"rejoins" poems
fem in isms,
i imagine Sapphic eyes:
bad *** advert coruscates elite
fairness sensing slavish blind
in gestate calm affirm
in genders More numerous of Windows--
Superior--for Doors--
O harsh judgement foiled,
as a foil, as unknown truth
foil-doubles in the brow,
abject symmetry to systemize
a fertile lack of sterile barrenness,
i am a mediatrix rend,
nirwaan, hijra wonderment aside
from transemotion's ground swells
demeaning to be understood.
i celebrate and face the same
to be what paperwork tests being
normal being, freely chosen
atom each belonging moves
an asterisk of paths
of mutate art of nature social darwin maze.
i imagine Sapphic eyes,
ginko soft they pile up all cobble
memories themselves concretely
cloistered fame
spray of salty waves,
macho screams symbol
for dismissal ease
for tearing at an inner unsaid war
with lists offense of proper taste
to what posterity intends
an undulation womblike seeming nourish safety sounds.
i imagine Sapphic eyes
past
debauched
meanderings
where hyster-clarity rejoins its titular
and reliable escapisms curl the lips
of maleness found
here and there smile sneer love
i imagine Sapphic eyes
linguistic pirouettes
congest that wisdom nonetheless
the moment passed on to a
feigning truth in pretty rhyme
ornamenting time with fine meter fine
vernacular chimes peter in
to juggle perspectival paradox,
redichotomize the twilight idols,
resolve the conflict like a dawn
Aurora,
i imagine Sapphic eyes
running plastic with Alaskan wolves,
toga floats to snow
to let us see the purest fairness form
a ****** circle,
Hypatia ascends from tenebrous grave,
Impregnable of Eye is pregnant now
with Wollstonecraft revered
in liberation's fount
families held exemplar gaze of
Taylor, ****** Cady,
Anthony resanctified
to vote entitlement's
empathic origins, waxen mold
of nascent categories,
narrow hands spread wide to panoply anew
the manifest evolve in true unknowns
Nov 23, 2012
Nov 23, 2012 at 11:56 PM UTC
Preach your colourful knowledge of me,
From a jaw that could hold nothing more than a faint whisper of insincerity
And a flailing bird tangled on your tongue.
But when the rainbow bursts;
Don't attempt to rain materialism down on me
Stuff your grocery store heart shaped chocolates up your nose.
And stop dreaming up all the sadness I stand for.
I am not your fixer-upper-er.
I am whole, trust me,
The serpent rejoins once cut
And heals.
I am a serpent, rainbow and colourless.
Materialistic seduction...
Give me a minute while I puke fluro ***** on your shoe,
You are the needy one and I remain whole...
Scuffed and cracked
I am healing, alone.
But I am whole.
Mixing strings of blues, greens and pinks
Into one strand,
There are scars.
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 8:09 AM UTC
Four old men, digging a grave
on a hillside
one with a pick, two with shovels
all with stories
passing them around
stories, pick, shovels
taking turns
not a single earthworm in this ****** soil
plenty of rocks.
Don is the oldest, at eighty-plus
a good man with a pick
breaking, pulling clods of clay.
After thirty years in a
San Quentin prison cell,
he’s walked across the USA
three times. Big guy, gray ponytail,
not one wrinkle on that copper body,
power of a bronco
behind gentle eyes.
Terry is bald, seventy-plus,
in the Air Force he was trusted
with nuclear launch codes,
then thought better of it and hit the road,
dirt-bike racer, merry prankster,
grinning beatnik, psychedelic dancer,
always good with tools
wields a shovel like a pencil
writing the hole
as a poem.
David is almost seventy,
bearded like a prophet,
wizard of China
raised like a farm boy,
adventures in Alaska,
heroic high school English teacher,
telepathic with animals and teenagers,
can speak to horses
in haiku.
Digging is therapy.
A hard job, the work of death.
A time for muscle and sweat,
our language of grief.
We joke, I’ll dig your grave
if you’ll dig mine.
We agree, each canine
has an individual personality
but also each carries
dog spirit. As one leaves
you welcome another
different, individual
but the dog spirit renews
rejoins your life
making you whole.
On this land already
I’ve buried four dogs, two cats.
Dakota will make five,
good company.
Terry says “When Dakota arrives
in doggy heaven or wherever
dogs go, she’ll report
there are good owners here.”
A good review
on doggy Yelp:
Fear not, next puppy.
Four old men, digging a grave
on a hillside
among spirits.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 9:55 PM UTC
ginko soft they pile, strewn on cobble
memories themselves concretely devised
cloister inward, revise, revise, revise:
debauched meanderings fully marble
escapes to curl the lip, adorable
here and there, whether smile sneer incise
linguistic pirouettes or paler lies
congest that wisdom indefinable --
the moment past moves on to feigning truth
with pretty rhyme, for ornamenting time
with myths to filter in an Avalon,
juggle perspectival paradoxic ruth
with fine meter fine, vernacular chimes,
and resolve the conflict like a dawn
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 9:47 AM UTC
Why can I not sleep?
Why am I turning?
Why are all the trees burning?
Forest fires, crooked liars
Why am I so sullen and drained?
In the bush, it's raining
Lost man on his own
Has anyone thought to save him? (him)
The monkey is waiting in the tree
Counts to three
Hearing the sound of the fume-fuelled wagon
He leaps on the back...
Attack! Attack! Attack! (Attack! Attack!)
No old heathen, not today
The rain falls upon the acidic trees of the millennium scorn
The fire has vanished, leaving behind a trail of death for all to see
The birds & the trees, then you & me
They twitching on the floor
Twitching on the floor
They twitching on the forest floor
The yeti is waiting (The yeti is waiting)
The yeti is waiting for us (The yeti is waiting)
The yeti is waiting to take us into his home
Care for us just like one of his own
Wild bones!
Wild bones!
Wait!
The yeti no longer has a home
The trees are gone & nothing has grown
A table, a chair, an internet nightmare
When will the forest speak?
When all is dried up and way too weak
Wait for nightfall, it's so beautiful out here
Up high in a wave of oxygen love I sit
Up high on this glorified cement postcard I spit
I spit
I spit upon thee
Wait for your red skies
Wait for the red skies
Do you know how it feels to be alive?
Do you know how it feels to be alive?
Let me know, let me know how you feel...
When will the forest speak?
When the trees are dried up and way too weak?
Wasting a life on calculations
Not enough money for operations
Waste of life, statistics, plastic soldiers
Sound of sticks rubbing together
All the people gather
All the people gather
Wait for the man, he must have a plan
Show me and make me a smile I can wear
Me & you we can make up too
No use for hate if you're wearing my shoes
Be happy, be sad, be a wild rotten lamb
Don't bother me now, I'm drenched to the bone
A sound of a truck and an axe and a fall
Of a tree and a knife and a planet so small
Sick to the bone of your dour heart of stone. (stone stone stone)
Sick to the bone of your dour heart of stone!
Let me know how you feel...
Let me know how you feel
You say it's too hot so you can take off your top
A clank of a slot machine coins
Machine coins bled unclean
A beaten old lizard staggers over the road
A hand and a heart, the lake in the park
The candle won't light and the fire won't spark
I'm worn and I'm torn but I still carry on
I'm worn and I'm torn but I still carry on
The money is angry, the money has taken the...
Watching mayhem leaping from truck to truck
This is where he rejoins his friends
They feast, they drink, they talk about
How things used to be...
I still can't sleep
I still can't sleep
I still can't sleep
A million minds and a million voices
A million thoughts, and only one choice
The need to find peace
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 5:41 PM UTC
I hadn’t really known
How objects could be emotions
But this--this is an emotion like none other.
This is the glass conductor of light
Whose soft rays became symphonies
Singing praise to Iris.
She is the blood-red film
Which cuts through the air alongside
Streams flowing orange and violet
And every color in between.
Like a jouster
She throws shards of rainbows
Through each clouded pane.
Their tranquil beauty is alive
Breathing in the wind
Teaching me that my lungs are a restriction.
That my body is a metronome linked to the time
Which will signal the stop of my ticking heart
And I don’t know how many acts I have left to find my resolution.
And though I cannot figure out
How to even begin to comprehend just what that might be
I know only that I do not want to depart this life
As a mediocre play cut off mid-scene.
I want the chance to write my own ending
So that I can tie off the loose strings of my anxieties to balloons
And let them lift the burden off of my shoulders.
I want them to carry my depression along with it
So when it rejoins natures tear ducts
Which first brought it life,
I can free myself from this prison
Which made the atmosphere look like a gas chamber
Trapped by the ever looming clouds.
I saw more through opaque glass, than I ever saw in myself
And so that stained glass window which showed me perspective
Became a home for my restless thoughts.
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 10:58 PM UTC
Some days, I think I leave my mind in bed
After I wake up
I hope it's still in dream land
I spend the day lacking in the space between my ears
Nodding like a bobble head
A repeating record track of affirmative and compliments
The wall between you and my mind and my mouth
Is a porous prison wall
Sometimes if it yells loud enough
Something earnest, something honest, something heartfelt will make it through
If I smoke a little Mary Jane
Let it pass from my lungs through my teeth
My mind forgets it's fear and rejoins me
If I have too much, it becomes all too aware
Of the stark grim reality
I am 24
I have no prospects, or aspirations, but I have a college degree
I am impermanent
The same hands I look at now, I looked at when I was 3
And will look at when I'm fifty
And I do apologize
If you ever meet me
When I've left my mind behind
Please come back another day
Because I'd like to meet you too.
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 10:04 PM UTC
It’s funny how when nothing matters the focus can wonder…
I thought so long about the world within a word,
I didn’t realize it was within it the whole time…
And the hole can be such an uneven thing;
swallowing up all (everything) that dares to get near,
or peer within,
without a fear...
And to just jump in without a care…
to turn back time and relive again,
or a consciousness that settles upon a thin lit mind
that tries and tries,
but can never look in,
for if it did it would go blind
to a reality
that never even treated it kindly
to begin with anyway.
So death creeps in,
from within…
But the gathering,
who's so far down
in the blackest of black layers,
finds it can’t go down any further.
It’s fabric has gathered such a mass
that no more thoughts can get passed the openings grasp
and so the whole begins to pop,
like a bubble whose air has stopped,
and deflates back out and in
with all the flaws that turned out not to be flaws at all,
for all the folds get stretched flat
and rejoins everything...
*‘Everything?!
Hey!
That’s actually me.’*
And so it goes on until another hole is found
to go down,
but not to worry you see…
*You are actually
also me.*
Jul 13, 2016
Jul 13, 2016 at 4:20 PM UTC
Rancune,
Renflement d'un cauchemar vampirique
Je me ronge les ongles, puis
Je ferme les yeux
Que vois-je?
L'art
Le virevoltant vert,
Mousse et fougère
Puis le sang,
Une éclaboussure de mort et d'entrailles de poisson
Nourris-moi aux vers
Laisse mes yeux aux corbeaux
Pissenlit maléfique
Une odeur impassible,
Dans une nature grandiose
Quoiqu'incompréhensible
J'inspire la poussière,
Épine d'une plante pacifique, inondée
Au bout du rocher là
À l'horizon
Rejoins les étoiles
La noirceur d'un épilogue,
Continuation de mille contes
Sans transpiration d'une réelle émotion
Remue les orteils de ta jeunesse,
Et réinvente l'univers
Être à l'abandon,
Isolement et sacrilège d'une fréquence,
À pain garni de sucré
J'imagine une confiance
Enfuis-toi,
Enfuis-toi **** de moi
Avant que je te défigure,
Avant que je te coupe,
Avant que je cherche à l'infini
Pour l'affection d'une malheureuse
Dec 12, 2020
Dec 12, 2020 at 4:27 PM UTC
*an old question
yet vital now:
my name
is it really me..?
a unique name
constricts my light
it's my edge
my circumference
rounding a center..
our names today
a good fit..?
does careful scan
find them severed
center from edge..?
remembering then
the center Light
a new name
rejoins once more..
we are ready
to soar...*
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 11:58 PM UTC
And I picture our old hands together
the sun shines through our fingers
as our hearts dance in the warm wind
faces worn from laughter and happiness
walking in that space where
the melting sunset and crashing waves
create a smooth hard plain of sand
closer to that smell of ocean wind
there are many great expanses
the ocean is in reality but a small one of the many
but when we look out at it
what joy we get from not knowing whats around the curve
walked to a place, out of the coastal forest
to the spot where the wind is strong
and the spray might hit you as you feel what you came for
as you watch the violent glory
I picture myself, I'm alone, I stand on a rock
while the wind blasts my hair back
while the waves roar and break against the granite
the grey sky fills and empties me with each breath,
it moves quickly inland while the waves writhe in
,filling the cracks and submerged caves
washing over barnacles and wearing down everything over
,down and up when it hits the steep part, crashing and spraying into the air
mist falls mixing with the rain while space is made behind
and out the ocean pulls over the sharp rocks and barnacles
dragging with it some tidal pool dwelling fish
back until is rejoins its body, frothed and *****
all men know the beauty of destruction
when you stand in that grit, that discomfort, bundled accordingly
wet shoes and soaked socks, beaten by the beauty of that expanse
what joy we get from not knowing whats around the curve
I long for warm air
I long for sand between my toes
we laughed while the waves chased us up the shore
me always chasing the wave faster back down
to prove i could run away with ease
you higher up watching smiling waiting
in came the big set, swept me off my feet and churned me in the chop
when I looked up you were gone.
Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 5:46 PM UTC
A myriad of people I see.
I lay my eyes upon their deep agony.
A father rejoins broken slippers for his pedestrian tyke.
A couple shops for clothes on the roadside.
A mother holds her daughter and subjected to a terrible cold.
The rickshaw puller shouts for them to move away.
He has his own place to be and children to transport.
They all have their destinations and
sights they need to see.
The clothing they need to wear
and lifestyles they wish to be.
It’s the life they got.
It’s not sure if they wanted it.
With the gaze of an outer observer
I see,
and be unable to read
their thoughts and dreams.
I long to know
the places they are in
and the places they want to be.
Nov 16, 2020
Nov 16, 2020 at 2:01 PM UTC
Criminel ! Tu m'as appelé criminel.
Tout cela parce que, malgré tout ce que j'avais prétendu être, j'ai fini par tuer.
J'avais pourtant résisté à la tentation. J'avais usé tant de stratagèmes et même prétendu que pour rien au monde, moi, sain de corps et d'esprit, moi, animal parmi les animaux, je ne mettrais fin à l'existence de l'un de mes congénères.
J'avais juré sur tout ce que j'avais de plus cher au monde que jamais je n'arriverais à cette extrémité finale. Jamais je ne tuerais un de mes semblables.
Pire ! Je riais de toi, la meurtrière. Je te faisais la morale. Au diable les allergies que tu me soumettais comme excuses pour pouvoir commettre tes meurtres en série. Je te disais même en bon prêcheur que nous étions tous des créatures de Dieu alors que je ne crois même pas en Dieu.
Je disais que tuer une fois c'était comme tuer mille fois, qu'il n'y avait pas de petite mort et patati et patata et qu'une fois qu'on avait mis le doigt dans l'engrenage on n'avait plus aucun pouvoir sur la gâchette.
Mais voilà tout ça c'est désormais le passé. Oui voilà c'est désormais chose faite. Je te rejoins sur le banc des accusés. Meurtrier ! Meurtrier ! Meurtrier !
J'ai tué. Je suis un criminel.
Ne me condamnez pas à la chaise électrique. J'ai des circonstances atténuantes, Madame le Juge d'Assise, ayez pitié du primo récidiviste. Une erreur de vieillesse mérite le sursis.
J'avais pourtant essayé le vinaigre, je vous le jure, pour me débarrasser de ces vandales. L'essence de citronnelle. J'avais mis le ventilo et la clim. Rien n'y faisait. C'est alors que m'est venue une nuit vers deux heures du matin la lumière. C'est ainsi que j'exécutai sans états d'âme 12 moustiques des plus virulents à la raquette électrique. Il n'y a pas de petit crime, de crime véniel et de crime mortel, votre honneur ! J'ai tué, j'ai tué de sang froid et les veufs et veuves et les orphelins de mes victimes me hantent et me hanteront de génération en génération...
Criminel ! Criminel ! Criminel !
Aug 25, 2019
Aug 25, 2019 at 8:12 AM UTC