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vircapio gale Jul 2012
i'm not entirely certain this is what i'm writing about
vircapio gale Aug 2012
.



overcome, undone, a man before a beaten horse collapses, clinging




.
vircapio gale Aug 2012
.


gate opens, piglets piled under sun come running out singing





.
vircapio gale Aug 2012
.


                                                                                                  breath of sunlight
                                                       meeting dawn's ownmost
                                      steaming,
                  boulder soil
ascending






.
vircapio gale Aug 2012
eagerly consuming the seedless watermelon leftovers from corporate victory picnics
vircapio gale Sep 2012
what better symbol of perfection than a remembrance of correction
vircapio gale Jan 28
in the morning-glories
peeking out...
a mouse















.
by "Priest Issa of Haiku Temple" Kobayashi (1763-1827)
thank you, Yataro
vircapio gale Aug 2012
~

forcefully polite people spitting surreptitious spite engenders empathy for flight


~

lexical tempests ****** objectivity's flight, and the world secretes meaning
grateful for the HP community :) cheers
vircapio gale Jun 2012
a thunderclap of time is splitting forward all,
the wanderlust of youth                     to grim,
the shedding of the fall                        to whim,
the balmy boon of spring                        to sin,
dividing rife exotic rain
from dry ephedra sprawl,
streaming sunlight angled in
for an ever-quaking earthwise view.

din clatter to escape with dryad love
the hackberry staff of age,
will only rouse the voice of life
to rake its noisome wisdom where i trod,
despite my neophytic whines,
echoed deep in aether cave
of cobwebbed narthex eye
and sage to say the ever-new adage,
'Physis surrounds you too, by the Cycle always bound; live, defy, but soon heed destruction's sound'
..from thickets widely known
to those entrancing dark,
in winged voice alone,
and burning angers lark..
"so, these hooves of sharpened sense are but a poor recompense, when time will wash and slap away the stars. winding words around your path are but a mortal aftermath of vanity and heady lust astray..."
but when scars of war are more than scars,
and vanity and lust are here,
i'd rather spin a tale than trail a tear
across a continent in shards.
through land thick with mind, our
much trodden moss of reveries, and
dimlight gyrewinds of overmind,
the spell our mythos cast
was not for me, but many kinds of me--
the sparkling soup of life in time
shining toward an end and of a kind
of dawning leap the soaking leaf
must make from under rain, at last
for fatal progeny to bend awake
from drifting seed and hapful bed,
by wolfine sleekness take
the ****** consequence in hand:
with final gust incurvate rend
forestal haze of drunken bloom--
the satyr's gait of musky sates
speaks of pleasures gleaned from
blushings red embraced in rooted green
pervading summer night.
bright, bright! inner light is spent
twining two experiments
of cryptic faerie nooks
and sun-baked lace of vines,
the whimper glint of cool delight
on cheeksweat riding trunks of sprite
of bubbling springs and gossamer lives,
unbridled canopy of sighs.

twirling softly, colors *** for bee
and butterfly, prying life and fertile
nectars pour with ease spread brighter still
and sighing on to sip the spell to last...
but sweet is over always soon, for
'honey never drips from lazy hive
nor pollen drift off sickly drone.'
the tempest comes, effluxive force
of noontide awe and verging grin,
battered branching sways the forest new,
with willows whisking seeds from under dew.
vircapio gale Jul 2012
phyllo dough considerations
veil the rigid silence
under quip, under smile-
covered cliche cud.
it is in essence meaningless,
this large party,
this braying urgency of guests

the house swims with life,
we mingle charismatic coughs
as talents strut; bouncing fruit
and swaying surface tension fizz
sparkles off the balcony of floating drinks

our tall pines are echoing beyond the yard
a sylvan soft allure of
living soundboard drape,
it needles aromatic carpet for a
*******, brink-of-dawn escape

allocate the living and the dead,
the borderline is begging to be tread.

an elastic belt extends the real,
a tool for party tricks, a tool for bending time--
i'm bounding off into the darkness
balling lightning in my dantien,
the world a trampoline;
running full i top the rail of gasps,
swinging through the arc
of thinning line to pull me back around,
stomach churning fiction-sick
with gravity inverted joltingly,
umbilically, aware.

then she has a turn as i,
as being me, and as i (as I)
careen away, the vaster leap
of single body, double mind-
it pulls beyond substantial thought

our uber-jumprope dangles
while we speed above the trees -- all is dark
excluding speckled stars
and the one, shrinking party-glow i lose below

the television orbits,
wobbles in a superstrings' embrace
all balance lost --
we're floating in a spin alone
unfocused universal locus..
stars diminishing reliquish cosmic depth
and nourish life in death

reeling eyes of weightless ******
squint to spacetime surgings
inward of the who i am--
plasticity-encasing glass of box
to offer all subverse companionship.
i tug the corded fabric
fronting interweaving screen
of futile marking where
i've riveted, lost, gazing
psychosoma scene
a modern mind-toy posted
to enframe another me we are,
even here with outside sight of world
vacuum up and lower heading
compass only gulping awe,
the breath is gone, a stinging heart
revalves its pacing flow
descending cosmogonic thread

allocate the living and the dead,
the borderline is begging to be tread.

i imagine trees again,
branches soft,
trunks my guideposts to the ground i've lost~
i'm mingling against my sense of real again,
packing leftovers, living social lies unknown.
a man compliments his speech
as "Bristling with business."
the jelly seeps beyond the pita's edge,
the pita slides out from under foil.
the party swivles on its axis,
the clowns play on, noble chefs
laughing in their pots
while i visit drooping psyche forms,
around and through glass doors,
crystal tables -- a furniture of ideal norms
to overturn. ah. i'm found again,
a bit less vast among a crowd
of nescient lives unlived. i'm
found undiscovered open all,
plainly lacking truth as well,
i'm me, this other presence,
this shifting sight,
flood experiential zoo,
this empty vessel holding two
a social fissure prying sense of self
from up a wild void..
vircapio gale Sep 2013
over the sunrise views
porpoise-play
and Pagasaean Gulf
with all its blue-white
sun-tanned pleasures

above the summer homes
out of those mesh-canopied beds
past our outdoor showers
dripping with grape-vines and late-morning ***
decadent breakfasts of fresh
half-euro loaves
Käse and Jam
or Gurke-Tomaten Salate
with "Hermes" flying
in our ears
hair and food

over the wake-boarding lessons
the minefields of neon violet-yellow Quallen
beach games
done with a hundred some-odd oracles
the Tractatus
but not the dead seahorse i found  floating before our argument
free from those schedules
the system of sunscreen application
bathroom and kitchen protocol

far from quintilingual fisherboys
the stucco church cartooned with gospel
its old priest grinning with his martial pride and simulated machine-gun fire
away from translating in my sleep
national pride
shame
and culture shock
forgetting that quiet dialogue of judgment
smiling between tourist and local
far from the baklava docks
Gigantes and stuffed peppers
Zorba refrains
swigs of Mythos and Feta

perhaps somewhere like the source of the Plateia spring
   where once the Argonauts had quenched their thirst
past burnt olive trees
past the first line of blazing hills

there
there i sense the fertile green i've always known

O
my gaze drinks the sweaty yield of exploration's calm

breathless
wearing rivulets of long-yearned release

so redolent the shade
in a ravine holding ****** silence

i eagerly descend
and find my eagerness returned
in measured wounds
low lying branches

sparse brambles
crowding soon
see me crouched
and crawling down

as if to judge me worthy of its solace
the leaves of late summer
once blades of moisture
twice as sharp in death
pierce my pressing hands and knees
allow the taste of sweat to sting my path

as if embitterment itself becomes a sweetness
colluding for my darker whims
breaks of thorns enmeshed with trees
gnarled sentinels for raking
joyous stripes of blood
brittle roots eroding into air
to scour off my sunburnt skin
invigorate the tension for my goal

remembrancing the threading cores of shrubline life
i lull into the swoon again
stringing slow sun
in husks of brown
wire gates to consummate a nether craving's peak
choke and lash of myth and love
a penance ecstasied in shade
a fleecing dark i will deny
Afissos:
a little fishing village on the Gulf of Pegasus, Pelion Peninsula of Greece.
German words:
Käse: cheese;
Gurke: cucumber;
Quallen: jellyfish.
Greek words:
Plateia: village square
Gigantes:
"giant baked beans"; or, huge monsters, the children of Gaea, who fought the Olympians but were defeated by them. they used Mt. Pelion as a stepstone to reach Olympus.
Zorba the Greek:
a wonderful novel concerned with joie de vivre, and probably the most recognizable Greek tune there is.. plays continually for dining tourists in Athens.
Mythos: a brand of Greek beer.

The Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus is the only work published by the Ludwig Wittgenstein in his lifetime. considered to be foundational to logical atomism, it read me.. more than i it, ending with the famous and overly quoted phrase, "Of which one cannot speak, one must remain silent." i think it augmented the culture-shock i convinced myself wasn't happening at the time, alone, surrounded by Germans and Greeks who, although they spoke fluent English and spared no kindness as i struggled with language, represented an unattainable sense of belonging that i don't think i ever had, even in my own country.. my own culture.  despite a strong belief in the ideal of cross-cultural dialogue, i still experience a vast, almost shame-ridden silence when it comes to questions of culture --for judgements made out of hand, always out of hand-- for want of better words... having to say *something* even when it's not really clear. so just as i willingly indulge the surreal torment of doubting until i'm never sure of my words; i also say the first thing that comes to mind as if it's an indisputable truth...
the donkey i met on the other side of the ravine, which i couldn't resist scaling despite it's poor handholds of crumbling dirt and tiny dried roots, was like an old friend, sniffing and nuzzling me as if he was willing to share in my inexplicable loneliness, an instant understanding, commonality. made me realize how much of an *** i am, privileged to turn a holiday into a narcissistic hell
vircapio gale Dec 2012
comprehending it for the first time, struck
numb and wretched. uncomprehending
shivers rib joy with age--
agendas churn
even as a salty dryness barely clears--
eyes contort in livid forms of love

vacant carols fail to mute calamity,
though once a bluebird sang at snow
abstracted from the core-- fly away
from a season's playlist monoculture,
reinvent this home, audacious now
to be a courage happiness
for youthful eyes no longer simply young
vircapio gale Aug 2013
somber song haiku*
/|\












early autumn chill
somber toning frogling bass
stars beam silent truth













\|/






mid summer hints its end
here too
the night extends in tones
lamenting twilit choke of day--
changeling-hours' ease: a memory
offsetting later dawns

yet deeper chills portend
an autumn's coming tide
of ending-songs

i too am passing
as a haiku's universal scope
of timeless time,
galactic spin within the frogling's utterance,
makes morbid rhythms eyed;
i fear i'm croaking right along this somber bass,
and wonder *is it time? so soon?

envisioning the ancient host of haiku masters
brittle, fade
in unison of tears
or tranquil noddings at the season's cutting
partial circles round the sun

i read
i am the aging frog
by virtue of a poem,
and then it lets me leap!




.
thanks to indelible Mae for her generosity of craft, wisdom, beauty --and for allowing me to include her poem here!
you are an inspiration :)
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/somber-song-haiku/
vircapio gale Oct 2013
'literature has a way of owning you'--
(the author said, after the book-signing;
and taking me behind the shelves, showed me
what possession meant, riptide trough and swell)
---much as the sea lays claim to one adrift,
to drown or hold aloft, then pin to bed,
displacing breath; choke...release...toss free, choke;
lungs drenched: retching silt, pelagic darkness
spotted with the faint transmuted sun.
whether full to glint a myriad in sky,
or blind to evanesce in foam and spray...
an atlantean crush of symbols: lost--
my inner mythic fades to distant waves
revising how i write of self, sunk
vircapio gale Oct 2015
"they deserve to suffer," the moralist chimed,
tones of genocidal rhetoric cutting out the sun
vircapio gale Dec 2012
sweeping over, under
streams me into humble yearning me you me
cosmic accident renamed
in fullness found, an instant birth rebirth along excitement's wonderment

why is it that those lines you share exact
the very beat my being was before i knew it as it is?
those words are tender arrows
painful tips of beauty shone

these lips have given that eternal kiss before
your instep scent instilled from lung to spinal arch
roots can spiral chaos of this love for all
i care, there is no end to order forming you me you

a bright flame to crystallize in time, shatter lust beneath our nails

endless endless vibrant moan, i hear you once again
beneath the grass the union hums
a sameness of delight in sameness seeded by another unknown love
when perhaps we were of other forms
and spiraled in a sun akin to throbbing star remembered there
vircapio gale Feb 2016
my thoughts, so potent just before--
like fresh-pressed olive drops
that lingered, lipping from the fragrant spout--
now pass, diffuse atop an ocean vast.

i imagine willing it to be a pond,
not for its lesser size alone
but mostly for its calm,
reflective height; yet
these waves are
distort ruthlessness
of liquid dust
by slapping, tower-high
the central ocean rip-whirl tide:
and gone--
as Homer's heroes screaming as they drown,
deaf as oars but for their final gasps
of yearned-for clarity:
of nameless pride's Ithacan king
abrading lustful wrists
restrained to blind a god's son's single eye
by tentacles of twisting, tactful fate.

by threaded loom rethreaded
soon i see my salty self in suit
of sameness, tricking time
by indolence or theft--
from truth, from others' hearths--
the difference winks in bubbles on the cosmic shore...
foam so clean i grin to call it spume,
grin to brace the seabed to my algaed chest
in salinating crush of sand, of blood-sharp shell and rock,
in sungreen warmth of blue and life
in crashing sinus wince
i grit aegean nereids in my sneeze,
splay their formless sexing into pelvic scrapes
of quickened starbursts anciently reborn,
squeezed in pleasure tears and laughing drops--
as all pelagic ***** must
within the pressure of a world,
its breathing darkness spotted with transmuted sun,
expel itself in sensate gusts--
as octopodal spurting flings
in liquid ****** of purpose forth,
(or backwards, sideways, in and out)--
so too i think
and thinking, drown my ink
instead of drowning thinking in my ink














.
Vritti, literally "whirlpool", is a technical term in yoga meant to indicate that the contents of mental awareness are disturbances in the medium of consciousness.

Sirens
Charybdis, Scylla
Polyphemous, Poseidon's son
Odysseus with a whole cart of oars and barrels of salt
Calypso
Penelope
Hestia
Thales and olive oil

may our inkwells never run dry
like Hellenic similes
grammarian's passions
vircapio gale Sep 2012
cold summer dawn--
        white cloud of moose breath, eight feet high:
                                                           ­        no bear after all
vircapio gale May 2013
polish those internment touting charms
vircapio gale Jul 2012
exude the moment;
you are a transformative fulcrum

of intersubject's rent and awe:
anthropomythic ecolaw

the dream cascades into words,
birds fly little crisps of meaning
into morning light. last night's
snow leaves a crystalline spark
of you subdued, become a finer point
of tantric sight, gazing rose-blue pulsar
lashing through a cosmic garden,
delicious fruit of spacious letting be.
i'm grasping for that pleasure,
vermillion moan of lifestring vibrance,
but the wind carries on outside,
swirling pieces of the mind in
flux of upturned joy~
our heartbreeze summoned,
now whispersssoulsounds to come
and earthly darkness grips the future frost,
thaw, break and steam as it wills;
the churning ground sings to us
of bear-sleep and jackal-howl,
of seasons transpiring,
one lost sled of memories
leaves us empty, pressing crystal sky:
my aching ideality trounced in bliss-meanders
!stunning revelation! you! You! yOu!
bringing all to be a second time,
as it was.. in me.. now new,
sweet novelty of union,
this gathering of nervure self,
gliding insights, sudden soundsss.

like a node of forest-echo swirls
it dazzles: unseen colors for my inner eye;
ancient tones of fog ripple
off something you are,
creaking center easing of my sidling,
spirit drop and wavelet growth:
as if you were a branching greenery
of my own once lost other-self,
last gasping there as what i pictured 'you'~
swayingss.. sun-spikes speaking,
sky-gaze and soaking barky iris sssuck,
moulding into me the wisdom of our past leavings,
those raspy kites of sap-filled yearnings
shadow sunshower evening.
i would be a tree with you and
let you pierce our foundations
with roots of gaiasight slipping though
our primal urgings, concrete deference
under sun arch, spin of moon. let
ignorant insistence on fetishized divides~
slipping past my grounded darkness
still unknown, remain
my underself unleashed
my silent trunk-swilling soothed,
stable chaos-other, self regiven,
life renewed in leaf,
the touch of you imbued.

the whole vision lost
but for that glimmer~
it finds me writhing unknown spirals:
ringing wonderment in a seed,
or dormant sporocarpic lineage of life,
the vast hyphae-humming cups of death-born
nethergenesis of cycled hyle me.
a womb that never knew of pain
or being evertorn in dessicated spectre-sea.

the burning desert-storms helixify our rain,
a heaving hiss-like suncry
from that dark, sandy baobabic throat.
the earth consumes in shifts,
and blossoms toward the alterbliss of you, too,
an expanse of solar flare
its beautific reach engulfing terribly,
nepho-logos spanning all the air.

ssssunlit boughs of winds' remembrance
grow soft across this window,
then shift with forest breath,
their snowlace puffed before
an azure true expanse,
the burdened greens stirring a needlish depth
of metawinter, all-too-human
starfields constellate in hiding
far behind my starshine there a curtain blue,
whose prismatic humor lights more
than scenic treescape, frigid dust.
hair, nose, glass enframed by sapless wood
of window cut to square my void revision of the world.

the colors whirl into mindflow,
inter-material upsurge-undulate,
abyssal cauldron seething passions stilled by
comic symbols of a secular mystic;
dancing eddies convey my sense of sight
just thought, then lost into a wider dance
of tensions eased and drawn,
of geometric visions seemly here and gone,
inner, outer: conveyed by stroke of
spinal eidos, its rhythm set
before my time, its tone the vital,
draping earthverse
recited in my veins, the sinews of my
life in other lives,
the song of us expressive in my gaze~
one blink()a single point of beauty
fades into another haze,
lighted icedrift iridescing evanesce.
anthropos (religion, Gnosticism) Man. (From Ancient Greek) [cf. Anthropogenesis, (an thro po jen’ e sis) n. Study of the development and origin of man]

myth·os/'miTHos/ Noun: A myth or mythology. (in literature) A traditional or recurrent narrative theme or plot structure.

*derew(o)- Indo-European root meaning "tree" or "wood"

Tantra, "weave, loom, warp"; or "principle, system, doctrine", from the two root words tanoti "stretch, extend, expand", and trayati "liberation"

Sporocarp (in fungi, known as fruiting body or fruit body): a multicellular structure in certain algae, lichens, and fungi on which spore-producing structures are borne.

Hypha · (plural hyphae). (mycology) Any of the long, threadlike filaments that form the mycelium of a fungus. The hyphae are used for reproduction and nutrient gathering.

hyle, In philosophy, refers to matter or stuff [fr. Gk "ulh" (üleh, where the ü is as in German or "lune"]

baobab, A short tree with an enormously thick trunk and large edible fruit. Other common names include boab, boaboa, bottle tree, upside-down tree, and monkey bread tree.

ne·phol·o·gy. n. The branch of meteorology that deals with clouds. [Greek nephos, cloud; see nebh- in Indo-European roots + -logy.]

logos, multivalent term fr. the Gk verb legein (soft g - modern greek lego ) "to say, speak" and also "to gather and lay down" ;  traditionally meaning "word, thought, principle, or speech"; also ratio (latin for reason), pre-linguistic language (phil.), the principle governing the cosmos, the source of this principle, or human reasoning about the cosmos. origin of  "(o)-logy." the active, material, rational principle of the cosmos; nous.  logos is marked by two main distinctions - the first dealing with human reason (the rationality in the human mind which seeks to attain universal understanding and harmony), the second with universal intelligence (the universal ruling force governing and revealing through the cosmos to humankind)

eidos, a term used by Plato for the abstract forms or ideas. fr. the Indo-European root *weid-, "see" is determinative of a substance; it is the key aspect expressed in the thing's definition as the essence or whatness of the thing. also (anthropology) the distinctive expression of the cognitive or intellectual character of a culture or a social group.
vircapio gale Jul 2012
^       ^      ^     ^     ^    ^   ^  ^ ^ ^^^ ^ ^  ^   ^    ^     ^     ^      ^       ^

{[a parachute of words to soften death

(the impact governed by an ancient rule)]

for falling slower, to allow the gaze to linger

on a beingscape of prophets, sages, and of fools,

to entertain a fantasy, a whim

or a kernal sign of epistemic limn}:

\| /

feline-dolphin friendliness to bring,

to sing of paws and fins, to fashion songs..

cut playful, caring, interspecies lens.

sprouting karmic stems at every step

with toe-gems on a koan-grounded path

on which the memories of art abound--

to measure wrath, to nard with wisdom salves

the holon vast of intra-earthling givenness

and arm the doom'ed nous with lethe-wards:

a Helm of melodies to dim the sound

of nether-chords in taunting reaper's lure;

pantheonic Plate to temper tangent blows

of glowing smoulders, darkest passion throws;

Wings of flame in kind caressing pleasure

licking high incurvate spinal moan... alone...

the tone is sure, for underworldly psalm

and biding sweep of time, aeon after aeon, eternal bone on bone,

in gales of fated nescience, the moment dawns

careening, skirrs my aether-self of lighted

purpose drawn, and telic web of wanings on...

_
nard: spikenard, a fragrant herb or its ointment (used as a verb here as the act of anointing it)
holon: a 'whole/part'
nous: from Ancient Greek νοῦς (nous) or νόος (noös, “mind”)
lethe: the mythological river of Hades, or lit. Gk for "oblivion", "forgetfulness" and "concealment" --"lethe-wards" is Keats' phrase from "Ode to a Nightingale"
telic: directionality, goal-oriented... fr. the Gk 'telos' meaning "end", "purpose", or "goal"

dolphin-safe kitty (cuteness factor high): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=itW2EPXxHDU
vircapio gale Oct 2015
it felt good to leave the tourists behind
---with their cast-iron grated stairs
and photo-flashing-falls,
question-comments cookie-cut---
embrace the woods:
soaking wet approach,
brinks of shivers in the dripping wind,
an old, broken filter
   slurping bubbles from a cardboard tired puddle;
whisperlite stove finally working,
the first cous-cous dinner warms our little white dog
   dreaming on my rising falling chest
   pressed by sleeping bag and snort and sigh;
we sleep our psoas sore--
unknowing we have just begun...
haven't yet begun!
yet bodied abject pain to shock our senseless raw
   with scoured glimmer-vasts of love beneath
a frozen fly on Frosty Mountain
zippered hail in midnight breath,
i *** in numbness gusts--
i bite my smile ice,
whoop the sleeting world for we are here at last.
vircapio gale Apr 2013
before it falls i dilate
with electric scent, spine-hairs
string her possibilities as kites
to tug my summon ground--
lilt, wave and spiral
distant mischief to a head.
i rumble on the vista, far, and,
on occasion of a social clearing hum,
chance aloneness on a hill
to watch the herald lake and trees, nets
secure themselves as emblems to my storied lust.
apsara, i
breathe you in in strokes
submit unconscious rhythm of imaginal delights
made real to last beyond experience of time
descended of the clouds
sea rich, heavy, sultry
you unroll an atmospheric fate:
my lust to span the sky, irrupt an earthen,
orgiastic zenith of all things--burst fantastic quell
in pale continuum your pedestal allays

floating hair as long as frantic overcast
horizon length
and indistinct of rain..
green, blue continents of eyes, mists
suspend ecstatic sway
in areolae breeze,
my hands the brimming cups
to gather, spill
bright ****** drops
into the signal essence rising,
center rhythm of a liquid bounce
that shines in belly-button crescent moon--
each gust a lapping of the sky-clad ache of moonlit summer leaves,
another sudden adolescence lost and gained--
falls on me, dripping
legs to wrap and draw in
every ***** blade of grass--
saturate the lingam i am living in--
enveloped in vaginal dance of pressure
pulling on the earth i am
an arching back
and skyward ******

begun before a time historians belie
wind genie, yoni,
full of all i ever willed..
how rare appearance has to be,
knowing you unique
to whimsically revise
your lightning shape akin
exotic form to fit my changing own
and yet you don't exist, my eyebrow says
between horizon-cracks
and patter of the gale--
bolts to spread dark syrup
through my veins..
i am intent on having you
to let you have me as your first and last
--being young
i am intent on twining my virginity to you,
to pierce my own hymenal dome--
slick with yearning, thundering
in moan across the hills and puddled tennis courts
undulating to my concord whim
your rivuletted ***** of the gods, goddesses --gulped between inhaling--
eyes that roll pineal
genesis denuded of a crime, apparel
gone insane delight
of endless tempest ***--
the purge cascades a vacuum in each vessel..
limp on writhing grass
euphoric in a space of never having been

what soul i have
her visitation marked--
with gridless memories unfaded by the games a decade
striates on the mind. i made
her more than what my way would make of her
and less for what my symbols lose;
i call her muse,
and forfeit right to call her anything again.
i am the burning key and lock
our chastity attained and lost
in vaporous blurring of all stars
rewinking in the gossamer above






.
apsara: a female spirit of the clouds and waters
vircapio gale Oct 2015
threadhung
worded in our double-weighted net:
relationship
the stung looking said
the sweet hearing seen
1000 metaphors to trivialize the living web
unsensed
numbed and scentless dinner

but tasting unHomeric baths of guests
unknown
unwanted, to be known
vircapio gale Jun 2012
phenomenal! vibrant light-helixes of vortexical sound
bivolving sorrow-joy cascades
into motional peace & silent selfhood surrounded.

Threads are coming together
              I celebrate the infinite beyond
              I know I do not know,
              and question-knowing I discern my choice
encompassed ---
      live and know the life inside
as what it is and can be;
to live and explore unknown chords
of heartsong cloudscapes; to be sound,
to be consciousness of light; to be
light itself and voidness all potential;
to be love and to love&be-loved;
in a timeless stillness forgotten in its thinking of;
to spiral quietly before an ever-emergent soundfulness--
to be deafened with a clarity of hearing! to drown
in colors blooming
in the dark; to feel the breath of things and taste contentment
pure as quartz in spring water, white sage and myrr.

grounded in a vastness spilling symmetry
this is witnessed by a newly discovered self
now swept away with verdant effulgence
---dispersing unity here,
bringing light to this Whole Now that is,
now... here, is an integral clarity,
a clear laying down of that union--
that metaspeech of truth-dwelling seen,
a resident teaching echoed in every breeze
healing into wholeness giving birth to itself forever:
just now noted.
vircapio gale Oct 2013
some rabbit holes
go only so deep

then  mycelium


i want you in this bliss
vircapio gale Oct 2015
my self-hood couldn't be...
my self-hood always has...
your self-hood also shining in the same reflected flickering of light.
what light i think i am is cauldroned in a background shade...
a primest shade of gasmic cosmos bursting forth
the light a simple consequence of hither-sided space
and freedom-ceilings in between.

inside siding outward warding off the sides i cannot center in
--outside siding inward warding off the sides i live within--
twining two in where i stay,
while choosing neutral non-act act,
on moving trains i shade as other than i am
complacent as the cog
that clicks the same in hatred-climes
as when it clips the love-me-nots of Spring
vircapio gale Mar 2013
i would compromise
--i compromise. i appear to i mean,
with peace-demeanor customized for show
paraded there and there, obeisant nonsense
in a confidence of meek to render compliments
crowding infancies of all

for the sake of art
i bend my frame about cliche
to have a human dragon claim
"the real persists unknown"
and gather at a sacred dolmen
fascinating morals sung beneath the stars and sun--
you said there was a butterfly
tasting at my skull, shaking with uncommon music too..
its skinny, immigrant feet abuzz
within the world they called a One, wings on pause, my eyebrows in flight.

a blanket iris cries warmth
in clusters hung ripe, filming over all
a native ceremonial, falsepolitik
i pluck at them atop a fence
obscure for comforts masking truth
discarded, found, fashioned
into furniture for candled houses
built with children's sons
where families try to see
a clearing in the warping
mirrors saddled with a dripping time no illustration comprehends
. wooden beams help it rise and dim,
the sunny lie, genuinely fake,
authentic trick of aeons hidden in the true
-- growing young, stemming back
to foil brighter undiscoveries for otherwisely
patient basements full of heirlooms,
sheik dining areas all
nodding over cheap wine we still manage to squint up at nothing at
in apple layers
symbolizing tidy crimes invented ceaselessly,
serving existential voids--
grace, fall, stumble catch
acquired tones of oak or berry--
other fruits would do, or none,
as i still feel
praised by your rejections --
when indifference gains a sweetness
like a novel vengeance won
i am indulging villainy
workshopping staling norms,
garden dark as cultivated loam.
where i am words
mooding intellect to torment,
faun complexity awry
vircapio gale Mar 2013
stripes of dawn sift through the grey departing night,
and in my home, behind those rays of dust,
furniture warms.
the freedom i love will soon be claimed by an incessant morning phone.
my heart numbs, longs for the kindness, constant kindness of the night

the music of my pulse already starts to fade,
a weight sets in, invisible grimace of so many trailing thoughts unraveled now,
to bear until the darkness-swilling reach of soul can span again...

would i fly at brightened glass in fractured urges,
bolstered yet adrift in any day's torrential memes?
rage at seeming machination's constant interruption of my highest rarity of living well?
or smile at the herdlike expectation's threat to condescend,
and at least scour remnants of the search undone... throughout the day
insufferable choice of final future origins
the mail arrives,
my forehead stops to wonder at the door,
and at that pang of hunger

running, overrun, the mind churns night in such sweet shadow shifts!
to fall, legless and dissolve into the rising light..
as if a Noh play were being heckled through to end by gaudy ads
to jolt us bridgeless from that subtle world
and wander long on lethe banks of noisome blare.
at times i stroll this nowhere stranding here, pretend, and gaze from hiding,
between a wincing coffee swill
imagined easeful face of signs,
"easy as a gentle summer wind..."
tolerant to all, to blow a "selfless" stillness into me
to wave, and smile --breathe a blanket on acuter truths
with which i meet the day enwrapped.

but quietly  i wait... for Time to die:
an hourglass to shatter in the instant of eternity!
and birthe anew each 3 am, create anew--
those  kisses,  frozen  birds  of  static  bliss  become
a moulded wax to shape the plenum love as roaming peace,
darkness-rest to calm a pointless labor,
abate the drift into an unwalled corner's only inward exit--
as whisper hands can cradle nescience
such, that grains become a world,
in which invented seas are sweeter than the toxic real
whose bitterness a cherishing of death unveils awry,
or right as winter dust.
i yearn in flight and add to fullness,
find fullness once again
to hover equipoised at love's encrusted center,
where pain gives way to peace i cannot have.
if i would have this other 'purest' love,
and for instance find the meaning once again in wartime's bated negligence--
as in a perfect silence wind can brush the lips with all of life's aroma--
and as a gentle fire smouldered long,
at Spring, ignites within the splay of tender leaves--
so archetypal solitude of being beings manifolded one, i may fulfillment find...

i may go find myself alone now,
or swagger to an ancient drinking song,
or fall into those evening arms,
to find abated also, idols of the heart in each
for what the greater heart amends...
all for yearning better worlds
the pain has sent me reeling prone--
curling at complacent murmurs,
coos of love to torment all without
wherein i wallow, fallen from all heights,
absurd escape, removed---surrounded still
by so-called metalove, abject phantasmal swoon
i grit my teeth against,
as heaving sand would send the shore to sea and drown nostalgia evermore,
as only total extrication serves to quell an everpresence such as this,
ringing in the twilit dew,
or starlight whirl--
or inverse in a heedless curse--
horizons cease in this expanse
surging at the birth and death of things
vircapio gale Jun 2012
let me structure you first:
there, now, ready, fly my owl
granting vision logic,
guiding thoughtform fair.
what softness in the earth gives way
to waterway, what forceful gust of air
to final quench of earthy thirst...
such unseen pyschomancy dusts
the wing-stroke of your flight,
and weathers well my musing trust;
you see with ancient zero eye,
and die to my dull interpret edge;
like a certain volcano jumper's
ox of oats and honey you
coat the stone of time to
symbolize my rhyme. hold,
softer, still, i do not need to cut
or pluck or forge with harshness --
your shrill screeching from the cage
of lines here summons more
than Athene's gavel ever forced.
otherwise than writing, you wait...
cradled darkly, unknown priorlife
of avadhuta colors mixing in,
of whalesong faintly felt
like stegosaurus moans,
like city-ships to overreach and then to rot,
forgotten tattva vidya shastra
forgotten sukha,
Megbe, Tirawa, Awen, Asha, Ichor...
(अवधूत avadhūta) is a Sanskrit term from some Indian religions or Dharmic Traditions referring to a type of mystic or saint who is beyond egoic-consciousness, duality and common worldly concerns and acts without consideration for standard social etiquette. Such personalities "roam free like a child upon the face of the Earth" (wiki).

अव 'ava':

favour; off, away, down.

धूत 'dhUta':

shaken, stirred, agitated; "rinsed"; fanned, kindled; shaken off, removed, destroyed; judged; reproached; [neut.] morality

अव-धूत 'avadhUta':

"shaken off (as evil spirits)"; removed, shaken away; discarded, expelled, excluded; disregarded, neglected, rejected; touched; shaken, agitated (especially as plants or the dust by the wind), fanned; that upon which anything unclean has been shaken out or off; unclean; one who has shaken, off from themselves worldly feeling and obligation, a philosopher; [neut.] rejecting, repudiating

\|/

tattva-vidya-shastra:

"discipline of knowing reality" (one modern sanskrit term for philosophical enquiry -- the language having no straightforward equivalents for 'philosophy' or 'religion')

sukha:

skt. for happiness, comfort, ease, pleasure, bliss, light, space.
    fr. Su(good) & kha (“sky,” “ether,” “space,” orig. “hole,” particularly an axle hole of one of the Aryan’s vehicles, thus “having a good axle hole,” while dukkha meant “having a poor axle hole,” leading to discomfort

Megbe (African):

life force exists in blood and bones

Tirawa (Pawnee):

'force which moves all things'

Awen (Welsh):

"(poetic) inspiration"; also considered a force or
energy forged from an indivisible source that is the power behind the
physical

Asha (Avestan):

'truth', 'existence', 'right working', "the decisive confessional
concept of Zoroastrianism" (in Vedic language ṛta). "The correspondence between 'truth',
reality, and an all-encompassing cosmic principle is not far removed
from Heraclitus' conception of Logos." (wiki)

Ichor (Gk):

ἰχώρ is the ethereal golden fluid that is the blood of the gods
and/or immortals
vircapio gale Nov 2015
i would cry out, give voice my wild rage
if that would loose the bonds, arrest her plight
but cowardice sustains a safer silence
long imbued complacency of guilt
--ensconced escapist narthex ease and shade--
i do not speak the secret all avoid
when speaking it condemns me to a pretense
loathe of self the ears that hear and do not hear
deep cloister  of a falsely sacred quest
to give into the hands encompassing us all
which hand it down again, below a conscience
as above removed, vacant as her eyes
9.10.2013-11.12.2015
vircapio gale May 2013
pollen rots,
faintly wafts increasing death
in an otherwise vacant Spring breeze.
the memories of bees buzz.

melodramatically,
i add a spoon of honey to my coffee.
it isn't fair trade.
neither is the milk..fair trade milk?

40 multicultural minds
hexagonal attuned:
the IPI begins to gather
in consilience
some further future data,
worked together for a whole new picture-
target for debunkers touting
benefits of pesticides,
ultra-gene manipulation patenting,
cross-pollinating property.

i am a bland dismissal too,
not just touchy-feely rage at rampant death
upon death, on death, death after death..
for 'death has always been common' right...
as i sit here, sipping sweet and sour coffee
not quite awake




.
IPI: International Pollinator Initiative

http://www.ceh.ac.uk/news/news_archive/multiple-pressures-cocktail-pollinators_2013_26.html
http://www.internationalpollinatorsinitiative.org
http://www.internationalpollinatorsinitiative.org/uploads/Pesticides_web_file.pdf

my mood perhaps finds an antidote in recent news (discovered after writing):
http://www.independent.co.uk/environment/nature/victory-for-bees-as-european-union-bans-neonicotinoid-pesticides-blamed-for-destroying-bee-population-8595408.html
vircapio gale Oct 2015
before i even write the title,
i set it to draft
selected as unworthy before it's born

i tell myself i might not want to write about writing
because of something someone said sometime
about mistakes

then if i remember right
i edit my memory:
after editing this poem
i am seeing clearly:
a censored Mnemosyne
raging from her shaded, titanic head

music may be involved.
or film,
or living well
or finding myself unable to speak out against bigotry
or those who'd impose their choice on another's body

the chills.
inseparable sensate emotions.
often they spread over the left side of my back, neck and head
.usually they feel good.
i think they may always feel good
like tears
and the urge to sing alone
or the sharp yearning:
i must tell this someone something soon

like
'the ocean overspills imaginal seas
and yet is less than what i want it to mean'
vircapio gale Apr 2013
kurukshetra grey
but iridescent with the glory of all dreams combined
some omphalos of lusciousness still pumps
an umbilicus of sates
to broadening skies,
parhelion whims
vircapio gale Oct 2013
"then i'll tell him where to buy a cheap cell phone  and when
so that it can't be traced to our  beautiful weather today

perfect for the beach  don't ask where this C-4 is from
we have plenty  azalias are in bloom

this is all the electrical wire you will need
and in here that's for the fuse  my wife will be here
to trim the roses this afternoon  she shouldn't need

to come in the house  some batteries  ask if you
need more  electrical tape  a thyristor if you want
should be enough for the circuit  help yourself
to whatever's in the kitchen  i'll be back in two days"
vircapio gale Oct 2015
the bigotry in me
proclaims you bigot-this-or-that
a silent death forgone before be met

the unapparent--yet habitual--whole you are
prereduced in pornographic quips
or tongue-slips given over to a politician's herd

remains in static symmetry's conclusive wan
sinks in double-speech's soft caress:
single, oceanic oil spillage shrug
,the value dancing buzz--
atop sommellier ****
vircapio gale Oct 2015
steam-roller log-pipe and blackberry moonshine, granny-apple moonshine--straight-potato-thwack... three firelit mason-jars of lighter-fluid fire, balanced on a railing; our Rumpelstiltskin host at length shouts, "Hide it! Hide the shine!" as headlights dim the moon, "Cops" is mumbled each to each; but no, wait--it's his buddy and his wife, come to sell some ginseng weeks before the violent umbel-berry date, a pretty $50,000 supplement to living, breathing mountain dirt
vircapio gale Dec 2012
ginko soft they pile, strewn on cobble
memories themselves concretely devised
cloister inward, revise, revise, revise:
debauched meanderings fully marble
escapes to curl the lip, adorable
here and there, whether smile sneer incise
linguistic pirouettes or paler lies
congest that wisdom indefinable --
the moment past moves on to feigning truth
with pretty rhyme, for ornamenting time
with myths to filter in an Avalon,
juggle perspectival paradoxic ruth
with fine meter fine, vernacular chimes,
and resolve the conflict like a dawn
vircapio gale Apr 2013
is that what grass is?* i said in awe,
a child once again, wide-eyed with desire--
to explore, to roll and tumble over vastness
crest and trough of hillsides breathing in the sun,
then nap among the cows, pet their broadness
blinking there in ease above the buzzing vale.
am i a child still? i cooed into the wind,
watched it stroke and flicker bright the woven green
atop the next, and felt it in my breast.
am i akin to you? i squinted closer still
at gaze of bovine wakefulness to my refrain--
uncurling there against the matted fresh
with yawning tongues and udder slosh,
bounce of calf, frolic laps, then bullish
mimic make in sport away from watchful eye





.
a response to section 6 of Whitman's "Song of Myself", some Spring memories of cows and being at a grass-fed dairy
vircapio gale Aug 2015
mid-air toward the icy Catskill eddies
frozen once  and once again--
bridge-jump skyward watchers--
plunge of marrow tears.

you are there.  simulacrum ping
-pong pop on carpet rise
another consciousness i've known
the winking soul recognitive
of grin, of inner whispered act
we finish lineless, applause of ancients drone
on trio sum in low man's song,
on kitchen counter edges,
finger tests and tested trusts,
nail clips clipping on dehiscing ****--
the party. the porch. the project truth of beauty's virtue shown--
the drunken blood a lover
swirled on wet on wet undone.

your attic pillow-talk sobriety
of Green Hole fun
to echo four years, six and seventeen
the age unknown, we shared umbrella sanctity of family home:
raindrops trump the timeless wallstreet horns,
a zero sky ungains the settled hue of mind,
each thought the same, copula to void
in mythic forms we metaphor the plenum won

building dwelling-thinking sung,
the cardiac in tones--
lucid union slowing in the swirling sun--
the eddies stop again, sewn in Catskill frost..
the love we felt alive, in mid-air jump,
in Berto's cheer
we match the water's silent thrum
vircapio gale Mar 2014
1.

dear feminism,
do i think of women
when i write to you?

why do i personify?

angry at an unjust world,
angry at injustice in ourselves,
have i been taught to fear you?
ignore inequity of fears?

or hide  
in the shadows of your salty curves
speaking soft with sycophantic tilt?

was this what mother meant,
portending talk of therapy
two decades in advance?

a bouy on three waves,
i crash against protuberances too:
limp didactics on avoidance for the victims,
waking in continuums of shrugging crime.

sameness differs in utopias --
every latent gut avers the right to spill.
despite the lissome quell forgetfulness contains,
my proper sphere will leave me
deafened in a wrack-dry
tidal echo--
'Fairness' stains clear beauty dark
as my imagined egos drown at last
from down our oceanic well of shame.

sacrifices fade,
i cannot write...
i write, and fail,
defined by sediment cliche,
reading women authors out of obligation ..odd desire,
and so in dim medieval-fashion
miss
the trail of monoliths erected
for a craven ease

2.

dear civil rights,
why were you taught
through prisms of boredom?
my voiceless reading left you to your rage,
while i communed with glossy nature,
private leaves.

how dare i clap your back
"congratulations"
at your tidy givens  granted
scars were open past my seeing,
and bleed still

while right here, empathy dies, now

dreams are bombed,
grafted to infected faculties
to wallow tended in a garden of injustice
erudite and dead,
i **** a bit i tell myself then stuff my face with food,
cover breath with smoke
and sleep in sour ignorance
no courage left to care.
blind grins bouquet the status quo
of rotted stems, discarded roots

i bury you with homeland fear
the killing silence filled with just intentions
for tomorrow

3.

dear feminism,
you speak for me, too--
my genderless ear attunes

cathartic sweep of ills
scaled beyond your other selves,
sexing into common chosen songs

no fearful tremble
at a mainstream backdrop reprimand--
to be a good gender,
--this gender not that gender--
gestate bigotry of symbol wombs,
cut ripe to cater to unquestioned whim;
no violent selfhood requisitioning
to closet inner innocence in pain

contractions shock in further waves
i midwife simple hope i hope
true fairness you have nursed in seeing death


4.

dear punk **** feminism,
marginal i ask as i perform
unstructured sutras on my heart
exemplar of a meta-freedom
burning in the core of threaded ages strung--
how then life without your voice,
vast silence unobserved,
the hidden anti-*** persisting
in our gender-theory--theorizing sterile norms--
sweet pulsing concupiscence
in our every waking breath
a pollinating zephyr tease toward
celebrating every feotal bathtub bliss --
unbridled ideologies unleashed
unmade into opining din

5.

dear temperance,
i vote you cherished
whirlwind
singing endless through the ageist ridicule
apparent failure in the civil warrior's eye
dogma blinks
denial of the rights you suffered for
but underneath compassion all along
i rally in your family's younger gaze
staring down,
questioning the steady rhythm of a whiskied fist

6.

dear feminism,
have i been taught to celebrate you?
have i been taught to fear for you?
have i been taught to treat you as a woman?
why do i personify you?
like some Sophia cybered up atop the forums of our age

blind and failing
i would be dust as well
like any rightful fading into dust
be swept along with all coercive screenings,
fear-born silences
immune to reason and the reasons of the heart--
rather than to live forgetting
letting go the questions giving rise to equals in a discourse
revising what it means to ask the meaning of


#
dear feminism,

when you are gone..
i for one will sing you
hope

to protest bigotry
a raging tranquil step
of care-filled voicing

dare an upward sloping arc
a dream becoming shared
to overcome
attain
inspired by once unfamiliar names

i will still be here,
the angry feminist
burning in my flagging underwear

brightest outrage at injustice
your deeper loves, fairness
selfhood honored
as if written in the stars
or ancient shorelines
-- you will not be gone
"She says, he wrote it--he says, she wrote it." -Lucretia Mott, speaking to the collaborative efforts of J S Mill and Harriet Taylor
vircapio gale Aug 2012
my grandmother too, is love.
in the weeks before she died
she writhed.
in pain and suddenly,
her attention shifting inexplicably
though no less pain it was in inner diastrophisms of the falseness carved in masks she shuddered forward all herself
at 97 and in shining reservoirs of urgency
she went through bouts of chanting:
'i love you' moans and 'so much, so much'
and 'thank you, thank you, i love you' for whatever hours
there were visitors
to hear.

her cat still slept on her head.
she with all her flaws expressed it to the point of drymouth,
perfecting mantras never known so well
her brink of death an apex in our hearts




















.
this is in part a grateful response to My Grandmother, by Shonna LaRae Dillon
vircapio gale Jan 21
.
comprehending it for the first time, struck
numb and wretched. uncomprehending
shivers rib joy with age--
agendas churn
even as a salty dryness barely clears--
eyes contort in livid forms of love

vacant carols fail to mute calamity,
though once a bluebird sang at snow
abstracted from the core-- fly away
from a season's playlist monoculture,
reinvent this home, audacious now
to be a courage happiness
for youthful eyes no longer simply young
reposted from winter 2012
vircapio gale Apr 2013
oli  alolalia, alloilaalia llia
my voice complies to echo
distant emblems of a theory of all fate,
destined  with a syntax  of a mainly nonsense  pedantry
..paling.. beside a string of random words--
whether nature's bare effect,
or some intentional array--
ailololalieae, aellolalia la aolilolalia, allollia allali lllla, alloalia alllaia, allolalia*
--bearing ologies of whim and isms without ambit,
a farce within a sham in a sham in a sham
waiting there atop an abstract, ancient hill
gloriously stale, and always having been to be
what only poor Laplace could see.
the comely resignation siren sings,
her hair of timely strands agleam
and waving as she wails before a wall of necessary moans
aelloliaolia llali, alilaolaloiaa. Lllaa oali, aallolalia, lli ll ol, llolalia lllalia, aallaoloaloia
in dagger tongues of old and new, even divination ends--
anti-grammar soothsaid by the stars,
pointless thanks for all respite
and fortunes womb to womb
in tones of equal portions,
loving and malicious lies
invested blindly in a causalistic chain
compelling freely all to learn
another hyle verse refraining on,
"sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet tea."
allolalia.
        
allolalia of the soul, for certain.
of what is romanticized as soul. the Incy would know,                         
chosen in fantastic leaps a chorus strips
to vocal altivolant cries
rebounding buttress heights
with savored dionysian sin
the gods descended to revise--
listen, in abandon, an amatorculist's ictus speaks:
allolalia a allaia. Alloolalia allolalia alaloolaleioa
resounding deep beneath the waters, ecstatic envelope of tides
in which the stars reflect the spiral of my inner gaze
chiaster noemes tipping pleasure over domes,
verdant crotches rooted by ephemera of lights
and hazes floated over eyelash swoons
from piercings into satisfaction's desert end,
where sternums drip with scoured lusts
and wide-eyed recollections of the moment's selfhood sight
betray the freedom in the heart, and sacral pride.
***** imagined ease of future tropes
conjoined with inner plights to balance
what the furrowed brow concerns,
and widened visions offer further depths
to penetrate the interweavement of all times--
alone i'm here again, recognizant of wills
familiar as the flaming star i contour shadows from
to reminisce on mentor's sayings,
"exact description of inner and outer reality"
Alelaoolaliai alololialiia, aallolaleia
experiment of worlds, archer of the proper noun
allolalia... beloved allolalia...















.
"Susie Asado" is a poem by Gertrude Stein, with "Sweet... tea" as its opening line.

allolalia
n. - form of aphasia in which words are spoken at random.
or Any speech defect, esp. one caused by a cerebral disorder.

word mutations are taken from http://wordster.onvyder.com/wiki/allolalia.html
vircapio gale Aug 2012
spread-eagle at the summit
facing endless gusts of sandy billows,
mountain-backed vitruvian man,
i flail frustration at the outer
drips against, again in toes
forget the boots the pack
the bearbag full of snacks
the nylon thunder night-fret
flash of demon forking
shamefaced fear in throat
of shaken chest or weakness
soaking downy thermarest--
underfed it seemed so clear!
with only distant puffs within the blue
so here i lay despite the warnings hitherto--
the stakes have ripped electric
by the sky or sudden wind
as corners rock and threaten
rolling off into the gale--i sweat to add
a static vision sailing back alone,
a teardrop tent against the lightning caverns of the clouds
a skeleton of light suspended in the strike,
a sierra sign designedly godlike,
zapped nocturnal whisk i am
in awe now fearful grateful
mythos-understood of human
imagination's pawn still prone
with whining seams the poles still hold
within the whipping whites so loud
to tug my heels against the flying fabric
portal damp enstormed insomniac
to will the stony sand there once again
to sleep perhaps another dozen in
before the morning knuckles
pound the staff from off this mountaintop
this is what i got for camping on the sandy summit of Carter Dome, where the soil is too loose to hold tent stakes.  the lightning storm ripped them right out and tossed me around til just before sunrise
vircapio gale Oct 2015
and wins, uncounted,
fall
crystallineated

egos flaking from the broken, crusted snow

i have lost my founded plenum's fill--
in chainsaw bite and vibrate
powerlining chill of poemed demise

love's warrior-chiming focus pill--
the rhyming will,
the will to unrhyme real aesthetic abject thrill--
alliteration's dulling pull
beneath all competition's rising low.
vircapio gale Feb 2013
when that hopefully ecofriendly R.I.P becomes my final home
whether bios urn
or spirit seed
or any trendy tree from corpse to copse,
from dust to leaves
or better than
a crematorial commode --for fresher air and fuel for brighter flames
transplanted into other selves
redressed in mushroom spore-suit
seeded with the genes of generations hence and past,
piercing veils to fruit above again,
a mycophile to the last--
i will have lived with growth in mind,
that firm amorphous
ground opining green
to kindly live and die in kind
foment another view,
encompass monumental evanesce
supernal tablets branching neo-dolmen ethernexusnets beyond the r00ts
barking technoshaman psychic rings about a fiberoptic rosey,
perhaps a sappier refrain for finer silica domains
to sing along and echo Dryads doting long ago,
in threaded tones the make-remaking fold
of earthenborn rekindled kin of stars
decided to invent to cater otherworldly themes
vircapio gale Jul 2012
a dream was never held
within the heart like this;
to caress and mimic make
the metamorphic yields
no image to allure, on swell of
blissing ribcage breathing:
field-horizons seethe for
gaze to set upon a focus-fix,
a cough subsides to utter sweetness
in the air, the intake of a blanket joy
to sweep the skin entire me
for being free, electric nexus-winds
to soften stances, slowly vibrate
perspectival nodes, and deeper nests
of echoed intertwinement
through the hall of gathered newness
breathed, breathing insight
sounds beyond the worlds imagined--
to sing the choice in serpentine,
throat cascades galactic chirping
carved flight of nimble-cover quickening
shines higher, pitching lust and thought
behind my ears revealing awe
ambrosia waves from sigh-blown
relics of a leafy launching,
spinning dust of nebulaeic tones
on ancient sprout-soul holding
true for humble new beginnings green and blue.
heave this newfound beauty
axis wing upon that giant
spiral booming where
imagined whims are gentlest
of all transearthly greatnesses--
simply sphotal sounds
on winds of changing colorflow--
sending quivers in the dark,
a smile-fire scree of charms
i've known along
us even while alone
sphoṭa (Devanagari स्फोट, the Sanskrit for "bursting, opening", "spurt") is etymologically derived from the root sphuṭ 'to burst'. It is used in its technical linguistic sense by Patañjali (2nd c. BCE), in reference to the "bursting forth" of meaning or idea on the mind as language is uttered. Patañjali's sphoṭa is the invariant quality of speech" (wikipedia).
vircapio gale Aug 2012
words signifying nothing
                             call questioning into question,
                                                       ­         make vociferous doubt a ruse
                                                            ­                                               played upon itself;
the diversion of division appears,
                                         an emptiness clothed with fullness,
                                                       ­                               the semantic womb called void.
there lies a trans-truth
                             between truths our grammar cannot harness,
                                                        ­                                    and a 'meta-truth' we imagine.          
trusting in the world that spoke to us,
                                                           we speak,
navigating riddles with nascent symbol-shifting
                                                 ­                   beyond speech,
                                                         ­                         revealing the artifice of words
                                                           ­                                                               an­d the mutability of true thought.                                                
to encompass only by dividing the always-already encompassing~
in gathering this,
                      there hints a ceaseless gathering
do you feel me?
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