"rapidity" poems
The concrete jungle.
Home of the dreaded concrete beasts
Who lie in plain sight for the world to see
Crouched in marble ledges, twisted in metal beams
Wrapped around handrails, perched in their cemented trees
They laugh at those who cannot perceive
Because they don’t believe.
And who am I,
Yes possibly me
To find my identity
In removing my wooden sword from its sheath
Placing it beneath my two shuffled feet
To answer the alluring call of the beasts beckoning
To my hero’s heart, for my eyes to blink
To suddenly see them as they were meant to be.
In a world between
Real and imaginary.
For it is I,
Yes I believe it to be
Chosen to find my destiny
In a single push
That propels me
Into the path of the snarling beasts
Approaching their stairs and rails, ledges and beams
Gaps and bumps and ramps with speed
And as they stare at me hungrily
Opening their mouths expecting me
I will stand strong on my wooden sword
As the wheels of fire erupt beneath
And the scenery blurs in the flash of the rapidity
I bend my knees and grit my teeth
My eyes narrow and the drum in my chest crescendos its beat
A shout explodes from my chest, a primal scream
As I press on
In the concrete jungle.
Home of the dreaded concrete beasts
Who quiver in plain sight for the world to see
And whimper at the sight of who they now perceive
Because I do believe.
And it is I,
Yes undoubtedly me
Who will find my destiny
Conquering the concrete jungles of the world unseen
Surfing the concrete waves of the world between
With my loyal vessel being the wooden sword from the sheath,
That remains steady in the face of danger beneath my feet.
I am alive
In the concrete jungle.
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 12:55 AM UTC
Speed
The rapidity in moving or proceeding
Swiftness
Rate of motion or progress
Full
MAXIMUM
Optimum rate of motion
It’s all been SO fast
We've made SO much progress
In SO VERY little time
This is our optimal rate of motion
6 months
181 days
4344 hours
15638400 seconds
Our season of love thus far
Countless kisses
Hundreds of pricele$$ moments
ENDLESS “I love you”s
And it only goes on from here
I can’t wait to see it A L L
to breathe in every moment
to feel every luscious touch
to taste every sweet kiss
to hear every way you say my name, like no one else does
SO stick around
Let us watch this relationship
Blossom, progress, grow,
Speed
Together, my love
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 8:08 PM UTC
Here's a thought,
Don't know if I ought,
What's faster than thought?
Thought momentum,
Like acceleration,
Concept velocity,
Thought rapidity,
Thinking celerity...
Upon reflection,
Thought momentum,
Is it the speed of light?
Thoughts so bright,
Here's a thought,
What's faster than thought?
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 5:51 PM UTC
“and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body.”
Walt Whitman
<>
having recently been on standby for a permanent-entry residency visa
to over & just beyond death’s door, Walt’s prescient prescription strikes my broken breastbone even harder much, than the persistent
periodic pains confirming the breaking and the healing
of this man’s mending of the human centric poetic *****
for this warped heart mine, now rejoicingly rejiggered with some threads and wires to deliver a new but fresh bloodied wisdom,
begs me, eggs me to torrent word streams, but Whitman’s wisdom cautions a new slowness, the wisdom of mortality’s hot breath urges careful consideration of every letter that my second chance, consignment shop flesh, eagerly embraces, to both prescribe and proscribe inside-insights tween the deafening sounds of eyelashes beating synchronized to the revived heart rates rapid renewal and
last second-chances….
torn tween minute torso sensations and the running silence of
a new battery’s internal rapid intervals, the silent timing gaps tween beats leaves-just-enough-space to ask over and over again,
from whence will come my richest fluency? (1)
at 300am, I lay carefully caressing and chewing well each transitory
thought, absent the former energetic ability to just spill,
though highly desired,
now requires, like me,
steady re-piecing together
the steady drumbeat of now-nearer-my-god-than-thee Titanic reflections
demands a slowing rapidity
this I thought before and now ken, even and ever better, that our primary endeavor shall always be the giving, the disbursement of the act of love…for therein lies the healing of each, and wet eyes,
make necessarily concluding this poem about nothing and everything
and I comprehend Walt’s dictum:
my very flesh is a poem,
every sensation a lyric,
every breath taken and returned to the atmosphere
so unconsciously
are my oldest
and newest
3:00 AM poetry companions
Aug 18, 2023
Aug 18, 2023 at 4:41 PM UTC
When he was seventeen years old,
your protagonist
asked his father
a question about heartbreak, his own perhaps.
The father
answered:
"Why would she love you?
I can see why?
You're acting like a *****
Each line a question,
demanding an answer.
Answers your protagonist
did not have.
So your protagonist
ventured out into the
world,
and became a rambler.
Rambling off nonsense
with the rapidity
of lemming chatter.
He became
the great Rambler,
mumbling about
love,
until even his dreams
became ****** up streams
of language.
He caromed off cliffs of reality
bumping against those barriers
of his fatherland
until he was hurtling
into the rambling ocean
to drown
unconsciously.
Mar 1, 2012
Mar 1, 2012 at 9:28 AM UTC
Constriction
So tight that it is suffocating my conviction
I can feel the knot, but my eyes can not find the chain
Is it around my neck, heart, or brain
Hysteria is dripping from my pores
That god **** anchor is dragging me to the ocean floor
Where is it tethered
Why am I breaking
This isn't even the worst storm I've weathered
My heart quakes to the sound of the deck the chain is raking
Rapidity
I'm being consumed by my own stupidity
Grip my hands even if the fingers you clinch crack
Because once I go under, I'll never come back
To whom am I even giving this commmand
You are back in the forest loving the land
Needed elsewhere was your love, you had no room left to care
For that reason is why this is my burden to bare
Sinking
Oxygen fleeting, only a few moments left of thinking
No hope of those tender hands reaching me
Endless gravity escorting me to the abyss
Only regret is that we couldn't share one last cup of tea
Stay ignorant of my fate because I am nothing of worth to miss
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 2:37 AM UTC
The following statements of truth were brought to you
Not through, but circumnavigating fated parameters
Of insane, yet normative, largely uninformative
Mechanisms that formally give birth to ********
And instead, strategically splicing said bounds with
Ideal variables derived from the courageously quixotic,
Unrobotic, and outraged agents of, and for, capital Real:
The train of corporate reasoning derails so fast
To follow is to snap the head backward,
Far past angles within measures of pleasurable fit
And open gates to deluging tangled circular
Failures of logic that trick and co-opt the proletariat.
We are Present-Ambassadors with broken flux-capacitors
Demonstrating a consistent tendency toward error
In efforts to obtain diplomatic access to a future where
The same reemerging deficits do not manifest unfixed.
One of said deficits may include all positive freedoms.
For the record, it shall be noted that civil society
Currently arrives implicitly to find it compliantly fine
To promote systems of labor designed to illicit behaviors
That will eventually undermine the actors of exhaustive work
And make benefactors of those complicit in crime.
As case studies of this paradoxical paradigm, we observe
Nations signing trade agreements aligned with
Selling more of the goods whose extractions have
Cataclysmic exactions upon locals contracted not to resist.
Those who take issue with this are directed to appellate institutions.
The projected scarcity of over-consumed poisons causes fear
Which leads to faster hoarding and more ex(t/p)ensive death.
Thus, most human behaviors presently inflate pricing, popularity,
And rapidity associated with committing system-wide suicide.
As shackle-some power consolidation bends toward a transnational peak
I hereby slide-tackle these forwarded trends, seeking goals of the rational.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 4:16 PM UTC
Sometimes I wanted to grow up
with the same rapidity used
to fall in love in secret
... forgetting wouldn't be a problem,
on the contrary, it would be a solution.
So dead I lived the past,
hiding in dreams;
and still dead I will live the future,
suffering in nightmares.
Life which I always wanted
was never the same
since the day in which
I got it justly.
And love was never the same
since the day in which it fell
inside the largest infinity:
the regret.
It's an open wound
caused by old yearning
of wanting to live
without even doing it.
Oh it was just a desire,
which like others,
died when finally
was fulfilled by time.
We have no fault
if from life we get
so much illusion;
coming since childhood
and reaching old age.
We have no fault
if current days
make us want
more and more
something better,
fictitious and
pleasant.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 6:06 PM UTC
You deliver torrents of happiness and comfort in my darkest times
And it pains me to know that I can’t do the same for you.
So badly, I want to embrace you;
Not just physically,
But your emotions:
I want to mend them
Fragment by fragment
To perfection.
Till you forget what it feels like to be unhappy.
And you experience only love.
Even though I’d love you to the best of my ability,
I know that it’d never be enough:
You deserve far more than I can give -
But I’d love you with every cell in my body
Ever fiber and nerve ending
Every breath and every syllable of every word I ever spoke.
I’d give you my all.
And I want nothing more than to see you
To memorize your every feature,
To touch and experience you in ways that you or I have never known.
Because you are so wondrous, that I can’t help but want to discover your entirety.
Even the nights are colder and longer since you aren’t here.
And the hours of two, three and four in the morning are no longer my favourite,
Because hearing you breathe before you descend into sleep makes my heart so uneasy
In a way that only you can.
My heart- have I told you about it?
How it takes off and functions irrespective of my body?
The way it soars and keeps climbing and speeding to rapidity that I’d not imagined?
Or perhaps how my breathing becomes irrational and irregular at the sound of those words you whisper
Uneasy.
Because in those moments I want you.
And it makes me feel like telling you:
“Pick me up right now and let’s drive till nowhere”
And have you kiss away the scars on my hips
Just as you would the ones on my wrists and my heart
But only after I mend you.
Do you see how much I want this?
How much I want to become familiar with your actions:
The way your thumb brushes across my cheek on your way to kiss me
The way your fingers trace patterns on my skin
Or simply the way you smile and laugh
I’m so alone without you.
But so in love.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 6:36 PM UTC
no matter how much i sleep, rest, or nap i'm exhausted
i've taken to yawning in my favorite class.
no matter how easy i take it, my body still aches when i move
it's frankly rather disquieting.
no matter how much i clear out of my head, i'm still hurting
letting go of difficult situations is hard.
no matter how ahead i get, i'm still stressed for the next thing
the rapidity of life is eating away at me.
no matter how kind i am to those around me, i still know shame
impulsivity of emotion is a thinker's nightmare.
no matter how much faith i have, i still feel uncertain
my god is for me, but it feels like life is against me.
no matter how mature i am, i am still undercut by those older than me
focusing on the positive is not going to be theraputic right now.
no matter how much control i have, i'm still shackled to my anxiety
i cannot just "calm down" to ease your or my own conscience.
no matter how many decisions i make, there is still much left undone
slowing down is a luxury, one i take guiltily and not without consequence.
no matter how much i improve, i'm still bound to expectation of perfection
humanity is not perfect, and neither am i, broken and inadequate, but we try, oh we try.
no matter how much joy is in my life, i still feel the crushing weight of depression.
i said i was doing better
no matter how much i am validated by my loved ones, i still hurt myself
my eating disorder has infected my system completely, down to my bones.
no matter how many breaks i take i'm still being driven into the ground
crying because of household tasks is pathetic.
no matter how much i try to pretend life is not stressful, it's
digging itself into my heart and soul.
i am not okay, and those who know it are trying to keep themselves afloat
i can't escape this tired, this exhausted, no matter how hard i try.
Jun 13, 2019
Jun 13, 2019 at 6:55 PM UTC
Hummingbird hummingbird
you are so sweet
with wings kept at constant beat
tiny legs to weak to stand
80 beats per second is your command
In sonic rapidity you do entrance
all who see & hear this magical dance
J.C. honey- owl 01/06/2019
Jun 25, 2019
Jun 25, 2019 at 8:35 AM UTC
This time is precious,
every moment infectious.
One minute in a parking lot,
parking cigarettes in the dirt,
outside a library no less.
And from one minute to the next,
shaking hands with a councilwoman.
Just her presence,
was a good omen.
This is a community meeting,
ahead of a strike,
on May 15th.
Our fight?
Our cause?
Wage parity.
The resource vitality,
of every worker,
and every family.
Every human deserves dignity.
Repeat it with rapidity.
We are all created equal.
This is a civil rights sequel.
You can't survive on $7.93
And if it were up to me,
No job would pay less than
FIFTEEN.
The rich can't inoculate,
what they didn't anticipate.
Fry cooks, cashiers, drive-thru tellers,
(these ain't no "bums" or beggars!)
They met up with activists,
and labor leaders.
They've walked off the job
and into the streets!
They've come out,
to take a stand,
to shake off their chains,
and make some demands!
$15 and a union!!!
If you haven't taken notice,
I don't what you've been doin!!!
I hope McDonald's, Wal-Mart, and retailers galore,
value the profit-producers,
running their stores.
The notion upon which,
both capitalists and socialists can agree,
is that labor produces value according to theory.
The media are watching,
in case you need reminding.
Watching you rake in BILLIONS,
while paying and STEALING,
POVERTY WAGES.
We call this condition,
hard-working ENSLAVEMENT,
with pay-as-you-go debit card "paychecks"...
And all this "part-time"
just to make sure workers are best
nickel'd and dime'd!!
But what you don't seem to understand,
is that this movement is long overdue.
Do we need a historical inflation review?
And this $10.10 business?
Please!
What is this 1993?
You can't sanitize,
Baptize,
nor televise,
this struggle.
These are a people who've had enough.
'Ya Basta!' they say! 'Enough is Enough!'
Enough struggle,
enough hustle,
Enough putting in muscle,
and your time, and blood,
and sweat and tears,
many with children,
many for years,
without a pay bump that keeps pace,
with the basic cost of living these days.
Still a minimum wage,
of only $7.93?!
I say 'Ya Busta!'
if you ask me.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 5:56 PM UTC
You saw the blackened roses on my bedside
And you smelled the faint sweetness of a decaying heart locked in the closet
Yet you still yearned my body and its curves
Despite the growing feelings of nausea and inherent vapidity; to come
You showed me temptation on the edge of the bed frame
And your deep rooted moans with your head tossed back
Recklessly; you knew that it would make me love you
In a deeper seeded way than we loved each other before
Tiny screams escape my lungs
Moonbeams grace the arch of your back
The sheets are dampened and we're entwined
Underneath the shame of it all and the way our bodies
Tossed on top of one another after our final throes
There lies something purer than the love you have with her
You felt the slowing drum of my heartbeat
After you caused its rapidity
And it contents me knowing she may have your heart and your body
But you are in fact one of mine.
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 1:06 AM UTC
Poecile
Seems somehow fitting here on HP
With undulating rapidity
Poecile carolinensis
or is it P. atricapillus?
Is it chicka dee dee dee
Or fee bee fee bay
Or simply bee bay?
Both sporting Che's beret
Alerting comrades of other color
To where food can be found for free
Flitting from shrub to tree
To feeder and fast away
In black beret
Like Che
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 11:52 AM UTC
Io Io
Pan Pan
Wreathed in flowers,
feet wreathed in fire,
eyes twinkle dark,
shining from the lyre
Io Pan
Io Pan Pan
Sun burning red
and pregnant,
possibility, paradox
Io Pan Pan
Io Pan
Sun giving life,
father gives the Word,
He taketh away
just as He giveth
and He giveth
and maketh the grass
green
Io Io Pan
Io Pan Pan
He gives the fire,
He taketh it away
Io Pan
Pan Pan Io
From over the sea
the stars blinking
with rapidity
Io Pan
Io Pan Pan
Lust in the rivers,
hate in the mountains,
the hills are sighing,
the Nymphs are naked
Io Pan
The moon, mother,
matronly marvel
give us the sight
true sight to see
with shining gaze
perfume flowers
in ***** ****** daze
Io Pan
Io Pan Pan
Pan
The marble thigh,
the glass eye,
bathed in blood
on bridal bed of
burning
Io Pan
Pan Pan
Io Pan Pan
Envy the golden python,
throw thyself
towards the golden dawn
bathed in the flowers
of perfumed fawn
Io Pan
Io Pan Pan
Thrusting sword into ferns
of folding, the damp, the wicked
the opened eye
the one hand clapping
Pan
Pan Pan
Io
Reside in the grasp
of the vermillion snake
the vermin moving
in meadows
thorny meadows
lie silent in silver shadows
Io Io Pan
Flowers on the gypsy rod,
fleshy gate of God
bleeding and burning
Io Pan
Io Pan Pan
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 4:29 PM UTC
I approached you
And the flash light
Of your voice embraced me.
It was somewhere, near the divine idea.
I hadn't met you before, but
When we united our voices
To be together in this way,
I felt the eternity floating in the air,
That kind of white eternity
In which, everyone wants to stay.
So many people crowded in between us
That we seemed to be two points on a world map.
So long was the distance in between us
That we seemed to live
One at the North Pole
And the other one at the South Pole.
It was the time when
The sun was declining beneath the blue horizon
In a ring of fire
And the moon was rising in the same sky,
And the coming night was embracing
The leaving day.
It was our twilight.
It was the time when
The stars began to
Appear on a new dark sky.
I began to be afraid of losing you.
I took the elapsed seconds
To hang them on the 'Lyre' constellation.
The existent seconds flowed into there
With a terrible rapidity,
Letting those, which were new to come to life.
A new time was born,
In which, we became existent one for each other.
I felt that you wanted to touch me.
I heard a tenderness in your voice.
Our feelings flowed into
The 'Bird of Paradise' constellation.
Suddenly, a rain of stars began to fall down.
I didn't know if it was a real rain of stars
Or a firework, I didn't know
Whether we could really embrace each other,
But I felt
That I was irreversibly transformed
Into another new woman.
Jul 3, 2012
Jul 3, 2012 at 3:46 PM UTC
Ash from two cigarettes on the stone pylon beneath my feet,
I **** yellowbrown into the Hocking.
My stream meets the river on a riptide,
Carefully crafted from the funneled remnants
Of melted snow and torrential rain
Just to give off the illusion of chaos.
Forms of spectacular watermotion grace the noonday clouds,
And despite their haste, too high on molly,
There’s something hanging in the stillness beneath the mudbrown surface—
Some epiphanic moment that rapidity and angerwaves
Refuse to force out of sight; some
Strand of smoke, still floating upwards from the dampened cigarette ash
Abandoned twelve hours prior; some
Slurred-drunken word, tinged anyways with meaning.
The lips I kissed after climbing back onto the bridge the night before
Proved to be less than irrelevant (screaming later, as they did, someone else’s name
While I lay listening, still half thinking that
Maybe she’d just gone upstairs for some floss). But
The fact that there were lips there at all,
In the rain
Under the stars
Over the Hocking
Issuing with reverence the words “magical” and “perfect”
Through the darkness of the night and the echoes of Joni Mitchell’s voice…
It’s something worth noting, despite the angerwaves;
Something worth feeling
Despite the noonday clouds and dampened ash.
Now that I’ve screamed at the river and ****** on it with a harshlaugh,
I think I can also
Find a moment to give it thanks.
Because I’m off the pylon now.
I’m back on the bridge. And I’m walking South
With the flow of the Hocking, back into Athens.
And I am finally
(The rain beating against my face, my clothes, my mind)
So very here.
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 1:35 AM UTC
Pulling long strands of your lemon grass hair from my clothes,
I consider, as I watch them fall to the ground one by one,
Should I let you go as easily?
Coffee stains, you see my Darling, are not so easy to remove.
And amber stones infect my heart with rapidity.
I stole an esoteric kiss from red, enraptured, trembling lips,
While eyes deep and wide enough to drown in shot me through the chest,
And fingertips
Traced my limbs
Through candle-lit smoke rings.
And achingly beautiful birthmarks, scars and loveable idiosyncrasies
Swirl around my mind, awash with whisky,
And Puccini,
And suicidal Butterflies.
A dangerous, heady, Olive-green elixir.
An ethereal melee perpetuating unrest,
And thoughts of when I'll be seeing you next...
And other nervous questions,
Like where can you get a good night sleep round here?
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 2:31 PM UTC
sizzling; simmering
one by one,
air bubbles begin to rise
and then by 2s; 3s
they race to the top;
flocking to the surface
spinning; swarming;
stop.
boiling water.
that's what love is like;
the onset and duration of an anxiety attack;
it'll give you one, too, if you don't
stop.
because once it's begun,
once again,
you will stumble helplessly through a
self-inflicting battleground
of what can no longer be
peaceful independence,
but an inner war that you
know you will lose,
amidst the increasing rapidity of
your own shots fired;
please
stop.
the water will boil
until you rid your clutch
on that stove;
one hand on the gas,
the other on the burner.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 12:16 AM UTC
The delicate scent of your perfume soaked in my sweater
Or the feeling of the last kiss
Lingering
On my lips.
Or my skin's memory of your fingertips,
Or when my eyes fight a losing battle with sleep,
And then it's nothing but dreams of you.
All this
Is the impression you leave on me,
I am an art canvas.
You have a key to my house
Yet you're not my girlfriend.
It's a complicated relationship
And at the same time it's not.
I'm happiest at the bar on a Saturday night
But you always want to stay in.
I'm hungover on a Sunday
But you want to wake up and live.
You're a sweet and pleasant girl
And me, with my simple yet devilish ways,
I am a rogue.
I text you and you come over.
"That skirt," I say, opening the door for you, "I'm pretty sure it can cure cancer."
And with the rapidity of lightning,
You blush crimson.
Now in the kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of water.
"Is this what you were having for lunch?"
"Yes."
"Really? Frozen pizza and Kool-Aid?" you raise an eyebrow.
"Yes."
"You're so... I dunno... in general, you're just... I dunno... disorganised? clueless about life? stupid? weird? drunk with alarming regularity? irrational? stupid? Wait, did I already say that?"
"Yes you did. But wait, these are good qualities, right?"
"Yup. Just what I look for in a guy," you walk to me and kiss me on the lips,
We kiss some more,
Touching, rubbing,
"Just a sec," I pull away, "I'm sorry if I taste like pizza."
You look at me like I'm an idiot,"Just... shut up and kiss me!"
You're getting wet and excited
Like a child at a water park.
That's an odd comparison,
Well I guess
I am weird.
I'm inside of you,
But I am so convinced that it is not ***
Such intensity,
Such deepening fulfillment.
No, that was not ***
It was naked poetry.
I am a poet.
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 6:54 PM UTC
Sept. 5th, 2020, 6:35am (wondrous palette)
the sun risen, but a solid foothold as of yet unestablished;
the new day’s skies borrow coloration from nearby sources,
no unique identity bright enough as of yet to call its own;
thin cumulus streaks, striate against an unidentifiable blue
paleness, more to contrast than to claim, “here we are!
the bay is in labor: multi hues of blue intermingle, as the
light illuminates each part differentially; soon enough,
one hue will come to dominate, just like you, soon enough,
a single hue will dominate, and this day will be distinct,
and who knows? perhaps even distinctive enough to be
memorialized.
minute to minute is the ever changing interplay; unlike a
human, this rapidity maturation is unafraid to experiment
with new combinations but-based on prior recalled self-
examination; something on the water, a small boat low and
close flat to the surficial; a skiff, a rowboat with no oars,
drifting, languishing on the fishing spot, unmoving unhurried
humans aboard, thinking, this is the good way to start living
*last comment; tiny hinting shades of violet, pink and orange
exist, hard to discern so well blended are they with the norm
of broader blue and vanilla white and then all readily apparent!
this is the new days message, we are what we appear to be,
one earth, one sky, indivisible but born from* a wondrous palette;
*and so yet another first poem of the day is created, a verbal
prélude, étude, unique but a product of its many ancestral
predecessors, just like*, we the people.
Sep 5, 2020
Sep 5, 2020 at 7:01 AM UTC
<>
“I hear bravuras of birds, bustle of growing wheat,
gossip of flames, clack of sticks cooking my meals,
I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human voice,
I hear all sounds running together, combined, fused or following,
Sounds of the city and sounds out of the city, sounds of the
day and night”
Song of Myself (1892 version) by WALT WHITMAN
§§§
*Irony great, some say unto delicious, for my writing,
be a fusing of surroundings of silences, admixture of
inconsequential noises, atomic horn and geese honking,
sun rays speaking in tongues, my skin translating, both,
the sounds of the city, those of out of city, merged, both,
accessible, instant recall, stored for tongue tasing upon
these blank pages below, needy for wordy fulfillment,
copy and place these mishmash of cacophonous,
on a single page, simmer, blend and sauce, of course,
salt to taste, mine, author of this recipe being born,
born in the night, prepped by day, the lovely sounds,
kettle or pan, broiler, fryer, slow cooked on full flame
they are the melted butter sweetness crossing the span
between the body of the heartbeat, the ache of the brain,
shot out in rapidity, error’d and stain’d, their state natural,
for this mess of beans, collection of noises, stir my soul
where they contain’d, aromatic, fanatic, exotic, sticky hot,
only a singular harsh invades, the shrill of the voice human
this piece, this poem, a flavoring, a dish-not-to-be-repeated,
once consumed, spoiled milk, molded with Jello mold green,
back to hiding in place of unseen, of bravura masked as cowardice,
when crackle of easy wasted word cowards, daily spewed,
so precious these ingredients, these artful sounds, easy ruined,
chitchats of nothingness, parlous blasé wastrels, seize! cease!
take thy tongue, let it memorize all the oddities that fill your ears,
ecrivez! the cooing, smacking, the alliteration of snap, crackle, and
yes, pop! and if you can love the human voice, of that too, tho not me,
more beloved, the exterior symphony of kettle drum, soft cry of violin,
timpani tingling, guitar plucking, the voice of men, too oft abusing and abused by untruths, emboldened lies, they are the sounds
I love least, love to hate. a shrill disease, the TV liars...*
§§§§§
May
Manhattan Island
May 15, 2020
May 15, 2020 at 3:44 PM UTC
*Until a man is nothing,
God can make
nothing out of him*
Martin Luther
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
instant recognition
compete cognition
slowing respiration
sanity instantaneous
weeping hands clap
weakened legs collapsing
process endless
access, risen,
only to rejoin
the fallen
father of father clock pendulum
swung swing swung
slowing rapidity
body directed onto
perpetuity road
back to nothing
from whence
the boy witnessed
the first of many of
his genesis/bereshit
from nothing to
another thing,
crowned,
enthroned pauper,
trampled down
to lowly lord,
King of Nothing
reborn reborn reborn
so many times
when from nothing
risen to an exalted
nothing
more
than ever obvious
he,
heir apparent
to himself
no thing
nothing
in the beginning
nothing in the end
nothing
in between
from admixture
water and ashen soil
remake myself a
present to Him
an accomplishment
man-generation
peaking excellence,
Dante ascent to
nothing
then struck down,
back to nothing returned,
peaks and valleys
directional interchangeable
pointers to return resurrected
same way to the previous ending
for all prior writ
better
instant recognition
compete cognition
slowing respiration
the vanity not
voyage yes is
the thing itself,
is circular
a line of points
connected
nothing
no thing
but the voyage/path is the
thing
transformation
resubmission
substantiation
there in lies the only
thing
you making
God into
something
tangible
by making yourself
from nothing
once again
11/1/14
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 5:35 PM UTC
Falling in reverse
At a speed faster than lightning
The rapidity of the fall is overwhelming
This absence of order
Where is it leading me to
Will it ever cease to torment
Birthing a nicotinic habit
Nauseated
I can't seem to rid of this stench of impurity
Tell them to not bother feeding me reason or positivity
There is no emotion to make it sink in
In the hollow that is my being
Their words echo & die out without impact
One month was all I could afford
Then the inevitable crumbling of the clumsily put together puzzle
Futility in my attempts at reassembling
The puzzle pieces no longer fit.
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 4:11 PM UTC