"temporaries" poems
A smooth jazz blast from the musical past:
The confused ethnomusicology,
The pleasantly discordant riffs and
Jingles of "Hiroshima"—
The band not the bomb site—
Whose fusion sound
Evokes an insane sextet
Granting membership, inexplicably to
Schroeder-- the Peanuts loony tune—
Hitting only the black keys of his piano,
His miniature keyboard
Sour, melodious & pure.
I am reading Ayn Rand’s
"Introduction to the Twenty-fifth Anniversary Edition"
Of The Fountainhead, 1993;
An important 20th Century novel, I am told,
A book first copyrighted—
That’s copyrighted spelled without a W—
First copyrighted in 1943,
A copyright renewed in 1971,
By Ayn herself;
An important book--
Whether you’ve bought into her
Man-worshiping atheism—
Or not.
I write these words on the back of a business envelope,
The only paper to be found in this house,
Not ironic, while pondering
A wireless laptop charging,
Plugged in far away on a kitchen countertop.
Lying on a couch in northern New Mexico,
It is an Ides of March 2014 mid-afternoon.
I am 64 years old.
Old enough to know better;
Growing more conservative each day,
With Ayn, I celebrate he who never gives up,
“By spitting in one’s own face,
And damning existence.”
The Fountainhead:
She called the book a “GUIDEPOST,”
A reminder of man’s noble vision,
Proclaiming man in noble glory.
A Sartre you were not, Ayn.
How interesting to think of
The two of you, co-temporaries,
Aspirating the same Earth atmosphere.
This fact itself, an astonishing example of
"Weltanschaung" polarity.
No wonder the world is so ****** up.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 7:43 PM UTC
The festive mood wasn't so contagious,
but it brought me a sense of security,
false as the artificial roses I'd given
to all those whom I had 'loved' before.
The calendar was on its very last page
and I was well on my merry way
to down my final gulp of this concoction:
a blend of gloom and seething rage.
I nursed on the sour poison in my mouth
and mulled over scorned temporaries and
the would-be forevers who got away.
The clock hit twelve; I'm relieved of pain.
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 7:44 AM UTC
They say attention sells
Are you paying?
Good buy
Watching as the sales
Catch wind
In the distance
The omnipotent lurks
It hurts from afar
The closer it gets
Sedated the pain drifts
Internet viral infection
Your subjective objections
Nets more views
They say attention sells
Are you paying?
Opinions gumbo
A snowball effect
What's erected briefly
Affects the aura
Dispersed in seconds
Long lasting knots
Tied in infinite temporaries
Life of
is short like Februaries
Long cold and quick
They say attention sails
Are you paying?
To stay afloat
Drowning in free money
Purchased for nothing
Flailing
sinking from the
Whole within
Anchored
In the middle
Of an ocean of sand
With water on top
They say attention sells
Did you pay yet?
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 3:29 AM UTC
I don't want this feeling to die.
if it's temporary, I promise love will cut out temporaries heart and longevity will take its place.
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 10:15 PM UTC
Here we are,
Swimming afar from Great White Sharks
Cooling with chill manatees from Mars.
School Break has been pleasant and it has been unfortunate as a peasant
Tenth grade is all over so what will tumble to cover when the eleventh is to hover?
I am fazed to predict the outcome.
My mom is long gone
And it appears that all is lost
What shall I regain in place of this unpresent ghost?
Never realized
The ultimate surprise
Could suppress me.
Never knew I could be so encouraged
When the terrain gets tough
I am stable to be.
Time surpasses on the clock ticky ******
I remain tucked in my snuggly bed at night
Pondering,
On the thought of how it all came to flash before my eyes in a heartbeat.
Last December
What a chilly, lonesome snowed forest
Current in July
What a hilly, hotsome blown storage
Abstracted memories,
Not a topic listed in my book.
Passages of temporaries,
Fish back to my hook.
What is to uprise
What is to dubb nice
What is to enlarge size
In this life?
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 1:50 AM UTC
oh, they dream
they dream by day
look at them
stood atop a field of daisies
always reaching so far,
like their hands could
break off at any moment
arms stretching to catch the wind
it's the only thing they'll trust
eyelashes fluttering,
ribs expanding, breathe, they keep breathing
they're drifting
don't stop them
don't tell them to come home
don't box them
don't let them know you feel alone
don't love them
aren't they beautiful?
aren't they broken?
please don't scare them
a drifter scared,
is a drifter lost
and yet again,
we've lost them
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 1:02 AM UTC
there were times
when I filled my lonely cracks
with whatever sort of fit
though I knew
it wasn't really capable of
meeting me on all my levels -
intensity, emotion, intellect,
oddity, creativity, curiosity,
carnal abandon
I've found matches
but those compounds
burn out quickly
sparklestarts
fading
it's terrible how lonely I am
yet, resist being appeased
with (con)temporaries
it always ends up making me
more lonely
after crave subsides
and short-lived chems exit
the self-loathings start chanting
*we ******* told you so*
when my heart says nope
which it almost always does,
at some percentage,
my body knows -
I'm there, but not fully
in it:
walled distrustful protection mode
no wide open uninhibited throes
it's aspects of yes, meshed with no
it's why
a majority of my encounters
have involved substances
my addiction is afflicted
with knowing
it won't be
the thing I crave
so I numbed
my persnickety heart
in order to keep
fever down
I can't just
open up for anyone -
unfurl rose spectrum
of precise art and language
that comes from heart
and dictates skeleton
to dance in ecstatic
primal possession
I am flint
crafted for
reciprocal ignition
upon inherent nature
of symmetric material
and you know, my heart
has never been blasted off hinges
with body in tandem, 100%
but I know that it
can and will
heal all the things
burn up the pain,
the unbelonging
wipe the slate free
of tormented cravings
replacing with gratitudinal awe
Aug 10, 2017
Aug 10, 2017 at 12:34 PM UTC
if you must love her
(and you must) because
all of her is worth the non-trouble
but the most-work--
then openly confront the
child that throws fits, when
she sits in front of the house
stewing, kneel and ask--
that is all anyone ever need
do; ask.
or say nothing when she
cries in church, touch shoulders
and keep singing, a low voice
undulating with her father's
if you must love her,
and you know you must,
you have been called out
from all your temporaries
and sort-ofs, nothing ever
remotely permanent
because you must
you must.
Jul 16, 2017
Jul 16, 2017 at 7:12 PM UTC
i tried to find myself in a girl with green eyes. for years i stopped worrying about my identity and let myself relax at the thought that i had it all figured out. i was happy, she was happy, life seemed so happy. but how long can happiness really last? no one can help the unpredictability of life. we have trouble accepting that life is just comprised of a series of temporaries that we will blow to and from until we meet our end alone.
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 10:34 PM UTC