Feb 2016
~~~
"Fact about me: You design me"
line from a poem published here on Nov. 30, 2013
part I of a trilogy
nml
~~~
6:33am
9 minutes left
in the AM hour of my tribulation,
the re-design time,
redoing my outer shell
legs pounding,
towel sodden soggy,
soon return to home
do my morning ablutions
followed by a frosty walk
to the multiple screens
for trading things
makeover, do-over,
but you can only easy
shed and cleanse
exterior surfaces,
shape and appearance,
the inside stuff,
that's the gut wrencher
don't be so ******* yourself
kid!
nah ain't gonna
kid
myself
too old, too much a wise guy
to show much forgiveness to self,
of untruly yours,
whose design was only 50% mine
someone is dying,^
my cocktail of
words and emotions
more muddled than my
usual abnormal,
while sweating off
the golden baddies
to the golden oldies
so where exactly is the
truth burden?^^
somewhere between sad
and a curt "no cares"
my physical reformation,
is part and parceled,
of my regeneration,
the one who gave me
the desire to die before my time,
is dead before her time,
and I don't know the clear water truth
of my variable emotions
design me?
she is deigning to
design me still
with her untimely death
so I cycle even harder
to release the anxiety of
mis-everything
regretting what was lost,
now missed,
that too was, and is,
part of my design,
part of
burden of truths
that design who we
were, are, and yet
may be
"Fact about me: You design me"
line from a poem published here on Nov. 30, 2013
part I of a trilogy
nml
~~~
6:33am
9 minutes left
in the AM hour of my tribulation,
the re-design time,
redoing my outer shell
legs pounding,
towel sodden soggy,
soon return to home
do my morning ablutions
followed by a frosty walk
to the multiple screens
for trading things
makeover, do-over,
but you can only easy
shed and cleanse
exterior surfaces,
shape and appearance,
the inside stuff,
that's the gut wrencher
don't be so ******* yourself
kid!
nah ain't gonna
kid
myself
too old, too much a wise guy
to show much forgiveness to self,
of untruly yours,
whose design was only 50% mine
someone is dying,^
my cocktail of
words and emotions
more muddled than my
usual abnormal,
while sweating off
the golden baddies
to the golden oldies
so where exactly is the
truth burden?^^
somewhere between sad
and a curt "no cares"
my physical reformation,
is part and parceled,
of my regeneration,
the one who gave me
the desire to die before my time,
is dead before her time,
and I don't know the clear water truth
of my variable emotions
design me?
she is deigning to
design me still
with her untimely death
so I cycle even harder
to release the anxiety of
mis-everything
regretting what was lost,
now missed,
that too was, and is,
part of my design,
part of
burden of truths
that design who we
were, are, and yet
may be
^my ex-wife of a tumultous 33 year marriage died three hours after I wrote this, succumbing to a painful and terrible ending battle with cancer.
Written while working out on the stationary bike in the gym, at 6:33 am
2/11/16
~~~
^^ a poem no one read but on my mind
The Truth Burden: "Poetry is a Self-Policing Agency, Enforcing Nothing" ~
~~~
a poem derived from these words of
Joel M Frye
"Poetry is a self-policing agency, enforcing nothing"
~~~
The Truth Burden
is the accursed need obligatory,
the sacred sanctity requisitioned,
when the whenever,
chooses to drops in and upflag the mailbox,
an uninvited invitation,
announcing with precise bluntness,
that precisely now,
is the tool crafted moment
and you fool,
the selected tool
you must render unto Ceaser,
by your own hand,
render your own rendering,
do your own undoing,
go forth and in haste,
will thyself into the cauldron of the
Great Mystery of Creation
you cannot lie in poetry
-one can only validate-
you will tell the whole truth,
and nothing but,
all in good order,
to secure me to thee,
to muddle our molecular cocktail mix,
you must,
must give only
truth in poetry,
or give
nothing
police yourself
in every aleph bet,
don't substance abuse us with deceit,
give only your unburdening,
force us to lip kiss
when
we face each other,
when
pronouncing the blessed script of
ourselves,
that we have been granted by sharing
each other's unvarnished lettres
the burden is
to un burden
cut out what needs
to be bridged from
the secret walled-in safe,
and give form, life and breath,
expose it to the atmosphere,
reform your bleak introspection and bitter realism,
turn blue blood veined internal
into an amberina red,
all by being
unsaved, unsavory, unsafe
you are the enforcer,
you are the police,
you are the validation
and the validator,
enforcing this sole law,
police your self,
give us
with no agent in between,
give us
nothing but,
a voice
one will recognize instantly
as the whole fats milk of
truth
oh, how I will embrace thy
one and only,
when given,
your
one and only
for do we dare disagree that is
each other's truths that
shall set us free?
•••
for we are the inhabitants,
of this wild land of no inhibitions,
no rule of laws,
except one,
defend the essence,
protect the defenseless integrity,
promote the mystery of the human
poem
~~~
written in the great blizzard of 2016.
Joel M Frye ›
poetry is a
self-policing agency,
enforcing nothing.
You remind me of a favorite prayer, Nat:
"I thank You for this day, Great Spirit, and I step willingly into the mystery of it."
Glad I am you share this journey. Thank you.
January 23 - 30, 2016
Written while working out on the stationary bike in the gym, at 6:33 am
2/11/16
~~~
^^ a poem no one read but on my mind
The Truth Burden: "Poetry is a Self-Policing Agency, Enforcing Nothing" ~
~~~
a poem derived from these words of
Joel M Frye
"Poetry is a self-policing agency, enforcing nothing"
~~~
The Truth Burden
is the accursed need obligatory,
the sacred sanctity requisitioned,
when the whenever,
chooses to drops in and upflag the mailbox,
an uninvited invitation,
announcing with precise bluntness,
that precisely now,
is the tool crafted moment
and you fool,
the selected tool
you must render unto Ceaser,
by your own hand,
render your own rendering,
do your own undoing,
go forth and in haste,
will thyself into the cauldron of the
Great Mystery of Creation
you cannot lie in poetry
-one can only validate-
you will tell the whole truth,
and nothing but,
all in good order,
to secure me to thee,
to muddle our molecular cocktail mix,
you must,
must give only
truth in poetry,
or give
nothing
police yourself
in every aleph bet,
don't substance abuse us with deceit,
give only your unburdening,
force us to lip kiss
when
we face each other,
when
pronouncing the blessed script of
ourselves,
that we have been granted by sharing
each other's unvarnished lettres
the burden is
to un burden
cut out what needs
to be bridged from
the secret walled-in safe,
and give form, life and breath,
expose it to the atmosphere,
reform your bleak introspection and bitter realism,
turn blue blood veined internal
into an amberina red,
all by being
unsaved, unsavory, unsafe
you are the enforcer,
you are the police,
you are the validation
and the validator,
enforcing this sole law,
police your self,
give us
with no agent in between,
give us
nothing but,
a voice
one will recognize instantly
as the whole fats milk of
truth
oh, how I will embrace thy
one and only,
when given,
your
one and only
for do we dare disagree that is
each other's truths that
shall set us free?
•••
for we are the inhabitants,
of this wild land of no inhibitions,
no rule of laws,
except one,
defend the essence,
protect the defenseless integrity,
promote the mystery of the human
poem
~~~
written in the great blizzard of 2016.
Joel M Frye ›
poetry is a
self-policing agency,
enforcing nothing.
You remind me of a favorite prayer, Nat:
"I thank You for this day, Great Spirit, and I step willingly into the mystery of it."
Glad I am you share this journey. Thank you.
January 23 - 30, 2016
