With a broken pencil upon
tear stained pages, scratching out
thoughts detailing lost ages.

Immune to academic scorn
creating words fitting new forms,
sewing new dimensions.

In the world where writers ink can be
shaded by isolations bleak stagnation,
my sorted letters find stained pages.

Ajerry 11-7-13

Last time I looked it was spring,
I guess I should come here more often.

A skiff of ice just formed over night.
Clear cool air, not September
but November.
Roads are empty,
Now I remember,
a heart attack,
a chair... and ascending.

Ajerry 11-3-13

Standing at a door
about to open,
......the apartment
abandon years ago,
now open to a breeze
wondering...where you are.

Finger on keys,
some lettered... some black and white.
A corner wraps round Steinway's
mahogany smile as the afternoon
reflected harmony.

Across the room a computer stood
old but humming when turned on
.......smooth sailing into 99.

The chair near the window, keys hung
on the wall one skeleton  one modern
looking lost....so what...!
you hear the white noise sing...
fingers on keys.

Ajerry
Nov 1, 2013

OLD HOUSE

They retain precious memories,
intimate feelings of inhabitants
passing through its sagging doors.

Romantic are seekers of forgotten times
memories encased in hard wood floors;
as lath plastered walls ooze remnants of a
history while we; when inclined listen.

We don't go very often, to abandon houses,
perhaps on a dare, or at Halloween.
Are we passed enjoying extremes into this
another world, musty energy a curious child.

That was the yesterday
which now waits behind
musty, dusty, derelict halls.

I stand I stand at paint chipped banister,
a faded worn carpet once carried dancing feet,
children playing before they sleep. The
broken coat tree on the floor.

From the third floor murmuring,
a wind storm jars
loose fears, of time
once lost to dreams.

Echos billow from
each room, curtains hanging
yellowed by a sun where
dancing light through holes in damask lace.

Mice gremlin's artful droppings,
tracks of nature on dirt strewn floor.
Broken shards from window
panes, confetti after New Years day.

Branches scratched
etched paths, tracks like graffiti
on sill its unread words, a glif
eerily cast shadows trigger echos from the past.

Jagged memories protrude from every corner
mixing with new, enriching our fantasies
bringing us closer renewed;
these musty memories long forgotten.

Like waves rushing back;
flooding a mind like broken
dikes they crash into our world,
Rembrandt's paintings on canvas fading.

Silent footsteps outside a door,
we hear laughter from bedroom walls;
a smell a whiff of hot butter ***, silent
conversation coming our way.

Old Doc Masters listened at my chest, as
I read all by candle light, Sherlock detective stories
or the Tell Tale Heart of Poe or
Othello; all masters in the past.

A Grandfather clock
stands silent, keeping time,
lost its tick yet still striking,
it stands tall, upon a clueless floor.

Knowledge lost to a past
in a house so worn,
births, deaths, wars, wrapped
forgotten, encased by neglect,

I visited a house besotted,
neglected waiting to be
remodeled into another century
moving it to present times.

Ajerry
Archival Jan 5, 2011

The trapeze artist without
trapeze,
encased within a paper weight,
reading through eye
glasses crafted for readers
astigmatic use.
This is the mind set...... this is the end truth.......
Being is embryonic,
to become, to the pupal larva,
a new becoming, Life.

               II
Quantum leaps often end in tragedy
               when the time traveler ceases to travel
                         The sudden stop!
Rapid communication......synaptic calibration......recall all yesterdays.
blind intellect               one tenth of one second         15 seconds
The dimensions split and the bicameral mind appears two lobes
right and left, inverted vision adjusted for
mythic fusion,
creating abstracted convolutions
answering to them self. A planet in a galaxy of confusion.

            III

Imagination finding place in the new electronic
institution, man made synaptical illustrations
from pixilated madness.
We take from this..............an
illogical extension of our existence that makes some sense.
We make it such
that it becomes
the most told lie
we believe without questioning.
Till death we do part.

             IV

As I inhale looking at my past...my last past, well
in any case the past is where I just wrote past the last time
like now PAST.
Rationalization is overrated, intellectual *******
is for the cools, and catatonic haze is a new wave drug.
It is early in a new society's evolution.....
It is late in the face of time......
ergo quantum quandary quid pro quo

Ajerry / copyright

                                                                   2013

Language, being what it is, our vioces what they are
when all are well and healthy their
mind makes musical sounds,
calibrated by breathing
tones across the chest,
we learned to count
and swear an oath to the master of a universe.

Come and count with me.
Open a dialogue to sound and
count, tone, rhythm, wind blowing free,
cows, baboons, birds chattering in a tree,
where these unnamed things are given names
​by the Troglodyte friend and me.

Ajerry 10-29-13 near halloween