"betook" poems
At an unknown time of night at our cottage in northern Michigan…
My younger brother and I heard strange noises coming from the beach again…
We looked up at the ceiling and then the window…
As the voices from outside, in a lively allegro…
Grew softer and louder in repeating crescendos…
We skittered out the door and stared in fascination…
For what we saw must have been our imagination…
The door closed with a creak as our feet hit the grass…
It was at that moment we got a look at the mass…
Of stubby foot, hunchback creatures from which the sounds had amassed…
There was about six of them chanting like a choir…
They danced and paraded around our burnt out fire…
As we looked on, we saw our fire raise…
It got brighter as they lifted their hands in waves…
As light betook the blue beach night…
A crowd of colorfully masked gremlins caught us in their sights!
Their feet slowed to a stop and they quieted down…
They stood still as the fire flickered off their weird wooden frowns…
One reached out his hand in a come-here motion…
They seemed to stand and wait with an encouraging notion…
As the fire crackled and the waves tumbled onto the beach…
All I can remember, is for the rest of that summer…
My younger brother and I served as the drummers…
For that quirky marching band of lake sprites…
With which our burnt out fire we’d reignite…
At an unknown time of night at our cottage in northern Michigan…
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 8:41 PM UTC
I Michelangelo, was fair game amongst human animalia...
until I latched upon the vault of Heaven.
In light of total Absorption...I betook to throngs of glory--
I became a lidless eye, trillion-handed.
All I beheld for four years unblinkingly, was undrunk paint
from plaster drip off a human form, stretching and stretching
to macrocosmic proportion.
It's as if I were painting through a black hole, poised upon
the whitest of emergence.
As it were, upon that ceiling prior to brushstroke there's only
the black of unrealized vision...ravenous blackbirds at their
feeder--then suddenly, the palms of angels cup them...that
they may eat out of them.
I could hear my name glide through: past/present/future...
for I peopled a Heaven, a Hell's dynamic tension--it was
given that I take it upon myself.
That eyes shall look above and know man is more than man,
woman is more than woman...it was given that I situate Us.
Feature the unending moment of creation as chaos harmonizes
upon this ceiling.
Color is so strange...it's immediately superior to my most
creative application--I become the color I apply, as the outlines
of the forms they take become beautiful illusions.
Naturally I worship the outlines of these forms, but neighboring
forms bleed-in so quickly I experience an ecstatic union...countless
times a day the paintbrush falls from my hand.
To that which I've supposed likeness...likeness I paint--I give you
suspended animation, the non local no time of NOW!
Rome was built in a day--I shrunk it down to an Adam...then split
him!!!
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 12:01 PM UTC
Knee deep in earthen slop--
down of downpour, knees protracting
as bulbous nodes, stiff with implanted ****
We both, and as for what inhibition--what
wind betook our love, deaf to the sound
of tremulous waterlog?
We who memorize separate passages of
each other's lives--now cite them with
pleasure's other, we both as one...now as once--not without pain.
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 1:34 PM UTC
The clouds make haste for the dark moon,
As it climbs over fire and rook
In a town that shall slumber soon,
For solace by a jester long betook.
A boy at a corner rough-hewn
Laughs and cries and dances alone.
The clouds make haste for the dark moon,
Past the mirror, sees the boy now grown.
Naked and loved in winter’s June—
But solace by a jester long betook,
Lest the seams of Fate now lie sown,
As soul and heart hang by the hook.
For solace by a jester long betook—
The clouds make haste for the dark moon.
Aug 10, 2012
Aug 10, 2012 at 3:18 PM UTC
Deep within the bowels of the Earth
immensely distant from the sheltering sky
amidst a thick fog enveloped landscape
with here and there a projected
craggy, derelict chasm
precipitously crooked pointing toward
an infinitely wide yawning abyss
dwelt kindred spirits comprising a soul asylum
where grateful dead (albeit marked
via weathered tomb stones) hermetically sealed
once vibrant corporeal mortals
betook their eternal slumber
One among their number
included a misanthrope
who sported long straggly hair
bushy eyebrows shielding cold eyes of steel
straggly bearded clammy chin
in tandem with a hairy body
which when alive (long time ago)
upheld upon unshod feet a severely
hunchbacked ******
Within dense pitch-black terrain
(Mother Nature enlisting
a menagerie of life forms
accustomed to hellish environment)
awash with unrecognizable
alien sights and sounds
mollycoddling bewitching warlocks,
mailer daemons,
imps of the pervert chieftains, fiery
long and fostered Golems
who called underworld
their private demesne
also alluded to Marcy's playground
holding hostage Alice in Chains
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles,
The Beastie Boys, The Human League, and
Village People a Crowded House
Emitting wisps of ethereal matter
appearing a small medium at large
chat snap ping, flickr ring indeed joyus minions
exalting piety a plenti
Prone ounce sing proud purgatory
promoting protean phantasmagoria
hideous hulu hoop dancing holograms
highly distorted grotesque
silent screaming sinister banshees
slithering across escarpment.
Jan 20, 2018
Jan 20, 2018 at 3:45 PM UTC