"formable" poems
The Walk
I got red clay and grass on my feet today in the land of the Navaho it seemed I channeled one of their
Braves it seemed my eyes grew stronger the buttes and mesas the southwest had on familiar adoring that
flows with a fluidity in the driest land yet still the streaming it breaks free and flows down to the
Valley then it arrests the high distant peaks like your eyes become the bow shooting at the target straight
And true with speed it passes stationary objects it brings them to intensified life they are passed in a whirl
No longer are they so fixed as they were nothing now they enliven my heart it beats faster with the joy they
Possess magic it lies in depths of tree and scrub it appears as a wild and crazed painter of the caliber of
Van Gogh started at a certain point definitely he favored red as his base color then with differing shades
Of green he cloaked this thermal world it would be uniquely different a somber invitation to a feast at first
Glance seemingly a hard pronounced edge but a people with dark red to brown skin walked into this
World they put the finish to perfect with indigo as their primary color of dress what living moods now
Stand out against the red terrain singularly or as a tribe they clashed with this scenic land earth and sky
Had a joining place among a people that were formable there power they were educated not by
Scholarly universities but by rock streams trees and from creatures that learned to survive in a hostile
Environment it’s interesting to note that one of our most robust presidents an easterner when his wife
And mother died within days of one another Teddy Roosevelt chose the west as the place to seek
Healing for his devastated life the rest of his life is a pretty good testament to this place and it’s curative
Powers not bad for a rocky dry land thought by most to be worthless just an observation of one whom
Walked in the paths of a rich diverse and proud people I think my Cherokee grandmother would be
Proud she always talked about where we would go she took a detour and went to heaven instead in the
Meantime I will do the earth side adventures for the both of us
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 7:40 PM UTC
it rubs the lotion on its skin
its sickly, rolling skin
my skin --
twitching with multiplication --
the cells dividing continuously
bubbling --
double, double, toil and trouble
with the ripples and waves
of a hurricanic ocean
cascading down ill fitting rocks
to crash in the flexible, formable underbelly
i will carve each digit into my skin
scar my failure into the surface
reminiscent of my tumble to the bottom
burning the memories into my flesh
never forget, never repeat
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 1:39 PM UTC
Music
Busted by the groove the Wolf man’s got your ears Johnny Mercer brings tears throughout the years
Kissed by the lonely lullaby it embodies the empty spaces draws from shadows and evokes gentle sighs
Hear the pleading moving soul of one tortured by a memory through the instrument and voice it bleeds
In the cold world a tune decidedly changes moods brings unquestionable comfort a safe harbor it buys
Trade the dull the common for the images set to pace they spill they emerge they dance freeing to all
Torn air in this space the wayfarer the drifter slips on the invisible current anytime or hour its glorious sunset
The inner called it listens with formable grace it blends all to magnificence and lives in highest taste
The source abridged by your convenience it can say more or less your interpretation decides its state
Fix the volume find a tucked away place the room fills with all manner of trips and promises of returns
Listen to that horn blown out of the delta or those sacred streets of the greatest cool bourbon Street
A little Sacmo what a wonderful world and don’t forget to honor and extol the other horn Lena Horn
Slides and rifts they were and are the greatest gifts every one given a stage all leaves lasting wonder
The crescendo reached then the fall what imagination stirred to the maxim highs and depths what awes
Take stir my heart give it all you’ve got don’t give it back in a few make it last only return it when it’s full
Hard as stones soft as Eddie money you get a thrill they show you the road it used to cost a juke box dime
I hear one in the dorm grooving to the Cat all space filled as the waves sweetly moved by a quiet storm
Dec 1, 2011
Dec 1, 2011 at 9:25 AM UTC
Busted by the groove the Wolf man’s got your ears Johnny Mercer brings tears throughout the years
Kissed by the lonely lullaby it embodies the empty spaces draws from shadows and evokes gentle sighs
Hear the pleading moving soul of one tortured by a memory through the instrument and voice it bleeds
In the cold world a tune decidedly changes moods brings unquestionable comfort a safe harbor it buys
Trade the dull the common for the images set to pace they spill they emerge they dance freeing to all
Torn air in this space the wayfarer the drifter slips on the invisible current anytime or hour its glorious sunset
The inner called it listens with formable grace it blends all to magnificence and lives in highest taste
The source abridged by your convenience it can say more or less your interpretation decides its state
Fix the volume find a tucked away place the room fills with all manner of trips and promises of returns
Listen to that horn blown out of the delta or those sacred streets of the greatest cool bourbon Street
A little Sacmo what a wonderful world and don’t forget to honor and extol the other horn Lena Horn
Slides and rifts they were and are the greatest gifts every one given a stage all leaves lasting wonder
The crescendo reached then the fall what imagination stirred to the maxim highs and depths what awes
Take stir my heart give it all you’ve got don’t give it back in a few make it last only return it when it’s full
Hard as stones soft as Eddie money you get a thrill they show you the road it used to cost a juke box dime
I hear one in the dorm grooving to the Cat all space filled as the waves sweetly moved by a quiet storm
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 12:46 AM UTC
Night Effects
The cooing of a turtle dove within that sad refrain the swoosh of angel wings the day was the busy time
You rushed here and there you broke records in what you made happen now the cool draping darkness
Swallows all complications with their hard and fast rules tender thoughts invade the stillness you
Embark upon the cradle that holds and swings the world in melodious rhythm the far edges where
Darkness deepens movement is thickened by the spun layers of night mist and quiet volumes of soulful
Thoughts disturbances only occur in the distant offing at your side the glimmer of those that mix the
Texture of heaven with the courser grains of earth their filled with peace and love that has seeped into
Their great frames from the source of all love this emanating power floods across all the emptiness that
Lies before them starkness is softened as the night was made of butterfly wings you taste it you feel the
Warmth dissolving the formable cool regions you become breathless as one world falls away and
Another merges in softest lanes brush stroked to hold magical impetus you are exulted all perfection
Beckons it enfolds you in a robe of deep softness you step as it were on the floor for the dance of your
Life swirling in grace’s embrace the soundless night enraptures you step in paths that form the highest
Discourse a person is honored to experience you have entered the glow angels leave by their passing
The sweetest caress moves earthen climes to tempers only known by those who have escaped the
Bareness that pervades to many times in this life thank you night angels for the gift of seeing our eternal
Future.
Jan 10, 2012
Jan 10, 2012 at 6:37 PM UTC
Of the greatest spinning,
at dawns formable bowtie hour
in materials soft and sour
comes the velocity of understanding
among vapor rebellions-
scrimmaging clouds, a solemn weap within, inside
wanting to hide from gravity stricken rain
take cover in the trees,
take cover in the leaves.
A roof over your water boarded head,
and witness all electric feelings vanish from
clay stricken pale skin.
the ones that offer no sense
and hence, the adventure
it is not the same.
as beams forged from mosquito
hammers and nails:
the construct, sweaty prison arisen
to catch the artful tears
of all the games above.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 9:20 PM UTC
My inamorata, sitting propped upright on a pedestal
Can by definition do me no wrong
And yet I sit admiring her beauty
Slighted and betrayed by her other formable lovers
Appreciators of the arts, connoisseur of her fine curves
Her brilliant colors, her rich and lavish history
And I sit and admire, a bodacious figure
A finely chiseled model that I will never obtain
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 5:31 PM UTC
What if my sight deludes my brain
And shows me things that cannot be?
What if my brain deludes my sight
With shapes and colours distorting light?
What if a chair is not a chair,
A sky not a sky?
What if my body belongs
Outside of time, in ridges, in riffs, in kaleidoscopes,
Pinging around or forever mute?
What if I die, but am not dead,
Having never been alive
That what was breathe was CGI
That what was a heartbeat merely
A mythological god slamming against a drum?
What if my words are not my words
But belong to speakers in the past
My thoughts not mine, nor yours,
But passing adverts in the electrified air?
What if existence is without shape,
Unseeable, unmeasurable,
A perishable vapour already dissipating
Unable to form and never formable?
What if none of these words were written
None of these words were read,
Nothing appeared here-
Nothing has happened, or ever does,
Except in your unquiet head?
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 6:10 PM UTC