Where beauty shines its insight Onto a multitude of reflective curves and planes. Small wonder the world smiles upon the couple. Who have shifted the surfaces they slipped from. Orpheus and Eurydice reunited: Having finally tripped out of the cave and into the sun. Their outward smiles shining with the inner joy of a sight regained: Love is the greatest beauty of them all.

9