"refolds" poems
From the darkness of a midnight corner
a sudden gleam - light on a shiny surface
wet where everything is always dry a
lump of something darker than the night
huddles in a heap against the plaster
broken by the jackboot toes of time
rushing through to other places
There is no definition to the shape
that quivers but does not ever move
or shift the silent air with breathing
From the corner where no light invades
the shadow of a recent battle
hides the echoes of the last defeat
and muffles cries for help to come
and blends itself into the blackness
that’s both transparent and opaque
presenting as a silly fun house mirror
changing all perceptions of reality
In the murky gloom that dominates the corner
keeping time to music no one hears
the marks left by the whip are hard to see and
seeping red drops fake the look of ink
The half closed eye is leaking little rainbows
made from seven shades of ebony
that fall and ****** on the carbon floor
as the clump of misery refolds itself
in ever smaller, tighter packets tied with screams
that ricochet into the vastness of forever.
No White Knight or Unicorn
will ever find the corner
The spotlight of humanity
sports a burned out bulb
The gentle hand of kindness
is rolled into a fist and stuffed
into a pocket of uncaring.
The corner was
The corner is
The corner ever
more will be
ljm
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 2:39 PM UTC
Mary's father is sitting
in the lounge reading
a newspaper before dinner
Mary comes into the room
and sits in the armchair
by the window
and peers out
her father lowers
the newspaper
there's talk of you
from the nuns
he says
she turns and looks at him
is there
good I hope
she says
no it's not
he says
o well there you are Da
you can't please all
of the people
all of the time
never the time
with you it seems
with the nuns
he says
he shakes out
the newspaper
making noise
what's it this time?
she says
sitting back
in the armchair
letting her backside comfy
words you've said
he says
raising the paper
and peering over the top
what words?
I speak civil
and I answer
the **** questions
about God
and the religion
and maths etc.
what word is this?
she says
he sighs
wishes she were
a young little girl still
not some 14 year old
know it all
with a mouth on her
he lowers the paper
and takes out a letter
from his waistcoat pocket
(slightly ******* up)
and offers it to her
here read it yourself
he says
she leans out of the chair
and takes the letter
from his hand
and sits back down again
and unfolds the letter
and reads
he lifts the newspaper
and reads a sports page
I never did
Mary says
never in my precious
to Christ life have I said that
she reads on
staring at the page
as if it had criticized her
(which it did)
they're like
the fecking Gestapo
she mutters
I was not kissing Magdalene
I was whispering
something to her
Mary mutters to the page
(and her father
if he was listening)
and I never did
call Sister Clare
a ****** waster
Mary muttered on
then she refolds the letter
and puts it
on the arm of the chair
and gazes at her father
well?
he says
what have you to say
for yourself?
she gazes at him
once he'd have
tanned her behind
and sent to bed without dinner
but he'd gone soft
on her since
she'd grown ****
and tried negotiation instead
what's for dinner?
she says
wait and see
he says
so what about the contents
of the good nun's letter?
he says
it was one of those days
she says
womanly things
gets to me
her father lifts
the newspaper
and says tiredly
I see.
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 2:49 AM UTC
Age is a timeless prospect.
Youth refolds into a thick mold,
Heavy and demanding
But continuously folding matted knowledge.
Forgiveness
A steady, strong suit handed out to each player
When it's true form is the rarest form
Of acceptance.
A fighter must be as sharp and as slick as a blade,
To be as critical and focused
As a bullet leaving the carrier when aimed
But not as deadly.
There will always be a balance
Nature runs on a cycle that all fumble on
In the arise of dust left behind;
In its presence
Becoming lost is about as natural as the cycle itself -
An obstacle can be overcome
In the way that a challenge lights a fire
In pride,
All must accept;
Smoke clouds are blinding
Having the urgency to defend
The drive to push harder may as well be lost too.
In the midst of a cloud
A branch could very well be a snake.
Jun 24, 2017
Jun 24, 2017 at 11:53 AM UTC
She walks into the room
where her husband sits,
deep in his chair.
She stops for sec to smile at him.
He looks up and says "What?!"
"Nothing. Jeez. Go back to your paper."
"What the hell is it now? All I said was 'What?'"
"And all I did was smile. It's a habit. It was the way I was raised. My mother would always smile when she saw
me come into the room. She was happy to see me. So I was just smiling."
She feels ready to cry but refuses it.
"Fine. See. I'm smiling. How are you? Nice to see you since the last time, what was it, five minutes since the last time I saw you."
He shakes the paper into order and pulls it in front of his face.
Quickly and hidden, she gives him the finger, slips into the kitchen,
opens the refrigerator,
and stands there.
Shaking.
She shuffles around, tying to find some use for her being there.
She twists the faucet knobs tighter.
A tiny drop of water clings
to the faucet's lip.
She refolds a hand towel,
pulls a loose fringe out,
rolls it into a tiny ball between her finger and thumb and walks
to the other side of the kitchen
to throw it out.
She stands above the trashcan,
holds her arm out straight
and drops that tiny ball of fluff,
as if off the side of a tall building.
She stands there and waits
until it hits bottom,
leaving nothing to chance.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 4:16 PM UTC
That floating feeling,
On the blurring ceiling,
The lonesome dealing,
Slowly breathing, around three o'clock.
The shortening thoughts.
So warm, but not hot,
Soft licking of paws,
A light feeling of awe,
Sheathing of skin,
Breathing akin,
Silence heard,
Flashes of her,
Visions seen,
A wonderful dream right around three o'clock.
Aweful noise, surprising shock,
Body jerking, a look at the clock.
A squint, a gawk,
Realization, around four o'clock.
A wonderful dream,
A wonderful reality,
A possible world, around three o'clock,
The story refolds,
For the mind does mock.
Jan 24, 2022
Jan 24, 2022 at 4:57 AM UTC
The matter of things and how it came to be
In the mere sight of the plight of a bee
We grasp with the thought of thee
Of how uncertainty became a plea
If I stand on earth, what shall my use be for?
Answers to pleas, keys to the door
Nothing is definite, like a shore
Yet we continue to voice and roar
And that’s the beauty of human nature
The things we know are no sheer stranger
Still, There is thus far greater than common scripture
And the search for truth would be an adventure
Behold, the power of doubts arises and upholds
It waits, in self, and for the world it unfolds
And for the records of millions, it withholds
The continuous and further truth-seeking in refolds
May 30, 2021
May 30, 2021 at 12:39 PM UTC
linguistic *********** as the emergence of furor poeticus
:: out of phonetic oral *** comes lyrical transcendence
/
acacia thorns pierce the skin
while shittim pierces the veil of the perceivable
as golden incense weaves across the sky
to a sanctuary where we unwind space & time
prophet's write of the vapor turning on lights
and horns shining in rays of synesthesia
magi mixed herbs under the desert moon
which mapped a path through golden the sand
bundle's of wild harmel wood burns
as sparks flicker & dance with stars
in a moon reaching bonfire
under autumn shadows
in the harmonic hum of the aboriginal didgeridoo
drifting on the streams of wattle-seed smoke
gazing down as the earth unfolds and refolds
in a cymatic origami cardtrick
out of the soil grows the ship
which flies above the starry skies
fruit of biblical implications
with seeds of knowledge
& keys to ghostly dimensions
//
Thomas Aquinas
& Meister Eikhart shared the same eye
as you & I
peel wide the smokescreen
& spy through the looking-glass used by god
which saw god
which was the eye through which the son of god saw
& wept at the stale state
of the collective unconscious bots
lost in spirals of consumption & mirror reflection ************
this is not the godless wasteland
advertised by the screaming anchormen
fear-mongers & alarmists
who sell panic by the gallon
with electrodes probing their temporal lobes
the prophets & shaman's
are in the asylums
labeled as schizo's for their visions of angels
& demons
& messages from the god's
an amnesiac species
chasing the neurochemical highs
shaped by evolutionary design
as a means to survive
barrel of monkey's biologically
swinging about nuclear powered technology
alienated
that far removed from nature (forest. desert. ocean)
planning to leave the planet entirely
Om Mani Padme Hung
OM
Om Mani Padme Hung
OM
Nov 16, 2022
Nov 16, 2022 at 10:03 AM UTC
minding care of sun
i step outside cautiously
finding repulsion
observe the day golds
refolds in time proceeding
i flee ; propulsion
arbor shield timely
stop-rest inner ******
heartbeat, kind pulsion
Jul 26, 2019
Jul 26, 2019 at 9:32 PM UTC
Beyond genius
the spirit flies
Beyond genius
the mood decries
Beyond genius
no courses rowed
Beyond genius
all time disowned
Beyond genius
the map refolds
Beyond genius
a world untold
Beyond genius
the critics gasp
Beyond genius
no serpent asp
Beyond genius
the telling stops
Beyond genius
no on—then off
Beyond genius
all sight and sound
Beyond genius
the square is round
Beyond genius
no lies are told
Beyond genius
what’s new is old
Beyond genius
the heavens sing
Beyond genius
—that final thing
(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2015)
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 12:28 PM UTC