"unextinguished" poems
Plane Poetry: I go to Barber
aisle seat C 14,
an emergency exit row,
forced to solemnly swear
that for the extra legroom,
I will solemnly assist to open
the exit door, me first as my reward,
and keep my terrified screaming
below an elephant's trumpeting mating call
what hast this to do with a trip to Barber?
you Brits and Aussies, ever economical,
say went 'to hospital,'
leaving we Ameddicans
to dignify that august institution
as going to
The Hospital
Thus advised, be apprised, a
Nota Bene Benidictus:
I go to Barber,
Not
I go to the barber.
Samuel Barber,
Adagio for String Quartet, Barber
If unfamiliar with this piece,
you will recall it well
if "Apocalypse Now" registers at all
If not stop immediately,
return to Go,
start here,
www.youtube.com/watch?v=RRMz8fKkG2g
be prepared to surrender your mortality,
listen and if effected,
if you find yourself on your knees
weeping, recalling the days of loss,
the early empires of hope,
the first kiss
of your firstborn
and unknowingly,
the last you gave
a loved one
if you have the courage to
be touched and impacted,
as I,
then welcome back to
right here where why...
*I go to Barber
where violins soar me heavenwards,
where violins rip open sores long since scarred over,
I go to Barber
and float, eyes sky'd, as water
fills and departs my body simultaneously,
I go to Barber
to know that art can rise beyond,
that my weakened, wrecked human flesh, surpassable
I go to Barber
to harmonize my disconcordia,
romantic lyricisize my waning days,
I go to Barber
to voluntary confess, admit my impoverishment,
to acknowledge that they, my days, yet are capable,
I go to Barber
to remember and to forget,
to mark and unmark time
I go to Barber
to be created and recreated,
to be destructed and despaired
I go to Barber
to acknowledge, as human, better is forever possible,
for of the god spark, yet unextinguished
I go to Barber
because there is no plane as fast as his slow adagio,
to transport me to the who I am and should yet be*
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 4:47 PM UTC
You destroyed me,
And I let you.
You lit a fire within me
I mistook for the passion
Of poets
And I let it eat me up
And consume the light from my eyes
Until nothing was left.
I mistook you for a hero
When all you were was a person;
no better, no worse than anyone.
And I loved you.
I love you still,
And always will.
And that flame consumes me
Even today,
Because a misanthrope like me
Cannot help but romanticise such things.
That fire burns like the blood that runs between us,
And I mistook it for the fire
That warms the soul and the hearth;
That flickers between friends;
When in truth,
You were merely a lighter
To a pathetic piece of paper.
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 5:48 PM UTC
Oblivion.
The writing's on the wall.
A map to no where fast.
Non existent places, empty spaces,
Unreflective,
devoid,
absent,
soundless,
a quintessential nothingness.
Wrapped in endless streams of non integrated meaning.
Non thought,
yet unextinguished.
waiting,
for that.....
kiss.
Jun 18, 2016
Jun 18, 2016 at 8:36 AM UTC