"temporality" poems
wednesday ..
is faded black jeans/old white tank (too big) (hole from belt buckle centre front)
glass of water stuck into the rings left by past week's mugs of beer
sitting by the ashtray. and you are better than a nip of rye in the truck cab heading to work.
the dust in my lungs (wide open saskatchewan fields)
is not as important as watching the clouds stain purple with the sunrise
patting two gorgeous farm dogs who run over from behind a silo turned to bronze in the light
(there is an angel laying naked in the wheat grain)
to nip playfully at my calves while i unchain the derrick,
somewhere in my mind's recess it feels like i am loosing atlas from his *******
tho i do not register the thought until later upon waking from a nap.
saturday // 1:15:44 pm
i am in only briefs now working on a song/i clocked 4
hrs greasing truck 1117 this morning and
hauling pallets.
daylene from dispatch brought in donuts.
i'll spend the afternoon listening to kanye and talking to women online.
—there are no girls in estevan. i have (kind of) looked.
sometimes i believe this to be pathetic but then i think further ahead
and it's not so bad.
you do really meet some nice girls. phone is replete with their numbers &
they keep me company on long rides to and from leases,
asking about work. hoping that i am well.
(once back home by christmas account will be deleted and i can
take them out at my leisure. you'll understand i hope that i am not
a desperate man. but one has to work with that which he has.
would you rather i go lonely? make my home in the mud to croon hank williams to crows?)
(temporality.)
15/10/2012
there are now three beer cans on the carpet & one on the washing machine by the
bathroom door which i will drink in the shower.
it was sort of a long day.
Oct 15, 2012
Oct 15, 2012 at 3:09 PM UTC
Enraptured in
a fevered spasm,
Captured in the
mind's phantasm,
Swimming through
the ectoplasm,
Pouring from the
roaring chasm,
Hidden in the
soul's recess
A subtle, gentle,
warm caress
So jubilant, it
doth redress,
The hindrances which
so suppress,
The progress of the
spirit's wellness,
Showing things which
words can't tell us,
Giving gifts, which
none can sell us,
Do you
hear the
bell that's
ringing?
ringing
from a
distant
shore?
It resonates from
mammoth spheres,
In orbit, shedding
countless years,
Through aeons of
causality,
And boundless
temporality
We see how worlds
arise and cease,
We see how yearning
lays the fleece,
The wool over the eyes,
deceiving, cool
Dispassion's peace
relieving, our
Great webs
of pain and sorrow,
Darkening,
to light the morrow
For as all things
must come apart,
So suffering's,
great work of art,
is merely but
a transience,
receding slowly
in the dark.
Jan 6, 2019
Jan 6, 2019 at 9:15 PM UTC
I have laid claim to the Tyne Bridge - it is my home.
You can keep the streets, the shops, the bars
Share them between you
But please
Let me have the bridge for myself.
The bottle green arch of Newcastle,
And the stew of water that runs beneath
The sheer drop of air between them,
Lightly salted by the sea.
It is but the only childish affectation
To follow me and hold true
Through the contaminant of temporality.
Just please, let me keep it.
I shed the skin of adolescence
And left my school tie at home
When I made the journey North.
I arrived expecting transcendence
But instead I received the unwanted gift of the present.
From the clamour of Manhattan,
To the desolation of New Mexico and Peru,
The present will forever be the most effective ammunition
In shattering the stained glass of the world’s wonders.
I know this from the beauty of memories.
Those wonderful fragmented images of childhood
That so efficiently cut out the hours of exceeding boredom,
And the tedium inflicted by the men in suits.
And the future,
The future of flying ships,
The mining of the moon
And downloadable pizza.
But we know in truth, when we arrive
There will still be lawyers
And adverts,
Beggars on the street
And apostrophe’s used incorrectly.
I digress.
Let me return to the Tyne Bridge
My bridge on the Quayside.
For despite the bird ****
And the playboys that trundle over it day after day,
It stands defiant over deep waters,
Daring to cheat death
Or vice versa.
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 9:33 PM UTC
Death a wassailing shadow
The cosmic kindler
That announces itself
Like a slipped coyote
Out of the black eye of day
Spanning the vast vividness
The tenebrous surreptitious
Abode of God, agape
The lurid womb of chaos
Corrupting whilst demons
Manifest under the new moon
The lustre of their wiles
The illusory horological
Machine of imagination
Conjuring the temporality of eternity
Delighting lamentably upon
The smitten truth of truths.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 9:06 AM UTC
The enduring ephemerality,
Strung together moments of blissfulness,
Each fleeting in its temporality,
But feeling infinite in wistfulness.
The hands of time spin circles without end,
While memories live in moments discrete.
Some moments blur to a nondescript end,
Moments with you time will never defeat.
Events live so long as not forgotten,
Life’s meaning breaks time’s continuity.
With each breath a new time is begotten,
So time gone lives in perpetuity.
When timeless blissfulness is in the past,
The paradox of time still makes it last.
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 9:04 PM UTC
wild night videos
for the dark web
3 Atlean men
and a girl
she got it
by a mob
of Moroccan **** rockets
and will pine
for the rest of her days
screaming to the hells
in a reimagined language
the regression to Lilith
**** *********
the world
when hell touched paradise
***** and man handled
shot by shot
mouth to ****** to ****
split and folded
tooth and nail
to drive the ****** tides
of the world
***** monsters like
T Rex
force a ritual infliction
butter meat of dreams
pain sensually
reworked into pleasure
blister-hot and oh so sweet
married to a paradox
like feeling bad
about feeling good
give me your ankles *****
an unveiled immediacy
right off the bat
i got just the girl
confiding in me
so ready to die
like an Aztec princess
to be the star
like a peacock
in an engorged circus
blizzard of jealous snakes
strangled fanged and spewed
a swansong exhibition
in blood-soaked ponytails
a bobbing head
and choke throat ***** picnic table
with mayonnaise wounds
mediating power
in a psychoanalytic fetish
death is not death
but performative submission
her body ransacked
in tooth marks
and red tipped *******
steaming eraser head
pulses
a **** soaked
chicken on a plate
eradicating reality
are you gonna eat that?
pass the ***
collapses time
lust
custodian
of human archeology
**** piñata
bearing gifts
of squirty pork gasms
******** and cuchifritos
corpus of ****** horror
as liberation
crosses-temporality
and breaks the vessel of time
oow
Nefertiti where are you
a tongue up the ***
sniffs
Prada's Candy Perfume
**** blinking licks
up there where havoc lives
in **** **** farm country
Oct 5, 2020
Oct 5, 2020 at 2:28 PM UTC
I was a shadow
then
a silhouette
( all that's
in the universe
is a process)
I dissolved
into mist-
next
I dispersed
transformed
into a vapour
then
disappeared
nothing
I became
nameless
from nothing
there could not
be anything
a state
of emptiness
in space
nothing
can touch
or capture emptiness
as it's not there-
and ipso facto
it's beyond
death and decay
at the beginning
I had no form
I was nothing
now the process
has taken its course
and I return
to nothingness
and being nothing
is to be
in timelessness
and lastly
eternity
is that state
that brings
the demise
of time
and temporality-
that which at the start
was nothing
returns
to its source
the Universal Nothing.
Sep 17, 2017
Sep 17, 2017 at 9:19 AM UTC
I read a spanish word and teared up because I knew I was feeling a feeling my mom felt when she was twenty. I mean-- she went to the dominican republic and she studied a foreign language in college. She was curious
and I am curious.
When people show me unexpected kindnesses, it makes me tear up.
What did I do to deserve this? and then I remember a little bit.
I wrote down a few notes for a paper:
the setting implies the corruptibility of female bodies.
I walked down the packed streets at night and applied that rough thesis
and it felt sad to be in what Steven calls a world of abstraction
and even now I sound like a liberal-arts university program ***** (I’m not).
I heard and just missed something fall from a tall tree.
I caught the tail end of the leaf debris, and wondered while
I read Ali Smith’s Hotel World, how many squirrels died in freak uppermost tree branch
falling incidents, and if it made a noticeable difference.
The scene, the scene is happening through temporality and that makes it seem empty
Sitting outside alone it is okay I am not the most important person in the universe
Now I’m working on holding all my adolescent memories in a loving embrace.
My ears also perk up at the sound of little kid voices.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 12:39 PM UTC
I grew up chaotically
in dichotomy, my hands
in between the walls carrying bi-polarities
“cradles! babies that squeal
for fear of strangers,
mothers, where are the mothers,
where is the family, have you disappeared
in McDonalds and KFC’s?”
Flashing Christmas lights throbbing
in my left eye, so colourful I don’t know
directionality, temporality burning me up
losing me up, inside these sights I feel a, a
maze in again, and up again…like
a ****** on a horse-
“there are aliens outside!!”
though, on the other side
just
air
in my right eye. I see air, extending.
all the gentle blue hum of the air.
it goes, breathes, in and out.
Lalala,
mmmmmmmm
It's so satisfying man.
Tell everyone about it.
While everyone sleeps,
I creep into the boardrooms,
where they hold their secret meetings.
There are certain syndicates in charge
of things like this; devising plans,
scratching heads, drawing charts,
painting on brains,
with paint by numbers.
But go on, (shuffle awkwardly),
for i am no emasculated lion
courageous in defeat,
i am merely a rose,
left lying on city streets.
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 5:13 PM UTC
Everything happens for a reason.
And though I can’t yet fathom
Why my stars have left me now,
I know that there is a lesson in this.
There is something bigger out there,
Something beyond the now,
Something calling from the deep,
Shining, darkness of temporality itself.
And so the distance has come to me
Over sweeping valleys of moments passing,
And tracks of trees and fields of fixed events,
And the wave has moved through them all
To tell me:
“You are this. You are now.
Yet also what we know you shall be.
Take this bloodied bludgeon that was hope
And find in it the gift that shall forge you.
It is a steel monument, washed in crimson,
Standing to honor what is,
And what is yet to come.”
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 3:29 AM UTC
It’s 3:08 AM and I’m lying in bed thinking of what could have been,
Wondering whether or not the constellations in the night sky have shifted
And even though they probably haven’t,
I wonder why everything beneath it has changed.
I can’t seem to sleep without these thoughts,
The thoughts of infinity and oblivion,
The feeling of an abysmal eternity,
Consuming me from the inside out.
While everything seems to end,
There’s always something else coming out of it,
Something precious and something extraordinary.
I don’t know when I’ll be at peace with this temporality;
It’s almost as if my mind’s its own universe,
With all the neurons and nerves all interconnected to form blazing suns for other planets
And galaxies too far beyond reach for me to even fathom.
It’s 3:15 now and I’m still wondering how we came to be,
How we got here in the first place,
And I don’t know the answer to my own question.
I want to know why the Creator made me,
Made you,
Made us.
I want to know why He put us here on this god forsaken planet,
And why He deemed it was necessary for us to find a connection within each other,
Underneath all the other galaxies of the universe.
I want to know why,
But He won’t give me the answer either.
It’s been 18 minutes past 3 am,
The hour of which most spirits are awake,
And I’m hoping that I’ll get to cross paths with my loved one once more,
And I’m hoping that you’re up late at night wondering about me too.
I can’t sleep and I don’t know if I want to
Because all I will think about when I close my eyes is how stupid it is that I can’t even answer my own questions
And I can’t even figure out why I was here in the first place
And why I’m so angry at you when I shouldn’t be.
I just want this temporality to cease these unanswered questions and let me go to sleep,
But even I can’t escape from the universe that unravels once my eyes close.
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 2:27 AM UTC
"You need not worry about the silence." He used to say. Though most nights I lay awake hoping I'll never end up a rose or a daisy.
morbidly brittle
with their lack
of water and
attentiveness
whatever
hope I ever had of
forever youth
drains through my soil
petals of swaying
promises
overexposed
wishful colors
depicting temporarily
as happiness in death
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 3:27 PM UTC
There is a time to Reveal,
There is a time to Conceal.
There is a time to Stand in the Light,
There is a time to Search in the Darkness.
There is a time to Will as we know how,
and to Work with all the Might in our Arms.
There is a time to Yield to the Storms and Floodwaters,
and Surrender to the Thrills and Joys of the Fearsome Whirlwind.
There is a time to be Silent and Distanced,
and be Disciplined by Patience and Perseverance.
But there will be a time when Perfection is Restored,
Forgotten the Impossible Chasm
between the Glimpses and Glances
of the Desire for Oneness
in the Eyes of All Given Us,
And a Chorus of a Myriad upon Myriad of Angels shall Sing,
And Life shall be truly Life.
May 10, 2019
May 10, 2019 at 3:49 AM UTC
I for one haven't been given a satisfying answer
Except for the trivial solution
Oblivion.
what is it for?
All I see is miracles spewing forth
But what's it all for?
My heart yearns for more
Amidst all the temporality
Am I the things outside me?
Mar 30, 2016
Mar 30, 2016 at 2:13 AM UTC
Once
Once
Oh only Once
...
Tuning in...
...
Truth
Truth
...
Truth
of
the
self
...
Speechless
is this knowledge
All knowledge
Abiding
Light of the self
...
not a word
not a breath
to pause for
nor a body
in truth
...
Has this body
ever been
other than the
lines encapsulating
...
Shape of
a moment
of an embrace
of this uninterrupted dance
made visible
a while
for which
by which
and as which
We dance
...
Dance!
Dance
of life!
Evolving
its immaculate
infinite sided crystal
like the germ of an
ethereal flower
delight of knowledge
within
...
Move!
Move as if
as if
so these subtleties
become
sentient
by the steering
of your grace
...
Awareness
of oneness
of temporality
or of the form of you
like the child caressed
One with the self
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 6:20 PM UTC
I speak about temporality as if it were some
beautiful, foreign monster,
caged and docile,
and I spectate safely from behind the glass.
It feels better,
somehow,
to romanticize it,
pretending poetic sadness is lighter
than its less eloquent counterpart,
namely, sobbing under shower heads
and clutching onto my arms like
I'm trying to keep my organs inside
my skin, rocking in tempo as if the inertia
of it will stop my cells from scattering
across your bed,
when my veins flare up
like gasoline on train tracks.
Nothing gold can stay,
can it, when you find a boy
with a silver heart
who starts to feel like home,
and home has never been
a place you can go
when you need it to be, and
his fingertips, the way they weave
cheap beer and cigarettes into a
safety net, *********
and the way he says your name
like it was meant for his mouth.
The observable universe
is comprised of atoms moving
away from each other
at constantly increasing speeds,
we theorize, and
never have I been more aware of the
space between our
particles, and I wonder,
if we move fast maybe
time will slow down and
this feeling of falling
will stretch out to eternity,
and it isn't my fault that your tongue echoes,
and you never meant to be a singularity.
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 11:43 PM UTC
Existing is that state
that links
the present temporality
to the infinity of time
man dangles
between two polarities
he strives and struggles
to understand and too often
he is frustrated and disillusioned
for the larger part of his life
seems shrouded in incomprehensibility --
the monotony, vexation, ennui--even inanity
and there seems no escape
from the meaningless round
of just existing-while time mocks and derides
without a single whit of sympathy.
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 7:31 AM UTC