"triangulated" poems
I know how hard you’re trying:
caught between what’s good and what’s right,
triangulated by compliance to a routine that leaves you restless.
You’ve spent your childhood dreaming of ‘somewhere else’
but now that you’re here, you dream again:
of ‘somewhere new.’
You can’t pin down a pilot,
and you’re a high flyer
with a heart for danger and full of desire
from the stardust in your veins
and the galaxies mirrored in your eyes.
You’re no Harry Potter--
their attention drives you wild,
craving counteraction to the demons that
followed you from your home planet
and have tainted your every breath.
*(he’s got stars in his smiles
that stretch like galaxies.
oh, god, you know what that means.)*
Like I said, you can’t pin down a pilot,
and you don’t want to be found.
You’ll push and push until your heart gives out,
compensate and retaliate by breaking the hearts that beat for you.
If you’re going down,
they will too.
You’re a beautiful disaster creating
new paths for strength to rise out of,
a beautiful disaster caught between cliffs and a hard place.
You wanted to touch down on every planet in your system,
but you never planned
on your engines failing.
You can’t pin down a pilot,
not until he’s crashing.
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 9:26 PM UTC
thunder cackles in the morning
a witch is a woman
with any amount of wisdom
your words are as bland as coffee
and the dandelions are talking
for i am permanently amused
by vicissitudes and antelopes
and aggregates of moods
feelings and isotopes
hanging by psychotropic ropes
firmly financed by our fingertips
lifetimes triangulated in transitions
farm the fallow fields
and try to heal the poppies
dropping numbers
and putting aside our copies
a simulacrum of similes and shortages
as field mice and farmhands
dance on saturn’s rings
despite all of jupiter’s complexities
your complexion is never shallow
and i swallow seawater
to embrace the sweet finality of life
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 9:27 PM UTC
Disturbance Twin Pines
The simple fact this revered and honored holding location is almost perfectly triangulated it also holds
Ed and Virgil but on the sixteenth of July faint as flecked gold or the most gentle mood like reading
Someone’s mind or trying to cause loose sand to hold a form without a mold the only possibility if it was
Laying on the ground and moisture had formed a crust but you still couldn’t lift or move it to handle
The tenderest expression has to be left to the angels they are capable of both worlds solid earthly form
And the intangibles just beyond your finger tips the hoary frost on glass it is an ancient mystery visible in
The present the mist moves stands without seeming properties to allow it to do so that’s the richness
The almost unspeakable there are times that you can speak of such hushed things and talk with loves
Intensity with such depths it all lost to most even the most discernible eyes you have crossed boundless
Borders truly the frontier of the unknown has been bridged this is what appears ever so briefly and
Wondrously on marble cut to make the statement in its self this stands for permanent observation the
Parlance of deliberate and lasting meaning so how treasured that these words would appear you read
Them between the lines that say with heartfelt truth forever together so you have all of the above
Working and the truth invades your mind these words written on sacred stone can only be dreams that
Flow without end though the body hesitates and turns to immortal strands together formed by spirit
And Glory but in dreams these facts coalesce like on the deepest sea and from the depths a ship
Resurfaces two walk its deck receive structure get fluid motion unspeakable lucidity dancing in the mind
Leaps from the tongue steps that jumbled together some growing faint now sharp and keen the
Pleasure shared in mental stimulation exhilarating an all consuming flourish of peace holds you like the
Sweetest caress words spilling scrolling down hardest stone it is read and shared by the departed this
Connection is the result of celebration and the marking of another birth year has arrived on the calendar
What better time to stir the deepest emotions that you have shared Happy birthday I. M. I know you
won’t but just the same never fail to believe and know this writing was viewed on beloved stone.
Jan 11, 2012
Jan 11, 2012 at 5:33 PM UTC
I once loved a woman so,
left my wife, my young baby children,
desperate desolate for a scrap of
a reason to exist.
her, the other woman,
welcome was unquestioning,
she was an answer.
you may judge me,
I've paid and pay on-
but this is not the taken tale,
verily, I have come to write.
Jennifer her name,
was my savior,
took me from the cross unbearable,
washed my feet, covered my wounds
rebirthed me a new man.
weak was me,
fell fallow to cries,
whimpers of the weak,
weakened me worse
and she said
*go,
bewitched man,
magic enough to defeat
the wicked one,
but not
the weak ones,
I don't possess,
you have to have
metal in your mind,
rock steady,
maybe you do,
maybe you will,
but no crutch of steel
can I be forever.*
but this is not the taken tale,
verily, I have come to write.
what I remember best,
the love I lost for
the lesser love I gave up
and took back
as a lessened and lessoned man
is this:
*my chest, my heart,
for months, not weeks,
for months, not weaks
of words,
hurt so bad I
could not believe,
my life forfeit,
this heartache palpable,
was real beyond belief
when I went to the
emergency room, the doctors,
stethoscope-confirmed,
my tearing-warped, embodied mind,
had no prescription, no surgery,
for what ailed the failed man.*
when in the street would see her,
in the elevator trap, smelled her smell,
for seconds I was triangulated,
until lost sight, and was ill-mis-positioned
once again in a shaft that could only go
down.
Shortly thereafter,
took up pen and paper
bad damage to repair
and began to write,
decades worn, pen nub'd
the writing,
never thereafter,
stopped or ceased.
now I ask you plain
straight from the
place of pain,
that is almost healed,
tho twenty years,
the damages are still
upon my persona claimed,
for this is the taken tale,
verily, I have come to write.
how do you like your poet's poet now?
not so much?
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 6:44 PM UTC
The moon wanes as if it’s taken to counting down the days
A post solstice clock sliding across my window each night
Im watching couples in the terminal sway into one another
(The fireworks roll distant)
Your quiet count down is triangulated about the earth in delay
(The earth continues to orbit its star)
Thoughts unbidden
Of your post shower shyness,
Of how soft your body sleeps,
Of conveying all the longing with an embrace,
You exhale
We slip quietly into a new year
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 11:50 PM UTC
new dynamic enters the stratus
something shifting
triangulated attitudinally
sitting on a chesterfield
brushing away lint from grey trousers
thinking about ending the lollygagging
and crushing despondency
with action akin to space flight
energetic tingles transform
particulates blend and restructure
transformer style
before unknown element
lose in society
beaconing children and religious
to eat of the space fruit
Orion’s apple
the pope wants us to be open to alien religion –
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 5:20 PM UTC
Through the plate-glass window
Of the Fire Bowl Cafe
I see three women in royal-blue scrubs
Triangulated on the parking lot
One holds a *** of yellow flowers
Thankful
Appreciated
Smiling like I haven't seen anyone smile all day that day
(Not even in the movie I just saw)
They distriangulate
And I watch the appreciated one
Put her *** of flowers on the asphalt next to her SUV
I wait for her to open the back door and put them in
But she doesn't
She just drives away
And leaves them there
Yellow and blue
Becoming yellow and black
As I wait for her to return
As I wait for a stranger to stop and steal them
Finally I get up
And leave
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 4:55 PM UTC
Sarcophagus walls
mummified stones to *****
compass pointing home.
Jun 11, 2016
Jun 11, 2016 at 1:25 AM UTC
Smoke peering over the mountain peak,
the mornings here you can smell the trees,
screaming with heat of human passion wildfires,
its bright out, but the moon is hidden,
behind a grey veil that sees through the heavens,
its almost no different than city lights,
******
I found my favorite spot in the world,
shooting stars passby it all night,
and the water is deep,
everyone needs to get close to stay warm,
and the moon falls between two peaks,
and the two peaks are triangulated between two trees,
everyone in the town nearby says how much they hate it,
and how trapped they feel.
******
once i found my passion,
my drive,
but that seems to have faded now,
or maybe I've just become more focused on myself,
replaced the void that others filled,
by building bridges to new muscles and movements
in my body, and in my mind,
deadnames come back around when you least expect it,
and I still feel detached from this vessel,
I manifest and control,
sometimes you think you've got something figured out,
but every free moment you have, goes
to that inner corner
you keep dusting, but can never straighten out.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 3:05 PM UTC