"incubating" poems
Off the train I hit the streets
and start laughing. This is ridiculous,
incomprehensible. How can innumerable bipeds
have individual inner lives. Why are they doing
what they’re doing? I have no answer
New York City but to also go about my business
in this case prepare for surgery, survival.
But why survive with so many exact replicas
to replace me? A swarm of ants or hive of bees,
social organisms they’re called, climbing
over each other, avoiding bumping and amazingly
making way, anticipating the sudden turns
and straight paths of others, strangers but brothers,
sisters incubating, the cells of a small
***** nodes of a single semi-conscious organism.
The concept of a higher power that cares
for me is also risible yet how else
can I explain the surgeon and his team,
robots and magnetic resonance imaging machines,
all primed and trained to save my life.
They are not particularly interested in what
I do with my time. I am immediately
in love with the Irish brogue of the head nurse,
the Indian skin of the physician’s assistant.
The long extraordinarily thin
fingers of the famous surgeon. All
mine to savor (and the other cancer patients).
Despair, lose all hope
that’s what the sign says at the gates of hell
and at the Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center the sign says
Be kind to our customers who are waiting and suffering.
Yesterday’s suicidal thoughts: the mind
is a clever servant, insufferable master. Therefore,
meditate on this: absolute need, dependence on the Other.
I still like Hombre, The Shootist and Ulzana’s Raid
but realize those dead heroes
were subordinate to society: the gun manufacturers who armed them.
Thus, I go for cancer tests, accepting, not predicting results.
Hero accepting help.
A torrential rain following five days of flooding,
tornadoes out west busting up wooden towns
all because too many of us are hoarding plastic, herding electrons.
None of us know how it will end, what the outcome will be
(of our surgery). The best that can be said
is Don’t forget to breathe. And you might
as well believe in that higher power.
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 6:00 AM UTC
The place was dangerous as hell; we had no business being there. It was a complex, composed of four immense structures, looming on the bluffs between Lake Michigan and a ghost town. I'm not sure which side of the fence brought forth more eeriness - the sight of four massive industrial skeletons was indeed an eerie one, but within the village that must endure it's haunting presence persists a dwindling heartbeat... and together they produced a heightened effect of slow decay - and that was what drew me in.
The place was magnificent day or night.
By day, we'd explore the groundworks while the light allowed us to admire the massive machinery, which by then had accumulated copious amounts of corrosion. All those dead giants, never to function again. In the spring time, beams of light would penetrate the ceiling above, caving in from years of stress sans stress tests. Even when the light was not shining through, one could make out where the beams have been because in their wake they left a trail of life. Up to that point in my life I thought that was the most beautiful scene I had ever seen - a thousand tons of old machinery, and a stubborn sunbeam poking through, incubating it's au natural industrialized chia pet.
By night, we would ascend to the rooftops of these four story horror stories and gaze up at the stars. Sometimes, when our ***** were feeling particularly swelled, we'd venture across the rooftops as if in some post-apocalyptic videogame. And sometimes when we were feeling a bit rebellious and artistic, we'd bring along some cans of spray paint and redecorate to our desire. Oh, and another reason the place reeked of death was surely due to it being a glue factory... wherein horses were killed in order to gain access to their foot-stuff. I was told by an unfortunate local that they'd bury the unwanted horse parts in big pits back behind the place... this man had told me that he fell into one while wandering around back there - nearly died trying to get out.
We knew the place was soon to be leveled, but we did not know when. Eventually I ended up moving out of state for a while, and alas, upon my return my childhood fascination was no more. shrugs... So it goes.
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 4:18 AM UTC
In Algonquin, before the dawn
before they’re clouds, the fog rises
tucked under the echoing loons
above the fat smell of wet soil
before the day becomes day
before you are a person
and the light of day breaks
the green sky casts a hue
incubating the lake
until life becomes life
until you become human
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 12:51 PM UTC
Eats the lovers head after coitus
Something tells me a black widow is better
Dogs get stuck together
is that a style?
Pigs can ****** for 30 minutes
little corkscrews
mules can't reproduce do they have fun?
seahorse males carry the pregnancy to term
penguins take turns incubating
in extreme conditions
humans get joint custody
Mar 22, 2010
Mar 22, 2010 at 10:44 PM UTC
I chased the first rays
of an autumn morning
but to my sorrow
when I arrived at
the urgent place
the sun had
already
risen
breathing a
crowning glory of a
seasons brilliant
splendor
alighting
the glowing amber
of golden woods
shining like gleaming
constellations of
dazzling morning
stars...
though I
desired to find
ascendent beauty
the ubiquitous glow of
transfigured leaves
immersed me in
a divine chrome...
as I traversed
the woods, my
solitary steps found
companionship
with a sullen
mistress singing
a sad rustle
of dry fallen leaves
and as the drone
of cars faded from the
receding road
I searched myself
for courage and
found resolve
I pondered truth
and discovered
the wisdom
of resolution...
yearning to
realize a
deeper faith
I hiked
further up
the wooded hill,
visiting the gay
playfields
of my youth
and received
an epiphany
of wholesome
closure
opening
new
timeless
doors...
still questing
for more light
a prophetic wren
whirred a pliant
secret into my ear
she bespoke
a symphony
of avian
improvisations
conversing in
a thousand
luminous tongues,
relating a sonorous
elegy teaming with
the brightest
joys of life
raising bold
proclamations
celebrating a
seasons radiance
imploring me
to join the chorus...
though the canopy
of the woods still
boasted boughs
of green
the
infant hues
of spring had
run its course
the glory of an
expiring season
strewn on the
forest floor
covering the
mouldering stags
inching back into
the compost of life
breeding blankets
of furry moss
feeding on the
primal organica
of seemingly
expired flora
here, in this
darkened moment
I realized
the transcendent
miracle
the loam of life
incubating
churning
in concert with
the turn of
seasons...
to my sorrow
I missed the first
rays of the morning
the first
peeks of light
a breaking day
gracefully bespeaks
upon a sleeping earth
awoken in new light
yet I am filled
I am transcendent
I am the first ray
of an eternal light
I am the first ray
of my earthen
gloaming...
on the morrow
the best of me
is in the marrow
of all who loved me
and all whom I loved
these rays of me
will forever rise
in an eternity
of dawnings
For Joey
Godspeed Beloved
Vaughan Williams:
Lark Ascending
Oakland
101313
jbm
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 12:13 AM UTC
consuming cigarettes like candy at a theme park
shoveling, inhaling
before mom takes it away
incubating cool concrete
to hatch eggs of non-conformist
thoughts, theories, therapy
Costello glasses fog
with skinny-jeaned laughter and flannel
bellows only audible within the confines
of claustrophobic, humid basements
spilled with beer out of sun-lit
fear.
stay ****** ****** up and disconnected
feigning parental disregard and lacked motivation, except
to pet cats to the tune of vinyl
manicured with dust
seeping with lust
for the past
when rainbow-striped sweaters were cool.
pound the drums too loud for ears
sweating out anger and distrust
stuck to reconstruct or fit in
become the grey, the void, the in-between
the one thing you don't want.
Jun 11, 2012
Jun 11, 2012 at 7:30 PM UTC
Dormant aspirations lie in winter's fallow ground
Burgeoning freedom furrowed in shallow soil; sovereign elements do pound
Infertile seeds in barren hearths tightly wound
A cold wind from on high scourges each, desolate mound
A dreary drizzle from hovering, satin crowns seeps deep; hopes are drowned
Nutrients for spawning growth are leached; blighting tentacles surround
Ambition suppressed, inactive period of malaise doth abound
In due season, warming rays of light shine thawing frozen hearts
Incubating innate desire to fulfill individual destinies, from chained depth departs
In destitute minds, a burgeoning sprout of liberty starts
Branching forth into fertile souls, intestinal fiber imparts
Taking root, it spreads deep, penetrating shielded ramparts
A fragile frond from each wavering limb darts
Triumphing in tyrannous environment, a fruitful future charts
Oct 7, 2011
Oct 7, 2011 at 6:33 AM UTC
You went to that place
Where her flowers used to grow
Spilling hot, salty tears countless times
Left the air always smelling like the sea
Even years later
You can still hear her mermaid laughter
Echoing through the trees
Grown over with weeds now
Sweet memories resting place
Much like the aching hollows of your heart
Anger rushes through the quiet solitude
Urging your knees to buckle
Digging your hands into rich, wet earth
Sobbing great hiccuping gulps through mournful wails
True pain is that of loss
A circle is finally cleared
Exhaustion floods the moment
Head heavily laid where she rests
Clouds hum by above the canopy
Digging into your pocket
Smiling softly now
Grasping at incubating bleeding heart seeds
A hole here, a hole there
She'll grow again
For the dead never truly leave us
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 12:01 PM UTC
Looking at you I see a lifelong flicker
incubating my heart with its warmth
zeppelins fall before this beauty.
You look at me, and I see our friendship grow
onwards into the night sky, and our time is
unending yielding the fruit of mechanical bliss.
Arriving at our destination I see you now.
Rocking back and forth; your heart in your hands.
Enchanting the room with your spiritual show.
Actually perhaps my feelings were premature,
maybe we'll be friends forever
and I can call your name from my dark light house.
Zapping to life the bitterness held
inside of my sad and miserable little chest.
Now, I close this poem with one last line.
Goodnight, and thank you for being you.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 2:27 AM UTC
there was a time when
I used to love your shadow
even in my dreams
and daylight was a blessing
cause I caught your screams
incubating in my left shoulder
beyond the doors
much was still possible
-sexus plexus nexus-
in the trenches where
your silence had died
May 20, 2023
May 20, 2023 at 8:37 AM UTC
carefully I cradled the garden seeds
depositing them in the incubating
warmth of the earth's black womb
then buried my heavy heart there for a season
I thought of my cousin Roger who had just
relinquished the magical breath that animates
all living beings in this universe
it didn't matter that he had abused his body and
was an emotional wreck most of his brief life
more like a brother, fond memories of innocent play,
mischievous fun and a generous, loving persona
poked through fresh and green
like tender infant shoots
these were the perennials, the lasting bouquets
that could never be laid to rest
the fluffy double orange hoop skirts of the hibiscus
dancing in the corner
and the African daisies laughing purple faces
make me smile
I could feel my cousin's Spirit whispering in
the gentle Florida breeze
"hey, cuz, life goes on.......forever!"
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 10:49 AM UTC
Ramshackled dream
Held together with glue and string
And prayers
Floating as a feather
Yet easily the heaviest of things
What tapestries you inspire
Yet not strong enough the exit my mind
Keeping you hidden
Incubating long term
Until you’re almost over cooked
Make I take a glimpse of you
Never to touch, in fear of the break
Complexly understated
A warming flame
Flickering in this empty cold world
Ramshackled dream
Pretty to most, breathtaking to me
Sitting ever fervent
Waiting to shine
Wait to breathe the air
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 8:08 AM UTC
you never fully unpacked your clothes
the whole time you live in there
and now i know things that make my mind bulge
feeling like whenever i come back to reality
it's too vivid through my eyes
and that's why i never noticed that you hadn't
until someone mentioned it
too much for my stomach
it turns so easily
it's amazing what the human brain can prevent, form getting in
if you really try, if you fight for it
i'm sorry i'm so frightened
or i'd send this in a letter
but i know that they'd derhyme it
and figure out
we all love you, and you love us
and we love heaven, and heaven loves you
they've had us chasing death for so long
extinction for redemption as if that makes any sense
heaven is freedom, heaven is your eyes when the stars are out
heaven is all the battle scars on your worn hands because
you survived and today's breath is sweeter to your lungs
than any breath before, because unlike you, it has forgotten all of them
it just follows your patterns and hopes that you love it
you love it, the circuits do you remember how they
widened your eyes, the branches of trees can be limbs chopped off
but remember you told me, and i know it to be true;
they always grow back. they always grow back.
you will grow back. don't fall so fast that you can't catch you in a year or two
you are your worst enemy and your best friend
and you know better than anyone how to be your own best friend
your inner child is safe in this letter
your inner child is stamped into the fabric of my mind like a siren of eyes
your inner child is deep below the concrete floor,
incubating inside the earth with your name
don't let them take your name, god why don't i have the guts to send you this letter
i guess i'm afraid you'll never get it
i wish that i could help you, i know you're not crazy
and you, last month, i know you're not crazy
and you, last year, i know you're not crazy
and you, still on the inside, i know that it's scary
you know everything that i want to tell you already
in your gut, in your instinct of instincts, it's just being barred
your eyes are not black, they are shadowed
but i still see a gleaming inside you
a glow that snaps it's neck back into place
when no one's listening
this world is such a distressing illusion
and yet look at me afraid of becoming
if i speak clearly enough to be felt i guess that's all i can offer
i'm trying,
i don't want to die
you are hearing things, and they're not in your mind
this world is hazy now,
it's hard to believe, but don't fall just yet,
create your own vibrational frequency
they know us well. you are worthy of respect
you are worthy of love, happiness, kindness
you are everything and everything is you
and we can't lose something so precious
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 12:07 AM UTC
theres always
Tomorrow
procrastinating
day a wastin'
contemplating
incubating
fat *** waiting
tee vee baiting
big mouth craving
fuel for raving
dazing
Blazing....
Mar 23, 2012
Mar 23, 2012 at 9:47 PM UTC
Writing is so close to making love:
That sometimes, you can't tell the difference at all;
If I ask if you want to make love this afternoon
You look out the window, at the sky, and mention the fineness of the weather
Or whether it is gloomy and maybe looks like rain,
As there is never, no weather, to comment about
If I ask if you want to make love this evening
You check your calendar then, as if perpetually finding it too full
To squeeze in a lover's tryst, at the full height of the moon,
And then might mention other nights, when unexpected guests arrived,
To while away the incubating hours of darkness, with glasses of wine
And well worn jokes; the *** jokes ever popular, with maybe a game of cards
If I ask if you might want to make love in the morning
You are sure to be busy then; what with breakfast to get, picking up clothes
From the night before; all the interminable household chores
Which seem to lead from one to another, almost seamlessly
While still finding the time, to watch birds through the window and wonder
What they are about, and if they have nests of eggs yet,
And about how two birds kept hiding, beneath the bush yesterday, to copulate
And if even birds have their preference, about such activities, performed together as a couple
And if the neighbors are not stirring, because they have slept in
After a night of continuous ********** and if they are not too old for that sort of thing yet-
It seems very clear, that the only way to write a poem
Is just to begin it, and to let all that other nonsense stuff of life
Fall away; to know that the right words will come when needed,
Just like the right moment finally arrives
And I take your hand, and go toward the smiling twilight
And you finally acquiesce, in the form of a silent acceptance,
That 'no' is not any longer an option,
Because for some things, the answer should always be, 'yes'
And so we write that poem, then
The one I have been thinking about, for so long
And I carefully leave out of it, weather and visitors and busy birds and neighbors;
And all of them are quiet and good, while the poem creates itself capriciously,
Born on only the whim of a moment, and some pulsing memories;
Our bodies merely the vehicle, which pushes it forth
Out of a rich milk of pastures and time;
And in which the whole of history, since mankind first appeared
Is all somehow condensed down
Into one line, of purest potency.
Mar 14, 2010
Mar 14, 2010 at 4:03 PM UTC
I should lie to tell you the stars shine
to catch a glimpse of her eyes.
That they wake million year dreams
to gaze for brief time, dreams of
never waking up to never
vividly see.
I should yell to
grandfather light warming closer
moving steps incubating fetal
positions inside feet splashing cracks
across arching pavement ways.
Intentionally broken back, Mothers’
spinal chord seeps ***** through
cracked nerves,
solicitous beads fornicating
under lamps flaming orange
currents.
Your saliva spins images of
laughter for me to see in cloudless
nights over rivers swimming
oceans’ way. Capillaries open
across my eyes crawling towards the ground,
fractured concrete
searching nurture, natural born life steeping
into my blood stream upon sleeping.
Legs carry dallying moments,
lagging steps tripping closer to
never missing cracks in stone encrusted
fallopian tubes.
I want to touch your skin,
fingers pulling back layered
wind sharpened capsules
reach sprouting seedling under
shoes bouncing soul to
toe and back again. Our words
feed;
sketches of moon-tide engravings
upon carbon traces, molecular hair
catching my eyes.
We smile at each other.
Jun 18, 2010
Jun 18, 2010 at 3:29 PM UTC
Soul settled deep in this nest of solitude, incubating Self
Apr 29, 2012
Apr 29, 2012 at 5:29 PM UTC
The night is around me
Surrounds me
Encompasses me in its arms
It hides me
Guides me
Holds me close to its heart
The night so defiant
So infrangible
So thrilling
It holds my head up high
Supports me
Disciplines me
It's infatuated with this heart of mine
The night so dark outside
So atramentous
So incubating
It teaches me how to be
Alluring in my eye
Unquenchable in my desire
The night, so bright, is where I aspire
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 10:33 AM UTC
of blissbrick meanderings
smacks straight into
purpose, full
don't number
nameless incubating
prior to hatch
unimaginable unknowns
may yet manifest
one potential alteration:
me, singer in this
ambiguously yay rap duo
Vernacular Spectacular
Spitshit Linguistic
or maybe Prolix Helixed
first album:
Straight Outta Whoville
you may know
but you never
quite know
the One is THE
ultimate storyspinner
weaving all our tiny threads
into tapestry bigger
than grey matter
can muster
let it
let go
Feb 4, 2017
Feb 4, 2017 at 7:43 PM UTC
I had a talk with a fetus today.
A mind talk.
I wasn’t aware of such an ability
Until I encountered this incubating sapient sapien.
We talked in a language consisting of feelings and emotions –
No trace of an actual language;
No words.
He conveyed warmth.
Mind numbing warmth and happiness.
Mind enhancing.
Mind glowing.
Life glowing.
Radiant joy ran down my legs
And down through my feet,
Straight into the ground.
Into the Earth.
The planet then sighed a mighty sigh of great relief,
Somehow knowing that this child had been born.
Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 6:06 PM UTC
.don't get me wrong... poaching a chicken breast, while wrapped in cling-film? a "MAGA" idea... and then frying it? gently? brilliant... first exposing the chicken to a tenderness, and then incubating it by frying it? genius...
while watching Masterchef Australia...
surprise surprise...
imagine my surprise at finding
the monarchical support of the people
of Australia, trailing along with
jests of "speaking the proper
terminology" when addressing "royalty"...
is this some sort of Aztec pyramid
poncy scheme Halloween party?
feathers and ****
no?
sure as **** it looks like one
of those bogus explanations worthy
of the royalty of sycophants of
Pont de l'Alma, "debated" against...
as if Charlie "the ******* Chaplin" Windsor
could brush this / these facts off...
point being...
to my utter bewilderment,
and subsequent surprise...
i never imagined the Australians to be
so monarchical...
stunned as ****
Australians are this much monarchical?
they're so biased, so fervent in their opinions?!
seriously?!
remind me to never visit this...
sub, of whatever constitutes a continent...
i'e sooner visit the Faroe Island
prior to America,
as i'd visit Antarctica before
Australia...
monarchical afterthoughts
that the Australians surprised me
with...
i deemed them rather rebellious...
solemn, industriously counter
to what Britain affirmed /
arranged itself around...
my bad...
i guess it's just a case of:
different **** same cover....
oh... right... ********
same **** different cover;
works both ways anyway.
Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 9:17 PM UTC
Finished the chapter
The one in the middle
Careful not to peek at the ending
Curious to review the beginning
Started out so nicely, sweet, enticingly
Teased me into thinking it would never end
Crooked finger wags & summons
Points to unknown, mysterious terrain ahead
Glancing back over my shoulder
Quick review but cannot fix, it remains the same
Only I am different fixed in this place
The next chapter incubating
Without my outworn point of reference
I am truly free
Happy Birthday to me
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 9:48 AM UTC
At least five a day! Stop smoking!
Enough messages to fatten a
health freak, sprinkling my consciousness
like drizzle pimpling a window pane.
On Dali time - I wander
a nightmare hall of mirrors.
My watch slow, slow - marching
past the appointment hour.
Incubating my ***** sample,
I watch a young man bending forward
like a scribe studying his text.
Someone silently mouthing
her missal or her shopping list.
Ping! Will William Shaw
please go to room five.
Back to the slow march.
Please let me be next.
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 6:22 AM UTC
Born May 5, 1818, in Trier Germany
to Heinrich and Henrietta Marx,
sans the third of nine children
(and second oldest heir)
Karl Marx thinking begot incendiary sparks,
asper his two most controversial publications
titled The Communist Manifesto,
and Das Kapital
which political philosophy
incubating seeds of self destruction didst birth
doctrines of class struggle,
historical materialism, dearth
of equitable wealth, and inherent
contradictions of industrial capital
distributed unevenly
across avast swath of Earth
thus inviting his perspective
(conveniently exploited,
mined, and usurped) advocating
the working class (proletariat)
to expedite organized revolutionary action
to topple capitalism and bring about
socio-economic emancipation,
where wages of sin exchanged for labor bled
fingers to the bone life source, viz proletariat
till slaving laborer nearly became gratefully dead
despite being cased in 12 point
Times New Roman garb, who incessantly fed
insatiably maws of production,
(no way to get a supportive talking head)
particularly highlighted
within schema of Capitalism),
a predominant paradigm
stratifying society led
to internal tensions engendered
between bourgeoisie red
dilly controlling means
of production codified as said
as die a critical approach Marx coined
as historical materialism,
where figurative landmines forced one to tread
gingerly, thus above stated philosophy
would supposedly lead down the road
where self destruction wrought marriage
birthing Socialism offspring from shot gun wed
ding, thus coaxing eventual establishment
of classless communist society meant
to establish free association of producers who spent
exchanging merchandise amidst classless
campy population hood pitched a tent.
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 8:55 PM UTC