"wolverines" poems
we spend all of our life time digging up the past robbing the graves of our ancestors. we keep running to our past we are running out of time for making a future. we know what happens to the body in death and yet it tells us nothing beyond death. there are no words for mankind who acts like rabid wolverines running to the graves taking displaying stealing from our ancestors shame on the human race for such ignorance of true knowledge.
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 9:14 PM UTC
follow the yellow brick road...
The terrible freedom unleashed by typewriters.
Condition of complexity judged without criteria.
Radical provocations. Urinals and prams. Contingent.
Anarchist aesthetic. Not truth nor beauty but freedom.
Materiality of language. Multi-hued wheel barrows.
A cuttlefish. A crate. A cassowary. A cigarette. A ******
Paratactic order. Particular phrasing. Pulsing pastiche.
An infinite conversation without resolution
as with the stupid friend who won’t shut up. Ever.
A transcendent dialectic based solely on proximity.
Ineluctable modality of the near. Only that. Buck it.
An unquiet ghost endlessly self-questioning. No answers.
Moaning in the meaning. A simple stuttering. Sibilant.
Turbulent and unpredictable as waddling wolverines.
Words that only mean whatever is seen. Juxtaposition.
Dissolving into desired dissonance. The magic chord.
Absolute verity in the experience of the fraudulent
for the same reason as the ubiquity of toothpaste.
The poem as its own universe, complete and whole,
fodder for the mind, not balm for the soul.
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 1:21 PM UTC
Ask me fiery one How I would This moment leave my home behind And walk on bare feet to you It would be nothing to me To cut my heels in your honour I would find you I am sure Watching the sun awaken As you gaze from some unnamed plateau Ask me how quickly I would build you ship Cutting timbers asunder Laying out each piece Tying and hoisting I would put you on your ship Her name being Sunrise Ask me how I will blow into your sails Longer than any tradewind I would take you to Asia And show you the color of life And the song of silence Whisper in your ears The secrets of the east We could gaze at tall spires in the bitter north I would wrestle the Russian Bear And he will gladly give his coat I will fight tooth and nail with wolverines So you can see my blood and fear Soon we will rest in the Mediterranean Drinking heady wine on the warm grass Running barefooted through years of vineyards We can climb the peaks in Greece If you only ask me fiery one I will cast down the Olympian host We can bathe in the city lights of Paris you and I We can haunt the streets in London if you wish We can go anywhere you ask Just tell me where to take you first
Jan 10, 2012
Jan 10, 2012 at 1:24 AM UTC
Get up and dance
Put on those moccasins that make you move from out in France
Into the Indies then Polynesian isles.
Pour the green skies upon those frozen and dried out.
Bring gratitude to those whom frequently pout
And the mission to gain commission
How the mantras from mamas mouth
Shoot from the sky.
So sly the way we will slip into the nostalgic reminisce
Lights on the red carpet
And the set of lies
Are we doing this?
We don't mention How Buddha ******
Budapest in the name of the most auromatheraputic
And orginally
tell the Chinese nike labourers
who do this.
Though they suit me,
I resuit this with prudent force for those law benders
Of the b.a.r.
We will cough on tough tycoons and yet bow to stars.
Oh my legend, how far have we looked and have we come
Jumping out of the Nintendo Nes(t)
We have entertained our self enough
We've won son.
But find me lagging on a wooden broom
Brimming on the outskirts of your psyche
Just when you thought
Sike you didn't not cite me.
Please bibliograph my flight plan or pattern
And as you gaze upon the moon I make my second meander on Saturn
The orbit
In finding sudden satisfaction with norbit
I've asked. How bliss is ignorance?
We blend all the blinding lights of the prism and still white and ****
Siss
Disdain on dose dat ain't domestic
Still ******* kicking and
My legs are there to test this
Theory
and jeering with slack
I'm looking back.
I fear the peers of tired whites and blacks
Those that act that they have nothing to loose
By continually hitting the snooze
Oh we will leave you like leaves grounded in the grooves
These four leaf clues
Clovers, slipping out of my palms
Mark you like wolverines claws
Like jar heads
Jumpin in to the jabber jagged jaw of jaws
Subservient marine.
Prate in the truth of those words until you(they) know just what they mean.
Ya seen?
Good?
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 10:32 AM UTC
1 - Sweep out the International Space Station.
2 - Eat Kale every day and like it.
3 - Learn to know and like a republican.
4 - Become a Mixed Martial Arts champion.
5 - Be kind to extinct wolverines.
6 - Develop at taste for Rap music.
7 - Explore gastronomic excess with you $16 in food stamps.
8 - Teach the cat how to vacuum and dust.
9 - Find the last person under 30 without a smartphone.
10 - Figure out why God created Twitter.
11 - Solve the riddle of what women really want.
12 - Give up on all the above by Ground Hog Day.
~mce
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 9:29 AM UTC
Follow me, me, me,
I shall lead you
to the parting of the seas,
I shall be the one
Day and night,
fluffy clouds of living wool and ticks we are,
not in the sky, but grounded in green grass around,
We follow you,
You I have never known, never seen,
but leader by seeds of my ancestors sown,
I have grown with the herd, all I have known.
The shadows are watching,
Wolves across the darkened prairie,
Awash in the milky white of moonlight,
They hunt by night,
These wisps of fright.
You Leader, Oh most Invisible one,
at the front of the run,
wolf-wary and toiling under the sun,
And moon.
The wolves are always looking to the sky,
I wonder why ?
Then so did I.
For the first time ever a sheep has never
Has actually looked up high,
Into the starry hea’ens,
studded glimmers on a wolfs black coat,
the wisened old hunter, the cunning wily,
a secret of the cut throats long known,
peers down on me, their stories, older than my oldest me.
For the wolves know, my leaders head is low,
That we move into the fields, there by the northern star,
And there will be a gathering,
A feast of lamb to behold,
For the collection of wolf covens of old,
Our pastures of peace lie to the east,
By my reckoning of the stars,
But my leader follows the reckoning of old,
A forgotten past,
A legacy that goes to our death every year
To feed the wolverines that costs us dear.
Mar 27, 2010
Mar 27, 2010 at 10:47 AM UTC
i am the liquid rage u consume to,
sweat me in the blood you,
drop me foxy 5 Me O,
D-I-P-T,
collided with a chainsaw carving of a chainsaw,
carving gelatin figurines of wolverines,
stand back in my skull crusher's splinter twin,
and find mr. bones, i hefta make a plea to take this,
foxy out my brain, blow
rainbow holes connecting me to him,
lead me to the bedroom,
mr. bones,
is all alone,
objective one,
i am lebron james, and this is a conversation,
mr. bones agrees and now i know we gotta beat that trik,
white light, contaminated
strapped tight, go ahead and check my pockets,
for the souls i have devoured,
low in the hours,
face my wrists, the memory,
wont come to me.
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 3:25 PM UTC
If you don’t know the answer
it’s C
If you don’t care if cheating is immoral anymore
it’s normal
If some days the idea of shoving a pencil into your flesh
is tempting
It’s high school
Welcome to the flawed world
of unhealthy habits and competition
a parade of bent and folded bodies
we show off
graphite scratched skin
Future leaders stand like statues covered in graffiti
among ripped canvases and unfinished art projects
Waiting to be beautiful
Friend groups made up of alternatively
muddy and magnificent water colors
of scars and secrets they hide from their parents,
drawn on their skin,
settled in the cracks of broken frames
hiding wolverines under shattered glass and splintered wood
It’s not beautiful to be broken,
but outside of here, it’s beautiful to be alive
and be what you are
so turn scars into lightning bolts
and let stories drip down your chin in vibrant colors
you can’t see
Our best traits
are tattooed on our backbones
hidden under layers of weather-worn skin and clothes
maybe we can't see them,
but they keep us standing up
So maybe it is all a competition
or a lie
or maybe we’re not real at all
But maybe that’s okay
Because neither is any of this
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 9:38 PM UTC
You know it is over.
Your shoes walk away.
Your phone dives into
the pit of despair.
Your cigarettes
have become healthy.
Your knees no longer
knock, but clap.
The chipmunks are silent.
Wolverines arrange
mass suicide pacts.
Chameleons permanently
turn invisible.
Everything transforms
into Other.
You are a stranger
becoming stranger
day by day.
You know it is over.
Ten Four good buddy.
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 9:00 AM UTC
The universe has
a millions signs
that say no,
but
only a few
that say yes.
/////
Everything is fragile
except the rope
around your neck.
/////
Just another
day in paradise:
exciting as a
hole in the ground.
/////
If you think
with your ****
expect a few
headaches.
/////
All the world's misery
is caused by men
who wear suits.
/////
Sometimes, you must
open a window
just to let a little
oxygen into your life.
/////
My ancestors
marched to war.
I flew.
Maybe there is
such a thing
as progress.
/////
Why do we
fall in love
instead of
rise in love?
Because there's
no such thing
as a rise with
a thud at the end.
/////
Cat's know everything
but divulge nothing.
/////
Death waits
patiently as
a dead cat.
They know
each other
very well.
/////
Enough now,
I am moving to
Lake Michigan
where I will
hunt wolverines
for a living
and learn
to eat ice.
/////
Have to flee,
there is a warrant
out for me for
everything I
never did.
/////
So difficult
some mornings
to face the
ugly emptiness of
the sober page
/////
Wanted:
a future
without
a perhaps.
/////
If I turned
wine into water,
made the living dead,
and called in demons
would these
be proclaimed miracles
and I hailed as
the new messiah?
Might be dangerous.
I imagine the sound
of hammers and nails
calling my name.
~mce
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 11:20 AM UTC
Hunters wear camoflauge and
play the wind while stalking their prize.
Breath when you squeeze the trigger
the way he taught you when you were just a boy.
Make a clean cut ,save the liver and the still warm heart.
Don't take more than what you need.
A good sized buck can last you all winter.
And always be sure to leave something behind for the
wolves and the wolverines.
Aug 5, 2016
Aug 5, 2016 at 12:19 PM UTC
Night blinks.
Light sits under the door.
I am ready to confront the moon.
Too much brilliance
was there. Would you redesign
the blue sky and paint the new stars?
Poverty was my great strength.
Nothing to lose, when
you were dancing with the shadows.
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 1:14 AM UTC