"flumes" poems
my baby’s gonna have a loud mouth
like her namesake, katla, boiling lava lips
the two of us will scale those green spines
or ashy asphalt flumes
my baby’s gonna spit when she’s not fine
and fight the men twice her size
she’ll take them up the river
moonlit collarbone show, and pink wine
but my baby’s gonna be a strong guide
she’ll see the world, spreading magma riots,
smiling, soaked in smoke,
erupting all the time.
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 10:14 PM UTC
Her fingertips loosed the glass
bottle, which had
of late
gathered rain like the
hands of paupers.
Glitter in a heartbeat.
to be collected by old battered shoes
or car tyres
and streetwise magpies.
it joins a city evensong
this oceanic roar of nothing
fusing chords of cars and smoke
and lonely dogs
with hacks
and throngs
of perambulating suits
and suitors
trampling athwart broads of concrete
As swifts in summer.
We swim in it
through open atriums
and barren rooms of
magnolia and magnolia and magnolia.
All the while if you look harder
you see through chinks a sepulchre
in each greying tower
ranging higher and higher still.
Machines and machinations
stacking life upon life to
build pyramids
to gaudy kings
in pinstripe or herringbone.
Flumes of fumes ***** like floods
Into and out of train stops
and bus stands.
Circling lungs like hungry crows.
Crows which haunt
Bombed out chapels made new
resuscitated with waxen ivy
and ivory lilies.
And the leaves of saintly oak trees
chatter in shrinking crevices of green
story telling
Of how people and things grow old.
And you can walk these streets
And dive too like cormorants into
The platitudes of city living.
Soaked to the skin in sound
to tell your story
like the shards
of a broken bottle.
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 6:10 PM UTC
The weight of life is reduced to a cloud
As raindrops of lysergic acid run free.
Their pitters and patters equally loud
As all of the colours that melt around me.
The womb of the universe beating its drum
And setting a pace for the flowers to bloom.
A force with such strength that all nature succumbs
As peacefulness floats in kaleidoscope flumes.
Empathy blossoms, arousing a smile,
That creeps from my lips to the end of the room,
Searing itself on a cosmic denial
That beauty like this shouldn’t gestate from gloom.
Floating, not unlike a dandelions seed,
Thoughts of anxiety flee to the Earth.
They carry but vapidness with the sweet breeze.
In nebulous nebulas they are dispersed.
Now what remains as a warm neon cloud
Is beauty profound and purpose pristine.
Unwanted, the ego is left disavowed
Dancing in memories of amphetamines.
Left in its place was the beauty and I.
Climbing like vines as it forces the walls.
Pushing them down with an ******** sigh,
Revealing a cosmos that rhythmically calls:
‘Freedom is such a deplorable word.
It offers ambitions too fruitful to take.
Though comfort or not,
As with fictitious plot,
It’s only as real as it’s fake.’
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 4:02 PM UTC
It starts
deep within
just flames
licking fire
tripping up
my spine
in crackling desire
spreads through my pores
in heated, close beats
releases its high
from my brain
to my feet
The slow burn
in my solar plexus
spreads in hot surges
waves of wildfire
pulsing in white-hot urges
right down
to where
it really takes off
rushing through my
my cells
never pausing to stop
One can go mad
from that torrid,
thick heat
every day
so I will trill
into my music
rocking my chair
as I play
feeling the vibes
within the rush and the beats
from the top of my head
to where these velvet
thighs meet
like the blazing
mirage of a summer
heat wave
releasing
the flow
of all that I crave
close-channeled
energy siphoned
into other spheres
so much like heaven
it squeezes out
tears
late desert
summer nights
naked under
plush covers
my tunes and my pen
are my only lovers
it burns for a while
slides into
ecstatic bloom
and then catapults
back up
in a frantic
heart boom
this is my world
when I am
in charge of my own
rhythm and tunes
playing them out
like mysterious flumes
this is how my passion
unfolds
when I choose music for a set
I start off contemplative
and end up wet
So I will take this ink
let it spill upon the page
wield the sword of my
slick waters
free my soul
from her cage
like a silky animal
running to cool, shaded brush
I will save up this
passion
so endlessly
lush
Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 2:57 AM UTC
The Great Falls,
was a massive
clone of ice;
yet still
her waters
poured forth
in roaring waves
over the ebb
of the river.
Sliding into
a frozen crevasse,
down an icy bar,
I land wet,
chilled and numb
from the duration
of the decent
and the soul
piercing cold.
On the landing,
the carcasses
of industrial waste
were encased
in a frozen loam.
The giant
mill wheel
locked in place,
entombed
in a glacier
of ice.
It made
good sense
to found
this city
on an
industrious
bluff.
The Great Falls
spun the wheels
that powered
vast manufactures.
Shoots
and trams
shot flumes
of water
down
every
street.
Everyman
was a master
of his
cottage industry,
forging bullets
constructing
locomotives,
spinning
the finest silk
from the
most exotic
foreign worms.
But the machines
shut down.
The handiwork
of learned men,
entrepreneurs,
urban planners,
engineers
and artisans
now encased
in frozen rust.
Barely a tool
could be used
to produce
a product
or plumb
a line.
A simple
hand tool
could not
be lifted
without
betraying
its purpose.
A society
of useful
manufactures
frozen shut;
dissolving
into bankrupt
liquidation;
so I left
my home
on Chianci Street
and caught the first
Paterson Plank coach
to the Hoboken Ferry.
I would be in
Manhattoes
by nightfall.
The morning travels
consumed thoughts
of future prospects.
The
silk mill
forever
closed.
The industry
of my home
city,
dead.
This weaver
of fine silk
had lost
his loom.
For William Carlos Williams
From: Vesuvia, 1997
Music Selection:
Yo-Yo Ma & Silk Road Ensemble,
Arabian Waltz
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 10:10 PM UTC
Flint and flight: Flinta och flyta:
Nature curls, open, Naturen lockas, öppnas,
The unwinding. Nystas av.
We walk, not straight lined Vi går, ej rakt fram
But in slow curves, Men i långsamma kurvor,
Towards a met horizon. Mot en mötande horisont.
To breathe, not in flumes, Att andas, inte i rännor,
But breath invisible, Men med osynlig andedräkt,
As warmth freezes winter. Såsom värmen fryser vintern.
All root and branch Alla rötter och grenar
Strive to hold up Strävar att hålla upp
A falling sky. En fallande himmel.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 3:04 AM UTC
{ Full to brimming madness
A shaded blot of tin
Flumes for eyes
And the fire to fertilize
Croaked behind the wind. }
( Patched of a day's quilt
The moths of aperture
Spirited away the dusk
To the vestal mouse
Whose heart doth thrum sure. )
[ Of extolled breath
Chambered nubility
Did shy to the hand
In which 'twas held:
Invariably. ]
/ In all paintings hung
Bereft of blemishes to sting,
Fibrin inks touching canvas
Evoke the rumbling stream;
The renascence of Spring. \
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 7:55 PM UTC
You will not hear the ticking clock,
For hath the phantom hour loom—
As the frigid air stirs and flocks.
I hear the vi’lent click. A lock.
All sounds succumb to the raucous boom.
You will not hear the ticking clock.
The shadows one cannot outwalk—
In fear and gloom, they loom and bloom,
As the frigid air stirs and flocks.
Where yon might lie in satin frock,
In barren and desolate room—
You will not hear the ticking clock.
The raven squawks its final squawk,
And falls to the ground—we presume—
As the frigid air stirs and flocks.
Run from Death—to hills and boondocks—
He’ll find you in the spumes and flumes!
You will not hear the ticking clock.
As his frigid hands stir and flock.
Aug 10, 2012
Aug 10, 2012 at 3:16 PM UTC
Flint and flight: Flinta och flyta:
Nature curls, open: Naturen lockas, öppnas:
Unwinding. Nystas av.
We walk, not straight, lined Vi går, ej rakt, fram
In slow curves, I långsamma kurvor,
A met horizon. En mötande horisont.
Breath, in flumes, Andetag, i rännor,
Breath invisible, Osynlig andedräkt,
Warmth freezes winter. Värmen fryser vintern.
All roots and branches Alla rötter och grenar
Striving to hold up: Strävar att hålla upp:
falling sky. fallande himmel.
Apr 8, 2022
Apr 8, 2022 at 7:02 AM UTC
Words, like photons,
are packets of energy,
capsules that carry more
than mere letters or associations,
rather vessels, filled with bits of
comprehensible essence;
everything else we are
*escapes us
eludes us*
to the dark of caves
and depths of shallow flumes,
thick misty fogs
and a refractive glass lens.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 12:43 AM UTC
We are two flumes -
I dread that you will lose altitude with me,
But I can't tell you that.
I can't tell you
That your downward gaze makes my head hurt or
That your sodden tone reminds me
Of how plants must feel after it rains,
Unsure if their spines can lift up through
Layers of loosened topsoil and leaden water.
It's the uncertainty that gets me,
The splinter in the glass, the grey sliver in the sky,
The dread of a future burden that sometimes
Runs in your background or muddles your clear stream or
Shows its shadow even as your words try to astray me.
I like to believe
We are two unshakable blooms
Stretching in tandem and awakening
The same to each surely bright day as
To each overcast and crestfallen.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 10:29 PM UTC
Take your ship out to sea
and bring laurels blessed with holly
on this journey to unearth treasure troves
hidden in the gossamer waves
Let your flag sail high in wind
and crane your neck high
among floods that rage
in endless sickness and fledgling health
Chests of gems and gilded bands
await at the edge
miles numbering thousands
unfettered to all but time
Rally your spirits and hang them by the sails
so passing shipmen may see
the bones upon this watery hull
and chant for boundless Someday
Storms await and creep like snakes
through flumes of silver clouds
the tears they wring rocks the fleet
and dyes dry skin vermilion
Famine prays to fish for food
while brine coats the shattered deck
parched crewmen beg to die in sandy oases
surrounded by undrinkable water
Promises and tears the only drinks
now pain tattooed to flesh
gold glows neither in caves
nor does it shimmer in light
However many years pass as eternities
brighter dreams mark crystal soils
and platinum trees plump with diamond fruit
float atop the promised land
Though the ship has weathered shattered frame
and dried blood lines your chest
the anchor dives through watery shore
and cries through salt land **
Sands crunch loud underfoot
like God's soft muse skies hum
no treasure lies here but an ashen tree
and the whispering wind begins to cry
my fortunate babe, you've arrived
Jul 11, 2017
Jul 11, 2017 at 9:30 PM UTC
A weary face stares back at us all
Giants grow tall
Where the small minded are casted!!!
All concepts to be trapped in
Our man made prisons!!!
Such derision is unanswered!!
The garden men and planters
Make grow all thou conceives today
Love seekers to slaves,
What's the difference in its core?
Some cry out for extras
While Heartbreakers take more!!!!
More of nothing left
A thief to every theft
A liar per every aching tongue!!!!
Unappeasable audiences
Bookies seek out bondmaids
For their own completion!!!!
So cunning
To these lust cumulaters!!!!
Electrode pulses
Bypass what's become of us,
Eristic flumes
Travel fluctuating rooms
Wherein keyholes haveth no fit
Acidic spit
Lines the dried out mouth's
They gaze
They count
But add nothing to their foulard writings!!!!
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 3:35 PM UTC
A weary face stareth back at us all,
Giants grow tall where thy small minded are casted!!!
All concept to be trapped in our man made prism's!
Such derision is unanswered,
The gardenmen and planters make grow all thou conceiveth today!!!!
Love seekers to slaves,
What's the difference in its core?
Some cry out for extras,
While Heartbreakers taketh more!!!!
More of nothing left!!!
A thief to their theft,
A liar for every aching tounge!!!
Unappeasable audiences,
Bookies seek out bondmaids for their own descretion!!!!
Non completion soo cunning to these lusted cumulaters!!!!
Damsel,
Where art thou?
Elyptic in thy writings?
I proceed!!!
Laughing to bleed,
Or bleeding to die?
Electrode pulses bypass what's become of us,
Eristic flumes travel fluctuating rooms,
Where thy keyhole has no fit!!!!!
Acidic spit lines the dried out apertures,
They yawp ,
They count,
But add nothing to their foulard writings!!!!!
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 9:38 PM UTC
it opens
like a wound
a torrent of
flumes and
the worries
subsume.
the day has
broken
with a thud
& every thing
we are, were, was,
momentarily
stops.
a
system as
tightly
bound as
ballet shoes
loosens
and we
become
the mist.
and when it sighs
a part of us dies,
the world's
engine ignites,
and those
familiar cogs begin
to grind
inside the
mind.
Sep 8, 2017
Sep 8, 2017 at 2:57 AM UTC
thunder echoes in concrete coloured clouds as flumes of steam leave my lips
the earths new position has brought autumn light that leaves trees glowing
sound is more muted as it is dampened by layers of leaves on the ground
the nature things are sleepy
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 12:45 AM UTC
THE ROBOT SAYS GO
The robot says STOP!
And the chromed steeds align, champing, their reeking tails
caked in ferrous reminders of asphalt and steam.
Still that bright ruby glares.
White-knuckled jockeys, feigning repose, swap dat ol’ faux decorum.
But nobody’s fooling anybody.
Halogen eyes framing high cursive grilles.
Round rubber hooves hugging silvery seals.
Glass-encased egos, too streetwise to dream,
jack shoulders to lobes for a shared primal scream…
Veins race across foreheads, eyes tear up the road.
And just when it looks like those veins will explode—
The robot says go! The robot says go! The robot says go! The robot says go!
The Emerald looms, the frenzy resumes:
Alpha males ****** the old and infirm,
their eight-banger fumes blurring laggers in plumes.
Jocks in jalopies thread rivals and worm
their misshapen monsters round planters in flumes.
Past loads wide and listing—and back in the fray!
Harrowing, narrowing, the pack makes its way,
to one more agenda, two downshifts away, where nearing,
where rearing…appearing like some kind of god in the flow,
this robot says…
slow.
Brief as bliss, blind as bluff,
that amber eye opens, (not quickly enough).
The lead runners race, redoubling their pace!
—rolling dem bones, refusing to place,
hurling their monoliths all but atop
pedestrian puppets who, horrified, hop,
leaping like bugs till the robot says
STOP!
And thus realigned, still fuming in kind,
the new leaders gnaw on their dashes and wheels.
Damning the wire, their backsides on fire,
nerves shooting pins through their palms and their heels,
the gentleman’s juggernaut takes aim and steels.
Eyeballs near bursting revile the stop—
And just when it looks like those eyeballs will pop…
The robot says go! The robot says go! The robot says go! The robot says go!
Copyright 2019
contact Ron Sanders at:
ronsandersartofprose(at)yahoo(dot)com
Jan 7, 2020
Jan 7, 2020 at 8:02 PM UTC
It’s eating prey
Time of day
Enter fray
Rent or stay
Gents who play
Bent the game
Their dented brain
Centered pain
And mentored shame
As inventors of rain
A mad goon
Raccoon
Attack looms
I’ll crack too
From flak flumes
Under black moons
That lack hues
To track clues
So I stack blues
To attract feuds
With a knack to lose
Looking back to you
I see a path to choose
With a wrathful queue
Remembering old news
Stomping a bold shoe
The way the cold do
Using a honed broom
To get me to fold soon
And grab the gold spoon
From your sold room
That holds doom
A habit teacher
Rabid creature’s
Static bleeder
Rapid feature
Fed me ether
Yet no relief for
My silent grief core
That starts to seethe more
After I have seen the door
To your seasoned store
Closed for sure
A saline
Daydream
Grays beams
Of light streams
So my plight seems
Like a night scene
But my fright means
That my sight’s been
Judged rightly
I’m decomposing
Juxtaposing
My lust with posing
For the trust I’m hosing
Of dust deposing
Varmint nosing
Lost and found
In the ground
Safe and sound
Except for hounds
Who’s sharpened crowns
Lie in darkened frowns
As they roam the town
That exists underground
They belong in the pound
So I can peacefully drown
Nov 9, 2018
Nov 9, 2018 at 3:11 PM UTC
Two souls underneath a black night, cold concrete beneath, and a freezing river far below. Our souls face troubles of their own, and our bodies shiver in the cold and with the nerve it takes to release a small amount of our very selves. But here, I am warm by your side, and my starry tears are a comfort as they reflect the twinkling sky and bring life back into my cheeks. The stars were guardians and intent listeners that night with you. And the chill of the air was our agent; as the flumes of incense will carry prayers to the highest heavens, so the wind would take our breath and transform it into misty whispers, whisking them away to the lights of the sky. Now if those prayers (unrecognized as so) were mighty enough, do you think it possible that those listeners became messengers? For as we lay shivering, we also were shaking under the weight of the universe, and as one star would flee the sky, it was as if our burden grew lighter and each wispy sigh of sorrow became instead a stream of laughter, lifting our spirits and brightening the sky above us.
And here. This was my moment of revision.
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 11:43 PM UTC