"brittles" poems
a polar vortex
swirls eastward
on Siberian Tiger paws
bounding over
Appalachian Highlands
gobbling geography
gelling Great Lakes
spawning Erie blizzards
sculpting Wabash ice floes
clogging commerce all
along the Ohio River Valley
this voracious
juggernaut’s wide maw
bears icicle teeth
laughing as it swallows
Pittsburgh, Little Philly,
and a Big Apple, before
gorging itself on
generous portions
ladled into
simmering crocks
of steaming
Boston Baked Beans
growling
blue arctic
air blasts roar
bursts pipes
savages the heat
of blasting furnaces,
bubbling boilers, hot
belly stoves frantically
drinking oil, flaming gas
burning wood and
burping soot
the blistering
jet stream claws
screech a slashing
stratospheric hum
as Frigidaire blasts
swallows breath
brittles limbs
chafes cheeks
gnaws earlobes
crystallizes tears
nibbles nostrils
cubes snot
numbs toes
bites digits
diving sub zero
gradient subdues
batteries to
deaden states
delays buses
derails trains
cuts power
constricts veins
preys on
vagabonds
and animals
get the homeless
off the street!
bring the animals in
check on your
elderly neighbors
don’t get caught outside
and shut the **** door!
do you own stock
in the Public Service?
beware the polar vortex
and next months heating bill
Sonny Boy Williamson
& Otis Spann
Nine Below Zero
Oakland
1/6/14
jbm
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 2:43 PM UTC
I.
There lies the vast longing to be engulfed in suspension,
to lose one’s orientation in search of the true unknown
for salt waves that lick the skin clean and blunt
the sleek lines of the face.
It takes a while to ebb a whiteness into the hardness of time.
II.
It is said that in flames,
the body forgets it is vertical on a stake
and the head is anywhere but above the shoulders;
that in cleansing with fire the skin turns red
then, in an instant, chars to black.
III.
They say there are two ways to cleanse oneself:
while white is the color of salt-dried purity,
black is the color of fiery clean.
In the end, after the fire brittles our bones,
all we throw into the sea is gray dust.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 12:27 PM UTC
Tragedies that make your throat raw
Injustice that sets the body aflame
Pain that bares fangs and brittles hearts
Blind rage that consumes the soul in a deafening roar
Lust that desires only the satisfaction of flowing crimson
Ugly beasts that corrupt and destroy
sheltering inside our beautiful darkness
Our passion for vengeance
And the tragedy it breeds
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 11:02 PM UTC
when angels get deadly bored in angelland
they decide to matchmake yin and yang
a breathtaking game of -love and hate- kicks off
their watch broadcasts meditative brittle glitters
as expected from the dutiful glitter brittles
finally they also have fun
oh the glorious common hearted one
but for a while it remains
and ubiquitousness escapes
within that while infinite loop
while with
condition always returns
true
assured they are
to have hoarded a concept of none
because only none can break the program
it runs
through
curls and whirls
attracts and repels
hums and vector sums
bubbly groans
made of sour cherry wood drums
asymptotic shapes of ascension moans
'Oh yes this surely is miraculous!'
one for fun
one for ‘oh please be my hon’
Stay at the jolly night of proms with us
we are so heartily amused!
They travel beyond ignorance
to a pointless point of their own absence
‘for the land’
they repeatedly say
from far far away
lost words as such
slowly produces by-products
made of tingly-wiggly bugs
capable of delaying holiness
of now
capable of creating time
for no one
with a halt sign
until game of supremeness bears a ...
break!
made of HUM
a Sound
like none
heard once
along the aileron of a vitreous dome
while
the unheard stays
with the one
and which is of one
wipes off that angelland
for the better I guess
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 8:00 PM UTC
I am hearing it
winter’s freeze
the tightening of air
water light
a noisy gang of clouds
Snowflakes are feathered stones
In the field
this day builds its frozen bones
A beautiful disaster forms
Submerged in it
I listen for birds
There is nothing
A moment’s wind
brittles my breath
numbs my ears
I listen for a note
There is nothing
A hush of sleep
tucks into January’s bed
Even the dogs stay inside
to refuse the ice jabs
into their paws
The cold cracks the skin
of my hands
sharpens its blade
slices deeper
At the edge of the field
I stand in stillness
an ice-covered statue
waiting for the company of pigeons
______________________________________
©dah / dahlusion 2014
all rights reserved
"January" was first published in 'The Canon's Mouth' (UK)
Editor: Greg ***
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 8:29 PM UTC
Oh the enchanting
Silhouette of the winter bird
appearing
On such January morning
with a tail
Implying the precise degree
of an acute angle
Between two **** branches
You are making an imaginary roof
for your sweet roundish oval head
Fitting it exactly
under a perpendicular space
equal to the height
of the opening
of one missing panel
of my venetian blinds
through which I am peeping right now
safely below the closure points
Of a spectral line
Made by your precision
to manifest
a beauty of an
illusively two dimensionalized
Isosceles Triangle of a
branchy reality
These ever changing orange blue
dashes of an upcoming
Early morning With smoky fumes
are wisely making the volatile
roof for your house
an opposite line
halves to deliver
two adjacent lines
at a perpendicular point
to reserve permanently
its never changing cosine
and still it seems to be
Preserving some of the
fading brittles of stars within
Ah such a home is to be!
where you can peacefully
Fatten and
Rest the tip of your
Belly
to say
This dot of the tangent
Belongs to me
Inhaling
Exhaling
And changing
to a new colored
vitreous roof
of yours
Unmoving
there
Like the buddha
of all silhouettes
Sculpted to
Guard skies only
Oh wise bird
Please
Will
You stay here
And meditate
For me??
I said carelessly
through a slightest
slip of the tongue
and tired body
but before I could
realize and correct
correct it as:
And meditate here
With me??
He instantly turned
his head towards me
And flew
Away
Rightfully :(
Leaving
Me
Helpless
Looking
at a reflection
of my silly longing
Between
The deserted
Space
Of two skinny
Fragile
Branches
Once served
As a melodious
Golden
Cage
Fruiting
Seeds
Of
Reality Dreams
of an Old Tree
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 4:28 PM UTC
Truth carved by the bold
Wish you were the muse loved by the World
Art belittled to products, hurts like brand-new shoes
My heart brittles for such, coz’ of these brand-new fools
Cheers, accolades with standing ovations feeding our desires
I hear echoes late, is it withstanding storms with patience or cheating the fire? Get to the point where angry is Love,
And touch the soil so you can hang me for being a dove
Unnatured species promiscuous with the bloodline of Iscariot, the nerve…Read this uncensored thesis, like how you believe in Prometheus, syfys and these patriots you serve...
I’d Love to tell you that the yolk of my heart resonates a planet unknown…That the Soul of my Art will exonerate you from this magnet ten fold. That Existence is preliminary to existing, not the other way round. That this is the military of my existence, to figure the way out…
But…when last have you seen a human being?
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 8:47 AM UTC
Searching through broken window blinds
brand new long past
its the Sun you see, brittles everything, eventually
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 8:45 AM UTC