Nov 2013
Ethereal: A Commissioned Poem
This one knocked me askew! What do I know of
"an ethereal world created through the poetic imagination."
I am a flea of simplicity, a blunt and direct man, who scribes the small, cherishes the little, grabs the middle.
So many here are so far linguistically superior, when matters light, airy, and heavenly are involved.
Hell, I even call god, my buddy, by his first name when ****** stops by to make confession.
But first take nine minutes, patiently, to listen to this, all the way to the end.
http://youtu.be/xxTF2umRtqY
Then, and only then, read.
— ethereal (adjective)
light, airy, or tenuous; "an ethereal world created through the poetic imagination;" extremely delicate or refined: ethereal beauty; heavenly or celestial; gone to his ethereal home; of or pertaining to the upper regions of space.
My ethereal is:
Autumn leaves, piled,
wet and slimy,
stench rotted.
Human waste smeared,
in the the diaper
of the olden, enfeebled.
Burnt flesh,
the sulfuric acid kiss
from a rejected hand.
Cigarette smoke stains
yellow post-it's stuck
on human skin.
Men who live in cardboard boxes,
knowing this is
the all of their days
existence.
Scowling smiles, a
coin of death,
on the faces of those forced
to sell themselves for money.
Cursing accident traffic,
until you pass the overturned car,
see the car seats, teddy bears,
just litter now, amidst the
safety glass highway tree decorations.
What did you expect,
some of your favorite things?
Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages ******* with strings
Cream colored ponies and crisp apple streudels
Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles
Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings
Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes
Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes
Silver white winters that melt into springs
Ethereal is Sandy swollen-springs
drowning mother and child in their SUV.
Froze dead vagrants
under white pristine,
suffocating,
beneath lovely snowflakes
that ****,
no strudel for them.
Mean ones pouring punch
on white prom dresses,
ruining dreams,
such a big scream,
put it in the yearbook,
don't forget the smiley face,
*******.
State troopers ringing doorbells
with so sorry so sorry ma'am,
she is not coming home
any more.
Stop!
Why?
You all grown up, learn the real,
this ethereal is the real too.
Wipe that *** look off your face.
You want gossamer and lace?
Wrong poem.
Beat it.
Go whine about your heartbreak
to somebody else,
Ether is the aromatic odor and sweet, burning taste, derived from the action of sulfuric acid.
Look it up, disbeliever, if it matters, it is so
real.
If you gonna use a word,
then know it.
If you gonna claim
the title of human,
try being it,
earning it.
Ethereal is the orderly,
cleaning the *** of the helpless,
one more time,
softly singing.
Ethereal is a car seat, belt,
that saves a child, a teen.
Ethereal is soup,
not a folded twenty,
hot hot soup for the
lying on the sidewalk.
Ethereal is miles of flags
receiving our dead
from overseas.
Ethereal is writing a poem about
someone else's pain
in your words.
just once,
straying away from the word I.
Ethereal is saying,
hey, to the blind,
careful,
wet leaves ahead.
Ethereal is human justice,
most un-divine.
Ethereal is not a thing,
nor even an adjective.
But a way of seeing the world.
Part II
Went out into the night,
back to The Village,
Bleecker Street.
where I used to live (#308).
Heard voices. Human voices.
A Room Full of Teeth.
They sang a Partita.
"A simple piece.
Born of a love of surface and structure,
of the human voice,
of dancing and tired ligaments,
of music, and of our basic desire
to draw a line from one point to another."
It was ethereal.
As I wrote these words in my mind,
My ethereals did not battle but blend,
the ugly and the beauteous.
They coexisted in peace?
I think not.
They coexisted in humanity.
All that is delicate,
is only because there is rough.
All that is soft,
is only because there is hard,
Listen to the lines drawn from points on earth.
You cannot choose which points to connect.
For all point to
Ethereal.
Ethereal is not a thing,
nor even an adjective.
But a way of hearing the world.
This one knocked me askew! What do I know of
"an ethereal world created through the poetic imagination."
I am a flea of simplicity, a blunt and direct man, who scribes the small, cherishes the little, grabs the middle.
So many here are so far linguistically superior, when matters light, airy, and heavenly are involved.
Hell, I even call god, my buddy, by his first name when ****** stops by to make confession.
But first take nine minutes, patiently, to listen to this, all the way to the end.
http://youtu.be/xxTF2umRtqY
Then, and only then, read.
— ethereal (adjective)
light, airy, or tenuous; "an ethereal world created through the poetic imagination;" extremely delicate or refined: ethereal beauty; heavenly or celestial; gone to his ethereal home; of or pertaining to the upper regions of space.
My ethereal is:
Autumn leaves, piled,
wet and slimy,
stench rotted.
Human waste smeared,
in the the diaper
of the olden, enfeebled.
Burnt flesh,
the sulfuric acid kiss
from a rejected hand.
Cigarette smoke stains
yellow post-it's stuck
on human skin.
Men who live in cardboard boxes,
knowing this is
the all of their days
existence.
Scowling smiles, a
coin of death,
on the faces of those forced
to sell themselves for money.
Cursing accident traffic,
until you pass the overturned car,
see the car seats, teddy bears,
just litter now, amidst the
safety glass highway tree decorations.
What did you expect,
some of your favorite things?
Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages ******* with strings
Cream colored ponies and crisp apple streudels
Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles
Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings
Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes
Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes
Silver white winters that melt into springs
Ethereal is Sandy swollen-springs
drowning mother and child in their SUV.
Froze dead vagrants
under white pristine,
suffocating,
beneath lovely snowflakes
that ****,
no strudel for them.
Mean ones pouring punch
on white prom dresses,
ruining dreams,
such a big scream,
put it in the yearbook,
don't forget the smiley face,
*******.
State troopers ringing doorbells
with so sorry so sorry ma'am,
she is not coming home
any more.
Stop!
Why?
You all grown up, learn the real,
this ethereal is the real too.
Wipe that *** look off your face.
You want gossamer and lace?
Wrong poem.
Beat it.
Go whine about your heartbreak
to somebody else,
Ether is the aromatic odor and sweet, burning taste, derived from the action of sulfuric acid.
Look it up, disbeliever, if it matters, it is so
real.
If you gonna use a word,
then know it.
If you gonna claim
the title of human,
try being it,
earning it.
Ethereal is the orderly,
cleaning the *** of the helpless,
one more time,
softly singing.
Ethereal is a car seat, belt,
that saves a child, a teen.
Ethereal is soup,
not a folded twenty,
hot hot soup for the
lying on the sidewalk.
Ethereal is miles of flags
receiving our dead
from overseas.
Ethereal is writing a poem about
someone else's pain
in your words.
just once,
straying away from the word I.
Ethereal is saying,
hey, to the blind,
careful,
wet leaves ahead.
Ethereal is human justice,
most un-divine.
Ethereal is not a thing,
nor even an adjective.
But a way of seeing the world.
Part II
Went out into the night,
back to The Village,
Bleecker Street.
where I used to live (#308).
Heard voices. Human voices.
A Room Full of Teeth.
They sang a Partita.
"A simple piece.
Born of a love of surface and structure,
of the human voice,
of dancing and tired ligaments,
of music, and of our basic desire
to draw a line from one point to another."
It was ethereal.
As I wrote these words in my mind,
My ethereals did not battle but blend,
the ugly and the beauteous.
They coexisted in peace?
I think not.
They coexisted in humanity.
All that is delicate,
is only because there is rough.
All that is soft,
is only because there is hard,
Listen to the lines drawn from points on earth.
You cannot choose which points to connect.
For all point to
Ethereal.
Ethereal is not a thing,
nor even an adjective.
But a way of hearing the world.
