"shufflings" poems
Pompous:
"Oh God, no, not another shallow rhymer,
fitting each word to its neat little place.
Oh God, no, not another painterly composition
with planal directions going round and around or leading that way and this.
They did that in the past; get to the new.
Make sure the reader or viewer knows that the masterful
knows more than than the masterful lets t/h/r/o/u/g/h/ out.
Disdain extenuating weakenings caused by straining for clarity
or unnecessary exertions in expressions of cohesion.
Words, though plain, arouse astonished wonder by nonchalant impenetrable shufflings.
Be clued-in, be bold, be tough and show it when you sculpt the clay.
When shaped, use your trowel to scratch the surface, evoking even more obscurity.
Toss it off in broad strokes of masterful negligence.
Be above the miniscule.
By these means show in shadowy hints the profundity that winks beyond merely ordinary restrictions.
Break the barriers, fly the constructive. Those old shackles lie about the world.
Show you ain't no conforming sissy.
Display in impatient referenceless strokes
Your forceful awareness of the world as known."
Facetia:
"Oh?
A world which evidences no form and structure in living creatures;
no eons of effortful evolution;
Forests have no ecology, and laws of nature aren't for binding.
Mind never happened, spirit's a farce,
unions only expedient plottings.
Lessons of history describe the disruptive;
it's what you grab and who you club;
others are only take or be taken.
Show 'em who's boss,
stash it away,
it's dog eat dog until there's nothing.
Shake it all up and break it all up.
It's only entropy."
Mar 21, 2010
Mar 21, 2010 at 7:17 AM UTC
the clanging when the gates open
as the dogs bark, shut the gate only to hear rusty
metal screech rusty metal, i think
i am home
gravel crunch under my shoes, crunch, crunch
to open the screenless screen door, push
aside the heavy sliding second door, i think
i am home
walk into the canary room with its rich
maroon-tiled floor, turn right for the stairs, leave your
shoes before you go 10 steps up, i think
i am home
another door is wide open, smell the waft of dog-shampoo,
dog burst through, get slapped on the shins with its heavy wagging
tail and invites you the the dark green couch, i think
i am home
walk on the wooden floor as the bookshelves rattle
when i pass by, rattle, rattle, leave my bag on the chair, reach the fridge,
look for food and sit on the polished yellow table, i think
i am home
the last room and its rich dark brown door, with its
antique bed: lay down, contemplate, count the squares above it--48
blink, open another door to the balcony, graze the cold cement, i think
i am home
look into the backyard with patches of dead grass, inhale oxygen,
exhale sadness, go back inside and smile, finally, i think
i am home
as i smell that unique scent of mom in the bathroom, see the table
dad made from ply woods, sort my sister's things, smile at my brother's grad picture,
sit with the dog on the couch, scratch its ears, i know
i am home
midnight strikes, detach from the computer, rub tired eyes, brush my
teeth on the blue-tiled sink, reach the orange door quietly, take one last glance on
the mirror and enter the capiz faux-door of the bedroom we all share, hear
all of your soft snores and shufflings under the blanket,
collapse on the bed, this is it.
i am home.
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 7:14 AM UTC
Ain't a soul of us, without dark spots.
Not lacking
In don't's
That have been done,
In rues
Of arson -
Like
Matters
That, simply,
Will not go
Away.
--
Today,
I asked
A sweet birdy -
Just once-
If he would
Sing
'Til my
Dumb heavings
Shut up.
To hear how I
So needed
Him to say
Something beaming -
Something
That would melt ice
That had begun
Its branding -
Ignorant,
It went on,
Pecking rocks
At my toes.
So, I stapled
My bad day
To its back.
Head hot, in
Black heat,
Quick,
Shufflings of feet,
Sent the birdy
On its
Forced agenda.
Then, I saw
That sweet birdy
Get snatched,
By a beast
Thrice rabid,
On its way
To attempt such a feat.
Dry sickles
Burned my throat -
Some ugly and sad -
With broad cries
That never met
Words.
Though,
The sickles rose far,
Burned that ice
Into scars -
So, I guess,
The bird did away
With my blizzard.
Jul 31, 2011
Jul 31, 2011 at 8:12 PM UTC
I wouldn't call this an anniversary,
But what I have of the old you
Resurged today, and I barely knew its creases,
Barely knew where to buckle when it looked at me
So I suppose that's a waystone, a twist in my gut worth mentioning...
I remember you -
I remember when you came downstairs, naked
And looked at me with bloodshot eyes
Shuffling your swollen feet,
Dripping
I remember when you begged her to come home, touching a clammy hand to my face
Not knowing I wasn't her, but
I was so close to leaving
I recall, when I said I wouldn't care if you died
And thought of what your legacy would be, distant
Shufflings of bald wax and steam
Breathed through a desperate engine
Firing wrong, chugging wrong, wrong
I remember you.
..
Just
But guess what, I know you now,
I know what a glint in your eye means
I know, not remember you tell me you love me
Every day
And I answer back, hesitant
Because I fear
Memory doesn't sleep so well under soil
As feelings, so carefully buried
And locked away
Only sprout stems and
Bloom, without my knowing
Without my permission,
But saving what life left me anyway
I know you now.
May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 7:33 PM UTC