"asides" poems
The prologues are over. It is a question, now,
Of final belief. So, say that final belief
Must be in a fiction. It is time to choose.
I
That obsolete fiction of the wide river in
An empty land; the gods that Boucher killed;
And the metal heroes that time granulates -
The philosophers' man alone still walks in dew,
Still by the sea-side mutters milky lines
Concerning an immaculate imagery.
If you say on the hautboy man is not enough,
Can never stand as a god, is ever wrong
In the end, however naked, tall, there is still
The impossible possible philosophers' man,
The man who has had the time to think enough,
The central man, the human globe, responsive
As a mirror with a voice, the man of glass,
Who in a million diamonds sums us up.
II
He is the transparence of the place in which
He is and in his poems we find peace.
He sets this peddler's pie and cries in summer,
The glass man, cold and numbered, dewily cries,
"Thou art not August unless I make thee so."
Clandestine steps upon imagined stairs
Climb through the night, because his cuckoos call.
III
One year, death and war prevented the jasmine scent
And the jasmine islands were ****** martyrdoms.
How was it then with the central man? Did we
Find peace? We found the sum of men. We found,
If we found the central evil, the central good.
We buried the fallen without jasmine crowns.
There was nothing he did not suffer, no; nor we.
It was not as if the jasmine ever returned.
But we and the diamond globe at last were one.
We had always been partly one. It was as we came
To see him, that we were wholly one, as we heard
Him chanting for those buried in their blood,
In the jasmine haunted forests, that we knew
The glass man, without external reference.
17k
There is a Year part from which is assigned
Asides from your Truce to cover and rest
Till then, your Crafted Show to Fame consigned
My Girl's Centenniary will look its Best
This I Pledge, by the added Fifty-Four,
Honouring the Godfather I borrowed
If still, no Sound, least Assignment for more
Shall I conclude all my Efforts sorrowed
By then, to see and calculate for once
Despite I embrace this Familiar Ghost
This Truth - to Drill my steeling nerves upon
And cross-hair your Freedom which mattered most.
By that time, I should look for Someone else
Though in my Conscience I cast the same Spell.
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 5:12 AM UTC
For Eric
Still as likely to call
you on your faulty reasoning
To add philosophical asides
to any conversation
To create something from
other things: words,
succulents, driftwood,
found objects, and
arcane bits of wisdom
To dig up treasures where ever
and when ever possible
To delight in uniqueness of character
and a choice turn of phrase
To both insist and demur,
challenge and encourage,
to penetrate and repent
(on rare occasions)
To surprise with a soft word,
a kind gesture,
a wisp of sentiment,
and a steadfast dedication to
lasting friendship.
Permanence is an illusion--
he would argue--
But some things, like the
arrow of time, remain unchanged.
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 8:12 PM UTC
There's something majestic, yet also extremely gloomy, about a streetlight at night in the rain. Something, some unplaced dimension within the echoing cars and within the particles of water, as they spray...into oblivion
Mother, do you recall that rainy day?
The day my gumboots soaked through,
I beleive we were waiting for a bus. It was one of those city rains, when all you could dream of was home or the warmth and comfort. When all you wanted was a bath and hot-chocolate or another item of food, steaming with love. Mother, I remember holding to you're body for warmth as we sat under that old wooden bus shelter.
I clung to you're body and melted into you're lingering scent, you're falling breath and you're human form.
You held me, you hid you're shivers so as to warm mine.
We watched the cars spray etheral mist into the orange lights of the city.
We watched lovers rush by under umbrellas, we watched rain curve down the cement like a snake on it's own journey.
We listened,
oh did we ever listen, we ate up the noise, the stories within the rain, we cuddled until we felt the warmth from our bellies rise out of us like smoke or a dragons breath, tainting the air.
I, you're daughter. You, my mother.
You're long hair curling down your breast. Me, like a little berry scrunched up as close to you as I could get. Like our bodies would drip into each other as one, our breath the same. Only my gulps of air came much sooner and you silently resisted my subtle games. When the huddling was done you reached out to me with you're strong hands and you led me along the night of echoes. I can't remeber much else, asides from sitting with you in the empty pizza shop as we both savoured and satisfied our cravings for comfort. Cold-handed laughter as we danced over the most delectable pizza.
Then we caught the bus home, you sat on the red leather, grabbing the creamy yellow bar, I jumped onto the ratty blue seat beside you and leaned once again into you're body, melting into sweet harmonies.
Eating in the sounds of humans and the sound of the bus, splashing through water
and journeying on through the deep
and endless city night.
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 3:18 PM UTC
I was about eight
and i could speak three
Nigerian languages,
especially pidgin.
Every sunday, i recall, my mother
would bless my stomach with nicely cooked native dishes.
Then, the Nigerian
football matches in the evening with my father was a sight too exhilarating to miss.
My school years was eventful
has i received a whole lot of flogging.
The only clothings i had
asides undergarments
were all native attires.
Some admired it, Others didnt.
I honestly was not bothered.
Now, i'm serving my country
in the army, which frankly is fulfilling for me.
No matter how bad Nigeria gets,
i'll always be proud of it.
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 11:47 AM UTC
**zero context shifts
*multitasking is multi~asking your brain
to do what does not come naturally,
the enthused poem starts up, lion roaring,
a muscle car, brain throbs organic pulses
semi~orgasmic of a near-completion in
your neuronic ***** exciting and ****
all you-writ so far is:
your name, some crazed, minimal
two fingers of words with
no context, no preconceived word lotion to
balm-spread over the enflamed areas of
your brain skin
except that it’s
6:47 am, coffee in hand,
your woman slumber rumbles a left over dream,
speechifying, and room, cool conditioned cold,
ignoring notifications of overnight elections,
and a reminder-by-photo where you were this
day seven years ago today, all put asided,
permission ungranted to any distractions,
there will be zero context shifts* til the
spillage of your morn squeaking meager is fully
pillage~d here, it be within my it-takes-no-
village,
@ 6:56 and Whitman is tsk-tsking at the low poetry of my scripting, Hafiz says “hey!
nothing about god or love, what good is that?”
but it’s ok for i’ve emptied the early morning
brain bowels,
defused fusses and asides, tossed asided & there is yet some coffee
remaining but the expiation for having been
reborn this newly birthed day has earned me atonement
for taking up space in this planet
and as of yet, I’ve not stated yet to any, no. all
humans, I hate you ~ but the day is infantile
and opportunity plentiful
@7:03AM
nyc
morning
Wed Nov 8,
in the year of hatred,
a/k/a twenty twenty three.
Nov 8, 2023
Nov 8, 2023 at 7:33 AM UTC
I never whittled wicker fiddles
while riddles belittle the middle
class of ***** and elephants.
Irrelevant asides alike another
mother smothered by her brother’s
last lover and uncovered this summer’s
eve. ****** – the reason seasons start
aren’t propelled by a spell in my heart.
the spell in my heart you ask?
its a dry spell for sure,
it crackles with the flames of fire
that whip out like the whips
of elephant trainers,
the way they scare me in place,
and i shake with terror.
but terror arises and smothers
the way mothers have been smothered
by a brother's last lover,
and summer eve will still come.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 8:10 PM UTC
Here, I wrote a bridal guide,
A rule book for future brides,
No matter if you're fair, fat and wide,
Or not, here's some dependable asides,
First, keep degrees and jobs up to date,
With some mates you can't relate,
You never know when the rats will turn,
To being a doormat, is what to spurn,
Keep some getaway money set aside,
This is important in a bridal guide,
Always update your roadside assist,
Without that, car bingles can get you miffed,
Ditto home and car insurance too,
Note these well, I say to brides like you,
Never take drugs if to Bali you roam,
Then you shall definitely not be coming home.
Herein, I wrote a bridal guide,
My rule book for future brides.
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 1:23 AM UTC
Questions asked—
Answers evaded
Questions asked—
Churlish responses
Questions asked—
Reality revised
Questions asked—
Dangerous denials
Questions asked—
Squeaky clean!
Questions asked—
RED HERRING!!!
Questions asked—
Deny FBI
Questions asked—
AD HOMINEM!!!
Questions asked—
Boast, repost
Questions asked—
Uncivil snivel
Questions asked—
Snide asides
A question asked:
Where are we?
Scary judiciary?
End times?
Revolution?
Not in this Kansas.
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 1:49 AM UTC
O old Gods who wait in morrow, let me shine in sacred sorrow
I proffer, and offer, my marrow, bone, flesh, to thine altar borne,
lone in meeting, only fleeting, silent here for duty sworn
My old Gods who sit in waiting, might I power just to borrow?
Only briefly you must loan me the magic to sunder torn.
Weak and trembl’ng, weak to muster, I sought courage, but I crumble,
at the sight of just thy vision, for to me it seems e’er unseen
naught to know but thy own master ‘til I patient, sorely lumber
wondering if fear has stolen me to thine own sacred meadow
when suddenly, fervently see thine true shape and face and form and
terrible dreams enter my soul e’er to stay and e’er to fecund
for death I prefer to understanding the truth our Gods have shunned.
Yet little more did I then speak among the dead and too the meek,
falling towards an abyss so deep that makes my heart and soul weep
dying truly like a phantom lurking in the shallows creep
and yet falling ever faster and so overwhelmed by deep
my eyes and ears saw nothing and heard nothing, not a leap
from the darkness that consumed me e’er more did I fail to seek
that which cannot only reap the dead and tear them ‘til they so reek
so sharp and pointed so it was even I could witness and speak
“Who have I wronged in this place so awful that I am gaoled oblique?
Yet can still think and ponder the widow’s peak and in vain self-wreak?”
in sacred toil among the stardust that makes us shine so mystique.
What does thou will, O lord, my lord, of more than we can ever tell?
I know it is not my duty not to know. Ask I must, ask besides
the husk of my body is yours and yet I know little of thee
by whose authority do wield such magics and more asides?
it is not plain to me what sort of horror lies ‘neath the scorched ground
so why do I? Why do I scream? Why do I see the beast in me?
The hound that hunts for those who must be slaughtered despite what else they seek
the wolf inside that hunts, rips, and tears, taken apart piece by piece
the awful sound of howling that’s for me to not and never cease
the stars themselves align to my fate fear in mind and e’er besides
‘tis here that I myself sit alone and finally soon to die.
for death I prefer to the fate our Gods have brought to us benumbed.
Dec 9, 2021
Dec 9, 2021 at 5:40 AM UTC
clearly, the days slip past
i nearly lasted, keeping track
tags and descriptions, each one placed
as if a benefit falls upon the lot
for drawing connective lines
god's dead, god's not dead,
i'm god, the god of sand,
ephemera at my command
but what's it mean? these things
take time, but not seriously, because
the sun hits the wax on a paper cup
and it blinds us from the bushes
and so low, can't care
so low, lone, done dead
can't care for upsides
but asides and sideways
Jul 17, 2019
Jul 17, 2019 at 6:15 PM UTC
The Riche brothers and sisters
compile the remainders
of Manchester City programmes
from 1958 onwards, rusted staples asides
in a shuttered room,
Moorhens and crab apple bloom outside
keeps their e bay cottage industry bearable,
residual poverty waxes and wanes,
children always inheriting Granddads' stuff.
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 12, 2012 at 4:36 PM UTC
Legs rusting in cement
re-barb poles of anchoring
but no foundation suffice
for the feelings of neglect in childhood
the bricks arise
the mortars set
but in a misshapen pattern of mangled misanthropy
and charred remains of humanity
a family is for one thing,
comfort in an odd place.
holding to conformity,
telling you who you are, when you are not.
when it all goes awry, the suns still in your eyes,
eyelashes cant curl enough to make you pretty in asides,
poems monologues that you speak don’t take time to preach,
pain and hiding that you try to flee from during human touch or human speech.
I cannot handle myself much less others.
I cannot speak with anyone so I have to speak with you.
Or I have to hold back a heart mired in loving glue.
horses died to allow me to roam, trees die still to make my home.
I still cant fashion pictures true of a family of five with six that are real
alive alive
I jig and strive to dance away my hate for life
it waltz's its way upon my ears and kills my familiarity fear
I want life in its sake
I want death timely
we all want things that just feel right,
feel just fair.
I want Disney land to not hurt when I get to the entrance
because it all turns out right
suburbia is not a Moasist country frilled with soulless black eyes
no sparkles.
all the glitter is very much silver and also the gold of the joys of souls
the way I feel is that if these wrought iron fencing’s could help to divide me any more
I could be one with them. Solitary atom.
They could be my home. They could coincide with differential turnings in my brain and eventually destruct me into molecules that would inherently be of their own. Be singular
but in the current state of matters.
I must depend upon all matter to be the one thing that holds me together
what life is this?
this makes me brittle
makes me short
controls me into any contortion that is to them beautiful
for now
I must be beautiful.
**** that.
To contort and retort, when we only wish to wobble and pulse with Brownian motion. My own happiness should not derive from people; I wish to not be near nor around in any small sequence,
they are merely dead to me.
Non-animate.
this is the platonic family we create.
This is life that we see from dead, dank, and sorrowful eyes.
Pity.
Forced.
Relations.
Consummate. Indelibly.
You people should be ashamed of yourselves for forcing love. By any means.
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 11:33 PM UTC
aside from my asides and internal divides
I stand in my prime, converging with the divine
plucking daisies in my backyard
doing backflips in my backyard
tired of trying to find gold in a scrapyard
denied due to pride and internal divides
he stands in his shame, colliding with the divine
doing abstract art and failing to put a finger on
the very thing converging all along
the growth not seen, he daydreams
but can never put it into action
stagnant dissatisfaction
Aug 26, 2021
Aug 26, 2021 at 9:22 AM UTC
there’s that quote on the internet that goes, “every cell in the human body replaces itself after 7 years, one day i will have a body that you have never touched,”
and it is false. asides from the fact that many cells need ten years before they’re fully replaced, neurons in the cerebral cortex never do; even if some die, you keep the ones you were born with and my body is clean from your touch, but my mind was not as lucky to escape your poison and day-by-day i erode until i’m left shaking and sobbing, wishing i could rip my own skin off and crack through my skull to peel away layers of my stupid, stubborn, recalcitrant brain.
maybe it was my fault. i should’ve known better than to trust a demon in a man suit, but i was looking at the small flickering coals of you, a fire built at your birth and then forgotten along the way, so you had nearly died even as you lived, so i gently fed the fire and stoked the flames and in return you blazed up in one mighty inferno and scorched me and everything and everyone else around us and it was still i who was contrite, you turned this around on me and it was i who apologized and collapsed crying on the floor.
mom never told me not to play with fire, it’s my own ****** fault i got burned.
Nov 29, 2015
Nov 29, 2015 at 2:47 AM UTC
No allusions to talking sticks,
or metaphors of a chrome plated god,
because it's only life.
I can make use of a woman
with supple ankles stepping off the bus
kindling my hips and heart,
(but you've heard that one before,)
and, it's only life, so this might
just read like an instruction manual,
or both halves of a confessional,
but there will be no use made
of dancing dogs or moonlight
in battle, because it's only life,
and I have never really known
what it is I want to say to you.
It’s something like, "I love you,"
but asides from just being
very frightening to say,
I also think, it's more.
If it's only life, it's also
only death,
and what can be said that penetrates
death. What can be said
that won't collapse like engine failure
in the span between you and I,
if I try to say an "I love you"
that's truer than death.
Feb 14, 2018
Feb 14, 2018 at 12:18 AM UTC
Line of Faith in the Red Sea divides us,
Yet we both believe the same Line guides us.
My brother was confused when he saw me,
I take it that the veil of names hides us.
If reaching the high skies stands for success,
Then it is the emptiness that prides us.
You won't sight a clue in darkness and light,
There's no finding Him while He asides us.
Hey Mahvî, wide vision like horizons;
There is much more going on besides us.
Dec 20, 2016
Dec 20, 2016 at 8:48 AM UTC
Search for me in your deepest woes
Do not be gentle with your shows.
For it is not easy to find a locket in the mist
And harder for the trapeze to twist-
and break with truth.
Naivety pirouettes beyond youth.
Circus nature preys and submits in hurdles
Upsets the fragile body with tight girdles.
Blisters shall form lest you be still
But comfort never satisfies the thrill.
Sep 18, 2019
Sep 18, 2019 at 2:25 PM UTC
The threatening nature of
artificial objects,
not snow dropping from pines,
nor windows shattered with frost
but the flight of keys and bells,
and all that begs for
subtle asides,
all that is malevolent for this,
all that falls,
that disobeys my hands,
those white apes mapped
with the views of the Via Dolorosa
all things that make my dry box spin,
my body does not follow me,
I often seem to look
over my shoulder
at the dark detective of age.
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 6:34 AM UTC
left over a limp prodigy that is ****** half to death the cold marker is pulsing white and burning red on his skin bent down boring black antlers into a dichotomous spirit pulling out the entrails with a fanatic regret he laughs so hard when he is leaving and the other side shakes his head, where are you going ***** you are still the biggest part of this, other says the angel you are reeving barks when u pass through its hands is that the message u want to send when you fall out of heaven are those the words that you would speak quietly floating past Cerberus just save your penny hell is empty just crawl into a ******* hole let your forever in dirt endure moonlight and transform you into bones this forest is empty and pigment lures the ghosts broken headlights are the bobbing lanterns that your memories impose translucent ax lips biting on shoulders kept bleeding for more did you leave a mark on them too when you ****** out their souls? am i just a human fixture in the black hole of your home? would u miss me if i dissolved and left u my warmth?
i dont trust the way that u wear your eyes holding everything i know is feeling behind what you claim to nevermind ur lying i know ur ******* lying every person breathing has something to hide u say u loveme and need me u said you’d never lie u promised that u meant it when i told you I wanna die
i dont understand prosperity/functionality/practicality/
pragmatic asides
i dont understand what you could gain from absorbing a ***** preaching purity shaking hands with a convent of flies i ******* hate u preternaturally u are the unbirth of it all i never meant a word that i said i am empty rolling my eyes here waiting to watch u dissolve
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 2:34 PM UTC
I tried to take notes before you left
Mentally scribbling down asides
The toughness of your hands
Compared to the soft skin of mine
Blocking out the sunlight
Pulling covers over your head
Pretending that it's night
Is what it's like when we're in bed
Letting me out of the car under-roof
Needing not to brace the rain
You are a different man now
Warm-hearted, patient, unfeigned
We have the same soreness like picture day
From smiling with our teeth for so long
We almost forget what it's like to frown
Until it has passed and you're gone
It drizzled as you looked at me
Got in your car and said goodbye
This is not our first parting
But it is like that every time
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 11:40 AM UTC
6 years ago you would have known
Exactly what I was doing
Exactly how I was feeling
Simply based on what I posted on Facebook.
Every detail of my life was there in black and white for the world to see.
I was an open book,
I made it easy for you
Because you didn't have to ask.
5 years ago you would have known
Who wronged me and how,
But you would never know how I was trying to fix it.
When my world was falling apart and I didn't know what to do,
It would be made apparent
Because venting my frustrations and clicking "post" was my way of letting go
So I could do what I needed to do.
You would know that I birthed my children,
But nothing of how my labor went
Or what my experience was afterwards
Because you never asked.
4 years ago you would have known
Who I was spending time with and how often
You would know more about my kids than I originally intended to share.
You would have known I was hurting then
But you wouldn't know why
Because my vague asides to the internet
Lacked the details you needed to render a fake response of support and admiration
Although they were given anyway.
But you would have never known the struggles I faced then,
Because you never asked.
3 years ago you would have known
about the things I found interesting because I shared them with all of you.
You would have known
That I had been hurt by someone I thought the world of,
But quickly recognized wasn't worth my time.
You would have known
That my kids were my world
And I was in love with someone good for me
But nothing more than that
Because the only thing provided to you to gather your opinions were pictures involving events we experienced together
Appreciation posts
And nothing else
Because you never asked.
2 years ago you would have been reminded that my cats are just like my children,
That my kids were growing too fast
And I was struggling to keep up.
You would have known that my relationship was wholesome
And everything I had been looking for
But you never would have known how badly I was battling with myself in life
Because you never asked.
1 year ago you would have known
That I had made the decision to move away from everything I had ever known
And loved
And every single one of you that barely know me anymore
Would assume this was the greatest decision I had ever made for myself
But you wouldn't know what I went through
And learned during my time there
That caused me to move back
Because you never asked.
In my present life,
You will never know who hurt me,
You will not know how my kids are,
Which bridges I am mending
Or which ones I've set on fire,
What I am doing to better my life,
Who I am involved with,
How I am feeling,
Or the things I am experiencing
Because you'll never ask.
Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 8:18 PM UTC
As I think now of Skinner's flat
The Saturday fog was rolling in from the west
Man you should have come around
No noisy gongs or clanging cymbals
It was a cozy scene, so serene
Artie languished by the fireplace
With a fire blazing like an Olympic flame
Lying like an athlete suffered his last defeat
I didn't have a heart to catch the heat
Just a stone suspended in air
Skinner asked Artie about upstate
So I went upstream to smile for awhile
my mumbled asides tumbled soundlessly
It was a cozy scene, so serene
sitting there in our underwear
A reminder to breathe and
I couldn't hear it anymore
I know I've been a little crazy lately
Showing you my backwards slide
But man I was fine when I hit the floor
And no one knows what's in my head
You can't see that I'm hypnotized
If you take the time to look into my eyes
You'd see we share the same scene
You should have come around, baby
sitting there with my nose in the air
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 2:03 PM UTC