"holocene" poems
The deep sighs of fall
send chills across the daisies.
My compass is sick
and there’s a sense of urgency in my eyelashes,
feeling around for the blisters on my skin
searching for a bed to sleep.
Facets of sleep
encourage the rain to fall,
cold weather raising capillaries under my skin.
I wrote the history of the Holocene era on daisies,
microscope lenses tickling my eyelashes;
dim lighting makes me home sick.
My mind is sick,
I dream of oceans in my sleep,
medicine labels printed on my eyelashes
pill bottles coloured like fall.
Tattoos of purple fringed daisies
cover my shoulders like skin.
Teeth full of apple skin;
asking God how not to be sick,
wondering if a sacrifice of daisies
will get my blood to sleep.
My hair is like the leaves during fall;
I hope I get to keep my eyelashes.
There’s snow in my eyelashes,
landscapes of frost form on skin
the cold air begins to fall,
I decide to call in sick
preferring to hide in a hot sleep
until my breaths sprout purple daisies.
How to grow Gerber daisies,
without losing my eyelashes?
My fingernails are full of sleep,
hot tea grasps at my paper skin.
The panacea for the sick
is a perfect concentration of wool sweaters and fall.
You eat daisies in the fever of fall.
Through my eyelashes I am morally sick,
but yesterday I finally let sleep settle into my skin.
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 11:45 PM UTC
step one: you must realize that
villains are the protagonists of their own stories;
ergo, everything does revolve around you.
you really are not worthless.
why should you care
what the people trying to overthrow you think?
step two: use your anger to create.
step three: or use it to destroy.
step four: allow yourself to feel.
allow yourself to
hide.
you are not wrong for shining in the light or for shying from it.
step five: you must realize that
this too shall pass.
in one thousand years louisiana will be underwater
and new landmasses will rise from the sea like individual venuses.
geologic time will march on, inescapably slowly, on clocks you cannot read,
regardless of you.
we are still only in the holocene era.
the universe doesn't care how many times you try;
the universe doesn't care if you try; but
someone has to, and i believe it should be you.
on the word-a-day desk calendar of existence,
humans only arrived on earth on
the last minute of december thirty-first:
whatever pain you're feeling is temporary.
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 10:17 PM UTC
The weathervane slept high above with a lolling head.
Clouds were holidaying excessively in Spain.
Sun was lost in a haze after chain smoking cooling towers.
A lethargic wind, moseying low with cat-like whiskers,
I hear it complain “I’m tired” in child-like whispers.
My hands are sweat-sore with callouses
And salty enough to summon the call of gulls in numbers;
I find shade, imagining myself as a cartoon Huck Finn.
When I put dry grass between cracked lips and think of dustbowls
In a zoetrope of sun-stroke, I vanish through my buttonholes.
This is now where one would rise, wake or come to.
Nothing I recognise, else the world is enveloped in storms.
I strain my sight, blink repeatedly to force myself awake,
The angels are listening, I hear wheezing, see fingers in my dreams
Gripping tightly to milk thistle stars, bursting at the seams.
Amongst the angels, whispering too! Did the stars imprison you?
Free-spirit like mother, but I slept our childhood through
Sustained by knowledge gleaned from canteen floors—
My eyes feel somehow sharp, heavy, like spears more than eyes;
I thought I saw the weathervane spinning madly, unraveling the skies!
Nobody talks about the weather.
There is a good chance of wrought nerves.
This is a time of stillness and dwelling on doorsteps,
In doorways where death sits among us, resting his eyes,
An end to the ration that was harmless reminiscence
As memories go up in the heat like celluloid;
Now the stars are a steely prison
Heaven’s lustre is lost, missing.
Through the angels I have seen that this is a time of living -
Through our dreams I have seen that this is a time of living -
Outside the confinement of the Holocene.
—I have dreamt of drowning...often. I always seem to wake up out and breath and feel I can taste the salt in my mouth but fear does not play any part in these dreams.
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 7:20 AM UTC
Dearest wildflower grinning
With powdered crooked teeth
And hair incandescent and strange
I write you this as though it were my last.
Follow me into the Holocene
And the night ghosts will not wither your grinning soul
Your blue eyes dance away
Your iris discoloured and grey
Never has indigo seemed so violent
And Auburn hair seem so opaque
And strong tongues seemed so silent.
During Berlin nights
And blanched London days
I'm forever burning in your flames.
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 9:15 PM UTC
katy perry wasn't far off track
sometimes my emotions feel like plastic bags
drifting in the african dust...
a place i put my feet
one february
years ago
and flatsound tells me to come clean
but i can't
i have nothing to contrast it with
ignorance is my final plea
and i don't even know
what holocene means,
bon iver
but i know
that poetry is just words on different lines
and they're the only ones i seem to write
these days
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 10:04 PM UTC
My mind is a filter
draining away the venom
that's hidden in your mailbox
buried in history
and the holocene stones that I took
from the pit of my stomach
I bought a blushing dress
and some blossoming shorts
that I'll do a salsa solo in
exposing my skin
and getting freckles
that trail across my face
getting freckles
that you'll never know I get in the summertime.
Mar 25, 2012
Mar 25, 2012 at 3:53 PM UTC
Some nights music has to be turned up
at the highest volume
so that my thoughts
do not **** me in my sleep
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 1:28 AM UTC
Diadem of dreams keep him keen,
In the lost world we walk,
We debate the last Holocene,
Then we split, came the fork…
Lonesome fingers, slip emerald thread,
I stare yon window,
Knitting some spell, helps me forget,
Drink lavender tea to grow.
It tasted bitter in the Winter,
So sweet when in summer,
Lukewarm come last November,
I can’t drink it no more.
They call me Lavender, loved ones,
You tried to debunk why,
Until you kissed me under the sun,
Love can make you so high.
The day you picked my last flower,
I was not a maiden,
You took from me ancient power,
My heart simply waned.
I took to the stars, took to the cards,
I became the Hierophant,
I looked to my sun, to my Mars,
To my Moon and Venus.
I’m imbued with the Crone’s wisdom,
With a new mindset so,
To understand conflicts new and old,
I’m healed, stronger, a Being of Amour.
Speak with me, drink flowery tea,
On the phone, speech may hurt,
Together, it’s ten times as sweet,
Call me, Lovely Lavender X
Feb 15, 2021
Feb 15, 2021 at 12:33 PM UTC
Dearest wildflower grinning
With powdered crooked teeth
And hair incandescent and strange
I write you this as though it were my last.
Follow me into the Holocene
And the night ghosts will not wither your grinning soul
Your blue eyes dance away
Your iris discoloured and grey
Never has indigo seemed so violent
And Auburn hair seem so opaque
And strong tongues seemed so silent.
During Berlin nights
And blanched London days
I'm forever burning in your flames.
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 12:19 PM UTC
Generation X , sold out by a New World Order , fathers lost their pension to Reganomics , Baby Boomers took 911 , shot holes in the Constitution , killing proletariat , old as the strata on the canyon walls , welcome to the Holocene Epoch and ***** deals , wasted lives and politics that **** ! Change is the same barracuda caught all over again , don't defend your castle with my final drop of blood while your singing America the Beautiful on the Washington Mall , put out your hand , try to break my fall , with eyes shut , typing in coordinates on a 'Smart Bomb', or flying a drone over the castle wall !
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 2:04 PM UTC
The humankind was never kind to them.
From their peaceful Pliocene graves
they were dug out, doggedly read,
their skulls and bones laid bare
gorged upon every finest details
all the apparent lunacy
directed to determine a link
always close yet too far.
Roaming that placid basin
they could not dream
to be a mystery past two million years
crazily pursued to be cracked open.
They have been branded Nutcracker Man.
These Holocene men are truly nuts.
Nov 23, 2017
Nov 23, 2017 at 8:55 AM UTC
Like a song, I waited to be heard,
Till' they lent their ears and offered
The gift to listen to a voice
That gave clear insight from all the noise.
Throughout the epochs of hearsay,
Eons of complete mental disarray,
Ages of false images,
And unclear periods of distress.
At last, my voice was hearkened.
The truth has soared and shined,
To illuminate the path for the blind
To enlighten the false that had me bound.
Jun 28, 2019
Jun 28, 2019 at 4:55 PM UTC
Under a temple of sequoia,
I do not fear your ravenous wild
which lives in everything
flowering desire.
What drives my folly
drips longingly with mad nectar,
finds your mystery alive in my eyes,
mystery coloured in vibrant azalea.
There is no forest, just
deciduous portals to other worlds.
Beneath an outgrowing meadow
of detritus, decay has a lurid scent
of pine that lingers. And your roots
guide my descent into the darkest deep,
a thousand years into the Holocene.
Show me
how to carry this endless dream.
Make me remember where
I am and will always be:
in raindrops streaming
to the understory,
in hollowed trees pulsing rivers
of sun in between,
in conifer transpiring seeds
from branch to leaf,
in earthworms relishing
the sweetness of skin,
in the enduring vision of you
that exists in the marrows
of me.
Maybe in time
touched by waterfalls of memory,
I will return to your world again
cloaked in dirt and evergreen.
Jul 16, 2024
Jul 16, 2024 at 8:30 AM UTC
Hello my friend
I see you shine
yet dead a trillion year and more
I see you now at this here eye
as true a bird do fly to shore
now tell of me your time and space
so far away yet to my face
a galaxy of inner space
not out there now no holocene
apocalyptic in between
no trace to you but dust and bowl
to mould eternal to this soul
beyond me and inside my flesh
before my ever afters yet
a ripple on the fabrics net
infinite a mind am I
to you star light held in its eye
Dec 31, 2020
Dec 31, 2020 at 11:42 AM UTC
took his bike to the end of the street and disappeared.
he was laughing.
maybe today, just find a way
to bell the bones of magnificent fun.
she thought he was funny. he
took to the day like a wild oat.
took a bullet to the chest, still had long to go.
that old bless of a naked always-stretching lung
[can we account for nuance?]
took. took. took.
holocene compounded, brain aneurism expounded.
he knew the city suffered, city slumbered, never, not ever.
your number? he asked her.
or about some kind of snake wrapped around the heart.
war chest, drum the chest, bone or breast.
twas rhythm, not explosion.
rhythm/blast.
city/socks/electronics.
the humdrum conundrum of *** thumbs and time.
we are surrounded yet alone.
****** yet liquid.
remember the lung?
city/shoes/blood.
he thought she was funny.
stoop, stop to think about a text…
send.
Feb 25, 2020
Feb 25, 2020 at 7:07 PM UTC
Hovering around
From this mountain on its ground,
Designing venture.
Besides, I've learned the danger.
I've prepared the map and the compass,
But I forgot to eat my breakfast.
Enough is breather from the multimedias --
Forced to pass, ached for the grass.
Lifting my weight up above.
Climbing the top to see the doves.
Gripping tightly, not to plummet.
Mind's fixation on the summit.
this rising brought to a halt
as i stopped in the middle, i could see
the trees, and houses and sea salt
How major? How big is this beauty?
as i lift this weight above, i've felt
this landscape of exception and worth,
my life of insignificance as i melt
how small i am compared to the earth
"and at once i knew I was not magnificent"
i sang as i hike as i taste the holocene
Aug 1, 2020
Aug 1, 2020 at 10:10 PM UTC
Sit in Starbucks in the rain
Venti Vanilla and hamstring pain
Biked all the way here
to sit and study road signs
Note down all the guidelines
to sit and sip and listen to the sky's tears
Behind the Bon Iver Holocene
and future fears
Too much coffee will make you old
Too much work will make you dull
Threadbare sweater, aren't you cold?
Threadbare dreams, weren't you bold?
Weren't you better than this?
I could have sworn you were interesting
Weren't you Intrepid
boundary-testing?
Weren't you Fearless
all-Investing?
Infinite Spirit
Never resting
And now look at you
Utterly Ordinary
the typical type
Suburban Sell-out
Cheers to real life.
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 3:15 PM UTC
I sat criss crossed on the top
of a rock before it tipped,
an alpaca spots me from afar.
I see his brother bathe in the dirt,
his cotton ball fur soaks in the Sun,
rubs himself with the color of the Earth,
squints his eyes and whispers to his brother –
This is a disguise.
The fresh mountain water streams
below me, dissolves into breeze
the hillside crumbles where it was once cut
and layered with stones ripped out of the ridge
but now the Earth is taking back
her natural shape, round and wise.
This was an Inca trail, after all.
I ran into a human skull.
lying beside it was,
a fresh bouquet of flowers
a box of lucky strikes,
a few empty water bottles,
the skull was fairly ripe
and to this day it haunts me still,
that skull that whispered –
This is a disguise.
Yet even amongst the plastic residue,
the burning embers of the holocene,
the battery acid in the belly of my backpack,
I looked to where it would squint its eyes,
and It felt ancient.
Corn fields that peek from the tops of these hills
cower beneath a great mountain that speaks
through symbols sculpted in its face,
I squint my eyes –
This is a disguise.
Sep 19, 2016
Sep 19, 2016 at 5:32 PM UTC
Black and white filmography
Sky fallen melt away cotton,
Still at sea level, but in the pines.
Collect the sticks we'll put together
Build a fire in our newly white cathedral.
Tobacco and lavender soaked up in the fabrics that embrace me.
Some cinnamon too.
A song called Holocene made me cry when I heard it,
I don't know what it was about though.
White noise and blank space,
So so much of it.
Warm inside and it's cold out there,
Raw hands from my constant smoke breaks in the wind ,
Meat and potatoes,
Bread and milk, love.
I don't know when we're getting into town again.
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 5:28 PM UTC
My whole and entire is YOU
When LOVE-soul-connect happened
At once I knew I was not "I"
I was "YOU"
Not that magnificent as I wanted to
I'm not above others, not lower them
I was covered with dust and ice till then
But now, I can see a thousand births
On your sunlit sparkle dazzle
You turn my vacance illuminate
Foggy became our image of "I"
You just cleared the smoke screen light
Within days, Our lives drenched
Strayed from life to wanderlust again
Natural it was for us to connect
To let us play "AGAPE LOVE" game
Nothing ever un-stitches our bond
No scissors nor knives makes the cut
Stayed, huddled and jagged
You & I - BE part of the cosmic "ONE"
Now, none is wasted in dictum of Holocene
We have arrived on a ramp of LOVE
Head over heels, drove down the streets
Like Thelma and Louise on our feet
OUR LOVE feels like epochs
We be the DUST of the wind
And we think we are still "FREE"
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 11:33 PM UTC
So, we must, again, face the inevitable human dark age. When the filthy, diseased hand of dogma closes it's fingers around the throat of logic and reason. Science bowing it's weary head to the masses of religious ignorance, and the intellectual giving way to the impassioned imbecile. What course is reason, when we can simply shout down that which disagrees with our bias, and predetermination ?? Why think, when we merely have to scream ?? What apes have we become that volume supersedes reason ??
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 3:42 AM UTC
I could have stopped
Right then
For I'm fed up with everlasting bumping into barriers of your heart
And struggling thorns
On stems
Of dry red roses burried deep within your silent art
I could have hid
No more
I fostered feelings wrong
You stopped me then
"Hush now
Be still and listen to the song"
Dec 6, 2017
Dec 6, 2017 at 11:35 AM UTC
Silence deepens,
The dream fades into nothing,
The mind weakens.
Ghosts of daughters,
Who never felt this existence
but are in my heart.
Laughter, unheard,
A lot, unfelt and forgotten,
Perfection, forever unmatched.
The dream of life:
Never was it ever real—
Could I just leave now?
Never was it ever real—
Could I just leave now?
Could I just leave now?
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 11:48 AM UTC
End scene on the Neogene
Where life-distort systems sustain
The epidemic apathy
The superficial philistine
Degeneration entertain
Apocalypse obscenity
When everything's a ******* screen
Explicit content can't disclaim
The creds will roll mentality
Director's cutting guillotine
Makes severed heads and zombie brains
Of our inane humanity
One more cliche inaction scene
Exit stage fright for Pleistocene
Where anti-social norms have changed
The prof pic of society
To this no-filtered drama queen
Waging a twitter war complain
On photobombing refugee
Hashtag #unfriendthistrendregime
Unfollow Insta-claims to fame
Of Snap-storied conformity
Emoticon artists convene
To sell their Tinder-kindled pain
For likes and robot empathy
Dead to the world as they live stream
Brief Intermission Holocene
Where modern man is just a game
Of media monopoly
Rich Uncle's *** of Disney schemes
Pinochhio's nose, knows no shame
When Apple's poison byte comes free
With Mickey Mouse ABC themes
No Goofy Fox News hound can tame
The Lion King Plutocracy
As talk show ghosts in the machine
Project deceptive astral plains
Phantasmic family tv
What's real is once upon a dream
Final act Anthropocene
Where we're all dropping acid rain
In puff-puff gas complacent-sea
Raising the level of morphine
Numbing denial river veins
To drown the truth in ecstasy
From alcoholic gasoline
That's sold dirt cheap like frack *******
By FDA approved decree
So patch it up with nicotine
And then OD on pure disdain
For sober, bleak reality
An age of addicts on drug screens
Let curtains fall to wipe us clean
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 1:42 AM UTC