the title comes as easy as water from the tap,
the poem’s body, somehow lost in the prep,
comeback a day later, looking for total recall,
and what my mind meant, intended, by a multi-coloration
and
the notion of humility as my overarching,
modus operandi, adding a filter, that diffracts
pure light into a spectrum of primary
primaries-
building blocks of our most basic
essences; seeing the spectrum not as pieces
but as a whole body blended, a mix, oils mixed into a purified glow and see humans
in this light and only in this light
and
remaking a multi into a singularity
and
this will be my only filter for assessing
the future as far ahead as my vision will
allow
Dec 30, 2024
Dec 30, 2024 at 5:20 PM UTC
kindness is never free!
it has to be learned to be earned,
it is not a natural choice but comes
to live in our genes after observing
it beneficial impacts, it munificence,
a two lane highway, divided by a
dotted line,
so that it can go across fluidly,
a streaming with no unilateral
direction, reversing course as needed
nope, not free, it comes with callused
hands lifting up a fallen one, even better,
taking unasked another’s elbow for safe
guidance, kindness prevents, making its
value greater than pears and rubies, yes,
it is infectious…
because you cannot receive it,
or returned,
until you’ve taught its
beauteous character,
seeing is believing,
tasting is knowing,
it’s shocking power is astounding,
a special
sounding that requires
not words, but words
and actions, a total package,
for it completes
the human far beyond
mere existence…
Dec 19, 2024
Dec 19, 2024 at 12:59 PM UTC
“where time is the fly and age the fisher of men”
<>
*”until I fell forward
into fall where time is
the fly and age the fisher
of men, then when winter
begins all will be forgotten,
where time is the fly and
age the fisher of men”*
excerpt from “The Fall” by Rick Richardson
<>
that words from a different ionic state, jump as embodied ions from screen to the throat, evicting a guttural current of exclamation, you believe even with the half-heartedly palpitations from remainder of my damaged pumping heart, that these words were always intended, just for me…
boy and old man coexist, the pottage of memories stirred,
and the time is fly, and I drown in the miracle of greenest grass of
Yankee Stadium at age eight,
oasis, heaven, a child reborn in a sea of Bronx concrete,
and the swallowing up of my boyhood is forever marked henceforth, the hook has caught me, and I am of the age
once and forever
not a fisherman, but a fisher of men’s souls,
mine own is my best bait,
hooked line and sinker, and
wisdom and words
elude and delude always,
like summer is perpetual and aging a construct,
time does not fly, but slowly laps and waves
eroding our myths and ourselves upon a continuum with
no ends
~postscript~
<>
*yet I believe,
in miracles of
fish and loaves,
and that our individual continuums
will exist beyond the artifice of constraints
of
mortal time and that poems are
the forever chemicals within
our
bloodstreams,
even when our blood no longer spills*
yet I believe!
Sep 6, 2023
Sep 6, 2023 at 7:57 AM UTC
Empyrean Heaven (there is no promised land)
there is no promised land)
the promise is where you stand
at this exact moment, where you
stick the landing every morn best,
best you can, assess the window’s
first delivery of the status of where
you are, whom you are, bent or *****
empty or full, impoverished or worse,
sated, foolish or brave, (dis) believing
the top of world is planted beneath your
feet; but above, at this the fiery places of
Empyrean Heaven.
Empyrean Heaven, nearest to me, thy there~thee
will find, beyond the heaven of the air and the
heaven of the stars, no land, the incorporeal
existence, carefree, know this you-human,
an unpromised state is the causal residue,
of actions between human to human,
not thy god, irony delicious, earn it
with every thought, instinct, act
deserving of this, this
“unpromised place”
G.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There was, declared Saint Basil, a certain condition, older than the birth of the world and proper to the supramundane powers, one beyond time, everlasting, without beginning or end. In it the Creator and Producer of all things perfect the works of His art, a spriritual light befitting the blessedness of those who love the Lord asks of you~human.
———————
Jul 3 7:59am
Jul 17, 2023
Jul 17, 2023 at 6:34 AM UTC
questioning my core competency
_______________________________
*man or woman, an irrelevancy,
we all believe that we possess
certain core competencies that
reflect our managerial skills, the
hows of how we organize and smooth
the daily mishmash of our otherwise
would-be-totally-hellish-lives*
minor stuff, that have the risk potency
of the skinny tail of the curve, where the
highly improbable
seems to happen as if regularly scheduled.
let the gas tank go to E, worse, unnoticeably,
but on a small isle, with no AAA, a single gas station,
in howling wind, and summer rain mael-strom,
forced to risk a brief trip over hilly terrain, fearful of
being gas poor on the stuck-side of the road, with
no one to call, no savior to summon, and my sense
of self, now shattered-glass on the side of the road.
*did I mention that the night prior when the situation
was yellow lit to get my immediate attention, I had
forgotten my instrumental human connectivity, my
Inshallah cell phone (1), at our dining out restaraunt,
making necessary a seven point four mile R/T detour,
to preserve my integrity, pride, communicability, and
the few(er) left, shards of my lesser antilles’ ego and pride.*
turns out that even on E, for long periods, you still
can go some distance for the car designers, all liars,
to nice people like me, leave a gallon reserve undisclosed,
for the vain and statically stupid of which I am a member.
more details of my ineptness, shameful, shall not be herein revealed, but when we meet, gladly be disclosed over alcohol.
*but it is now between the hours of nine and ten AM, and despite
imbibing 22.5. ozs. of Jamaican coffee, I return to bed,
having made it to the local station with gnawed knuckles,
and chewed lower lip,
lower the shades, announce to no one in particular, hello,
do not disturb, for-up-all-night-poet-ite, is exhausted the
exhaust of depression, for his core competencies have
been renamed, now and forever, his*
gored incompetencies!
p.s. E, having consulted the owner’s manual,
stands for more precisely ,
Empty Headed
Jul 16, 2023
Jul 16, 2023 at 10:14 AM UTC
”against your will were you created,
against your will were you born,
against your will do you live,
against your will will you die, and
against your will will you stand in judgment before the
King of kings, the Holy One, blessed be He.”
Rabbi Elazar HaKappar (C.170 - C.200 CE)
(Ha Kappar: the one who made and gave atonement)
<§>
***in these, the years of my erosive declination,
when the noble prize, time for introspection,
once was a chore of delaying, now no longer can be off-put,
the certainties of Elazar, offer guidable satisfactions***
***the nighttime review, resurrecting my life, the gaps,
the untaken actions, those dream-schemes speak loudest,
memories of what should have been, are a litany of what ifs,
prosecutorial accusations of crass wastage***
***against my will, the charges brought,
against my will, plead guiltily my innocence,
against my will, knowingly, time’s erasure judgment,
secures my fate, all the granular cells causal dissipation***
***my warped willingness to be a coward,
it was my meditative, to natural be the lesser man,
choosing the safety premise, the road most oft trod,
the addition of my meager totality, willing given***
Even if all these land mine/roadblocks
and summary judgements are against my will,
willingly do I confess, in all innocence, my guilt,
“if it be my will”
Apr 4, 2021
Apr 4, 2021 at 2:45 PM UTC
~for Dante Rocio, who shares visions~
-from where does inspiration come from?
from
intimacy with the inanimate,
the population of objects,
coarse, beauteous that provoke,
the museums, the gutter, the worn,
the just unrealized, imagined,
from
learning to speak hearts
to speak the heart language
from
from animated blood, eyes, taste buds,
when you pass thru the molecules of me,
by contact real or imagined,
desperation, satisfaction organic,
from
where do these questions arise,
the answers as well,
they are tangible, yet intangible,
even
from,
a notion indistinct,
an untraceable path,
hidden routers,
deflecting reflecting,
even a current direct,
invisible to the naked
from where?
a fair question,
answers, unreliable,
for in the forming,
the froming
is always
transfigured,
distorted
June 2014
Jul 17, 2020
Jul 17, 2020 at 10:59 PM UTC
“you have taken my voice, no longer can I...”
~ for Rachel of Ireland, who asks and is granted endless words~
oh my lord, oh my lord, oh my lord,
you have taken my voice,
no longer can I thread these words
oh my lord, oh my lord, oh my lord,
you have taken my insight,
no longer can I hear my eyes visions
oh my lord, oh my lord, oh my lord,
you have taken my mobility,
no longer can I shake to music of sky
oh my lord, oh my lord, oh my lord,
you have taken my strength,
no longer can I bend knees in praise
oh my lord, oh my lord, oh my lord,
you have taken my taste,
no longer can I sing a greater part of me
these first words, my sacrifice of morning,
no more to follow, for I am speechless,
the eveningtide will find me bow-broken
you have taken my all that you have given,
tender it well to another, for we are temporary,
your gifts are everlasting, and together, we say
selah, amen.
Jul 8, 2020
Jul 8, 2020 at 6:23 AM UTC
for she who loved me vainly
vainly
*in a way that produced the result she undesired,
my response harsh and swift,
her fan-tasy has no place on serious battlefields
those poem are battlefronts mine,
that are the numbered chapters in
My Revelations
still, she still reads my poetry
think on it, it’s confusing,
my unkind cut that came from deep anger,
it was outed but not for her, because of her
but for me
for to love
permission must be asked and both
given
and the line is wavy but 100% solid.
but reading my poetry, is that a violation as well?
my poems are me inside out.*
but if you look in me deepest,
forgiveness is there,
not seeking contact,
but hate
is inconsistent
with walking a
path humble
Dec 10, 2019
Dec 10, 2019 at 5:14 PM UTC
your best stuff will never be posted here
<>
***goose, you crack me up,
your bests stuffs can never be posted,
the tender stroke away of a child’s tear,
the welcoming of a smile delightfully unexpected,
a first grade art project so successful
it is mounted forever on a
front door Hall of Fame
a good cry all your own,
in private sobbing,
mouth mourning the absence of
a kiss on the back of your neck
shivers with surprising waves of pleasure,
that announces you are more than noticed
if you can post these stuffs,
call me asap,
because that’s the sight
I wanna see & be,
when only the best stuff you got given,
given got,
becomes real***
10:03am
4/11/19
Aug 24, 2019
Aug 24, 2019 at 2:16 PM UTC