"asker" poems
the asker
the taker
the lazy hole-maker
the me and my watching the ground
the tested
the failing
the canvasless sailing
the turnings and ever unfounds
the grati-
tude giving
the talented living, but
the passions are buried in mounds
so ready
the dying
and underground lying
I'm blue
pull me under earth's browns
Oct 3, 2010
Oct 3, 2010 at 11:45 AM UTC
Debilitating laughter
at the hands of a master
a ***** minded *******
who knows what he’s after
The ever subtle asker
he caresses and flatters
his clever patter shatters
cares that should matter.
Finally, we moved to extract her
the wobbling girl from Nebraska
from a drunken fraternal disaster
and the junior poised to shaft her
Uhh, sorry to interrupt
Anna, pick her up her stuff
We gotta go home *** get up
Hey bud, touch ME and you’re ******
*** you’ve had too much ***
when tomorrow comes
if you still want to slum
you can still bed the ***
We’re waiting for an Uber
Are you starting to sober?
No babe, you didn’t screw-up
Ughh, yep, she threw up.
Feb 2, 2022
Feb 2, 2022 at 5:03 AM UTC
If there were a story asked,
and the asker were as weary as me,
I might ask the asker what good
could a half told story be.
The asker answers, well then,
begin at the end,
then we all rest easy, knowing
it all works out.
Jan 29, 2023
Jan 29, 2023 at 3:37 PM UTC
My lord I'm black like the night at peace within my heart .
My lord I cry for freedom o lord for so many because of the colour of are skin like me o lord.
I pray for so many lord as someone out there prays for me too o ' lord.
I cry as I see clearly my colour of my skin shows and shines through the lord.
We are free in someway lord I ask you for love and fulfelment full freedom lord.
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 10:49 PM UTC
The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.
And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.
'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces,
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins. . . . '
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.
We hear him and take him among us like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister mass, we ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, with word upon murmured word,
We flow, we descend, we turn. . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves on among us like light, like evening air . . .
Good night! good night! good night! we go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.
Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky.
We have built a city of towers.
Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light. They have shaken a burden of hours. . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.
991
I'm the Nat Geo reader
the Facebook creeper
the go- to- sleep- later
the fake ***** hater.
I'm the question asker
the things- I'll- never- use- again stasher
the big stomach eater
and natural leader.
I'm the girl with the
small eyes and big hands.
And why would God
give a girl
with so much to see
and no one to hold
small eyes and big hands,
can you tell me?
God is laughing you see.
He's saying Child..
I knew you'd be a
seer- to- believer
a mental image taker- not- leaver
so I gave you small
thirsty eyes
and big hands too,
because you're usually a pusher
and bigger hands would
make you that much more likely
to hold things close to you.
So my squinty eyes can see
that my big hands push me
to pull things close.
And I completely forget their size
when I thank God
for a mighty fine pair
of hands and eyes.
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 9:46 AM UTC
The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.
And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.
'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.
We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .
Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.
Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.
Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.
905
Around thanksgiving everyone wants to know
*What are you thankful for?
Don't worry you only have to say one thing.*
They don't understand
I have a very very very long list
So I say something silly
They say That won't do, try again
And when I insist that I am grateful for it
They refuse to accept
So I say some nonsense,
Just whatever they'd like to hear
And sit back arms crossed
Wondering why ask and then refuse?
If they gave me more than one choice
A list could be procured
But no, I've got to pick off their
List of serious and good things
As they turn to each person in turn,
All giving similar answers to please the asker
Why not declare what you're thankful for,
And then let others say their piece?!
Thanks for that confusion
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 9:37 AM UTC
If you wanna be salak
You must have a buyuk yarak
If you wanna be orusbu
Bu bir kotu iliskinin konusu
I speak english not very well
Siktir et amQ bu askercell
Aslında Turkce siir bana yazmak kolay
And i use English sometimes
I wanna be a millioner
Bu hayallerde, ben asker
It's not poem it's our life
I just wanna drink a Turkish cay
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 4:59 PM UTC
Hello sky,
please tell quietly,
how doesn't your beauty
match that of hers through my eyes?
Hello ocean.
please tell quietly,
how doesn't your volume
match that of mine
pertaining to the amount of love
I hold for her inside?
Hello asker,
I'll tell you quietly,
here in lies why -
she is an angel that fell from high
a beaming beckoning star
in your eye,
capturing your hearts ocean
&taking; it alive -
for she is the sole reason,
You've survived.
Jan 30, 2011
Jan 30, 2011 at 10:30 AM UTC
Gates imagined in times
past
open here and we pause
is this the life well spent,
or the life un-examined?
Are we Faustian Fellows or mere mortals
dreaming
rockstar vibes on the boulevard
select/apply
brakes. (witness, we saw it coming)
What good can come from this?
Is
here some secret place?
What keeps its secret here?
he emerges rather as a master syncretist of widely divergent materials and as a devout theopantist
From <https://muse.jhu.edu/book/37533>
Artistic Intelligen-seers build cumputorionic
putahs
for the pew-trade-ification
easy as pi t' lie about knowing
as goatphorgoneconclusions, leading
sheepish men astray
afar from the madding crowd
screaming out loud
for christ's sake (really. What's that mean?)
Christmas is christ's cause, I would think,
given proper cause determining algorythms at some time after my
toddling twos expecting, child-like
survivability
equivalent -- equal in balance factor
twixt why and how and try and
umph
needed on the uphill side of every vibe.
Has Christ mass more meaning than
anointed (oiled-to shine-or-burn, per hap)
message/medium,
a class of good
news, a whole bunch of new good
ideas for things,
witty inventions with the best of intentions,
Christmas Time!
Peace,
on earth, good will to
ward men,
the idea of god as truth life and the path to next; and man, wombed and un, recon-
conciliated, with no con-sessions to bogus-science but to learn
to use the food we eat. learn
to chew our mushrooms with a touch of lemon,
lemon tree, so pretty but impossible to eat,
Ah, why,
ya jus'asker what she knows,
she's sure to show you
wisdom wisps, entangled in your hair…
take a taste,
now, hear this, peace, I give, I loose
as
oil on the water, but with the best imaginable
outcome
not good as men measure;
good as you measure good,
good ideas you make do
good, sometime
thereafter your arrival as the hero in your story.
Aug 19, 2019
Aug 19, 2019 at 4:52 PM UTC
I am the edge and the cliff
the toes dangling over the abyss
I am the readiness to fall
and the terror to fly
I am the wind against this skin
and the life altering decision
I am the falling and the flying
into and above this groundless ground
I am the asker for the push
and the push into its nothingness
I am the nothingness and the manifest
playing with the idea of existence
May 27, 2021
May 27, 2021 at 10:03 AM UTC
A “Rap-tap-tapping” from the door,
To stir my thoughts with sudden force,
It’s time to answer, evermore,
The “Rap-tap-tapping” from the door,
It asks the question, “What’s my name?”
As I walk in haste up to the frame,
Yet answer slowly all the same,
And as I answer, it slips away.
I ponder there in solemn thought,
At this sudden, urgent shock,
“What was the name, now I forgot.”
And rack my brain for what was lost.
Tomorrow comes and all the same,
A “Rap-tap-tapping” from the frame,
Asking me to give a name,
For the “Rap-tap-tapping” from the frame.
I hear a distant, echoed voice,
A rapier-witted, clever boy,
And turn to face him just to find,
A trail of photos left behind.
One of me and 4 of you,
In rather somber fading view,
I look them over with saddened eyes,
And start to wonder “Who was I?”
I shake it off and face the door,
And answer slowly as before,
To find the asker there had gone,
And left a note to ponder on.
I take the note and write it down,
A name to match the question found,
And tuck it there in simple sleeve,
To be kept safely as I sleep.
Tomorrow comes and then once more,
A “Rap-tap-tapping” from the door,
Asking questions as before,
With such sudden, urgent force.
In mirrored haste and matching speed,
I pull the note there in my sleeve,
Yet find that all the words were gone,
As the “Rap-tap-tapping” carried on.
Feb 20, 2019
Feb 20, 2019 at 5:28 PM UTC
20% off all print books on Lulu through the 18th with coupon code of LULU20
also, I have three remaining signed copies of my chapbook [infant*cinema], published by **** Press- will send for free to anyone interested in writing a review- make request to [email protected]
~
some poems, recent and from available collections:
[asker]
I’d put something
in my mouth
and my nose
would bleed
and mom
would press
my ribs
and know
like that
the name
of the boy
buried
a horseshoe
-
return is a drug
hunger
a choice
-
and the lord said one of these animals is a writing machine
and the lord
he turned
the woman’s
shadow
into a garbage
bag
and the man’s
into water
-
sister dragged onto some dance floor
a scarecrow
-
pregnant / is what you get
if memory
remembers
to eat
~
[plain sight]
a hearse emerging from the shadow of a school bus
/ a mother
trying
to return
a baptized
mannequin
/ that poorly
lit
bait shop
star
~
[example]
after leaving its memory to the hibernating bear, the insect died. I don’t know what story you’re trying to tell. the angel has three fathers. the angel was born to blackmail a ghost. this bald ************ thinks I need shown how to chew my fingernails. the mask is my elevator and the pig my coffin. I have a sister was made to make an egg disappear. a father who’d shave to give the thing in the stomach time to plan its escape. the angel vomits into a pink wheelbarrow. shows affection.
~
[residua]
the hymn
in all its
cephalic
worry
has me thinking
bathrobe
while saying
statue / why
always
this dream
I join
others
to find
a small
body / death
had a spoiled
child
~
[distant]
the child you won’t have because the child hates surprises. the story, your mother’s, of the pillow that struggled like an owl. the werewolf, humble, and afraid of clowns. the ramblings of a newborn. the twin boys of Cain.
Jul 15, 2016
Jul 15, 2016 at 11:25 AM UTC
my plan is to understand from here to hereafter
i stand behind the hand of man's only master
tragic is the plan of the last final chapter
who is the one who can, the answer or the asker?
ignoring the facts is the path to man's disaster
i'm trapped on the math of happily ever after
the fastest to act is the one who dies faster
he who laughs last is he who plans the laughter
Oct 29, 2019
Oct 29, 2019 at 7:22 AM UTC
Things I ask myself,
They have already been asked to me by others dear.
But no matter the asker,
My answer remains the same.
Would I go all the way with you?
Follow you to the end of the world?
Would I?
With no gaurentee that you wouldnt just shake me off and go on with your life like I was never even there.
I don't have that gaurentee...
Would I follow you to the end of the world?
Just on the basis of a delusion,
That I think was falsly approved.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 9:20 PM UTC
I’d put something
in my mouth
and my nose
would bleed
and mom
would press
my ribs
and know
like that
the name
of the boy
buried
a horseshoe
-
return is a drug
hunger
a choice
-
and the lord said one of these animals is a writing machine
and the lord
he turned
the woman’s
shadow
into a garbage
bag
and the man’s
into water
-
sister dragged onto some dance floor
a scarecrow
-
pregnant / is what you get
if memory
remembers
to eat
Jun 11, 2016
Jun 11, 2016 at 6:58 PM UTC