See Ralph Cry
generous to the dictionary
marble games
oh these days beetle
pets open up
their own doors
and receive alms,
hard fleas, desperate.
Breathtaking snow
these young damned
read the wrong movies
drive in get their boxes
upside down change,
you the summer
balk at all
his wife's new flowers,
preparations are being made.
On my way
the same school bus twice,
a slightly different sun
kindles.
Kind of labile but
wake up with
new tubes and tapes
dangerous walls
hold the packages in.
He cried his chest,
all our injuries
feel tremendously warm,
don't look until it's over.
Small drowner
who are you?
"The right of freedom of speech consists in speaking the truth."
18.3.10
12.3.10
Time as Vehicle, anonymous aphorism from the text found at the Thrift Store a few days ago:
For us in the present we utilize time travel in movies for good reason. We seek knowledge by inventing a means to traverse that which is not traversible. In that, our best hopes are dashed and lighted, lies are told and dangers invented inside of plots that twist and turn upon something which is hidden to the mind of the watcher but not to the doer of such un-doable things like Time travel.
Is it knowledge of the past we hope for or explanation of the present? Certainly it couldn't be prediction of the future because to suggest such a thing as travel into the future is far more ridiculous than travel into the past which actually is possible through the documents of history. Therefore, fables are invented so that predictions can be made. Mythological heresies exist in the tame form of maxims such as "To not know history is to repeat it," when in fact, to not know history is the crux of successful false prediction and prophecy. For it is upon this travesty of mythmaking that the tellers of lies find a means of travel into the future and establishing truths before their followers get there (as it is in Time Travel movies themselves). Without one false premise, the whole house of cards falls apart and to obscure this obvious flaw an actual flaw is built into the story.
A perfect example is the movie in which a boy rides in a vehicle (skateboard and DeLorean)toward the future but when he meets himself he discovers that if he knows about it, the whole plot of history will be torn apart. Sadly, it is true that upon this fallacious premise, nations wage war via suggestions about events unknowable not only to the general public but just as unknowable to the priveledged private few who write the scripts, predict the outcomes and manage to make fortunes from those as gullible as us who cry when a protagonist in an MGM production dies of a terminal disease.
For us in the present we utilize time travel in movies for good reason. We seek knowledge by inventing a means to traverse that which is not traversible. In that, our best hopes are dashed and lighted, lies are told and dangers invented inside of plots that twist and turn upon something which is hidden to the mind of the watcher but not to the doer of such un-doable things like Time travel.
Is it knowledge of the past we hope for or explanation of the present? Certainly it couldn't be prediction of the future because to suggest such a thing as travel into the future is far more ridiculous than travel into the past which actually is possible through the documents of history. Therefore, fables are invented so that predictions can be made. Mythological heresies exist in the tame form of maxims such as "To not know history is to repeat it," when in fact, to not know history is the crux of successful false prediction and prophecy. For it is upon this travesty of mythmaking that the tellers of lies find a means of travel into the future and establishing truths before their followers get there (as it is in Time Travel movies themselves). Without one false premise, the whole house of cards falls apart and to obscure this obvious flaw an actual flaw is built into the story.
A perfect example is the movie in which a boy rides in a vehicle (skateboard and DeLorean)toward the future but when he meets himself he discovers that if he knows about it, the whole plot of history will be torn apart. Sadly, it is true that upon this fallacious premise, nations wage war via suggestions about events unknowable not only to the general public but just as unknowable to the priveledged private few who write the scripts, predict the outcomes and manage to make fortunes from those as gullible as us who cry when a protagonist in an MGM production dies of a terminal disease.
Creation, Anonymous Aphorism
The creation is with truth created and created it is by the Creator who is known by many other names including the Originator because in essence that is the definition of creation.
Without signs in the creation there is no knowledge of the creation and therefore, signs are manifest as a gift from the Creator along with the tools to recognize the signs themselves and their inherent, obvious and unobvious meanings.
If we are to recognize these signs there must be a means for translating existence into context and for that reason Allah must have established Time as a resting place for both the signs and their hidden and unhidden congruent and incongruent meanings.
The creation cannot be held in equivalence with the Creator for obvious reasons. The Creator does not demand the existence of the creation however the creation demands the existence of the Creator for its meaning, signs and presence. Without a Creator there ceases to be a need for the creation and this is where modernity fails to explain a variety of things about life all the while it tries desperately to do so through psychology, science, spirituality, athiesm, luck and logic to name a few. There is no end point to this affair until such a time that a person succumbs to the idea that their own existence depends on the creation itself which in turn depends on the role of the Creator.
Knowledge is finite (in Time) even when it is infinite (beyond Time) and even when it appears to have reached it’s endpoint because knowledge is a possession not a trait. It can only be awarded through seeking it honestly and can only be removed through disability of the seeker, mutilation of the information by others utilizing a type of magic which encourages the seeker to acquiesce to such trickery or denial of the existence of Truth. Therefore, knowledge depends on both Truth and Time but does not depend on the finitude or infinitude of itself but rather the other way around. Truth then does not depend on knowledge and it is exactly that measure of certitude in anything at all that leads a seeker forward or backward either toward the goal or away from it. The goal being Truth, the mechanism being Knowledge, the vehicle Time.
Seekers who follow the wrong paths on the way to knowledge will inevitably either go back to find out where they become lost, will give up and rest at the point where progress is no longer possible or will fall off the ledge completely to their own physical and/or spiritual death (by ‘going back’ on their initial promise to seek knowledge honestly). Knowledge does have an endpoint but it cannot be fathomed by human eyes because the trap of knowing enough is as bad as not knowing enough. Knowing too much (arrogance) for one’s own good is a false precaution in a world that has far more opportunities for learning that it has moments or mankind to find them. Knowledge and the extent of knowledge knows only one limitation and that would be where it meets with Truth and in essence, becomes Truth and no longer resembles mere knowledge (of which so much is made and rightly so). There has to be a limit upon knowledge then but only for the fact that it ceases to exist in the presence of Truth which for the purposes of defining it must either be infinitely large or infinitely small or both. It is the case obviously that Truth's border with Knowledge stands at the gates of Death because Death is by far the most known and unknown thing mankind understands.
Arrogance is linked to Ignorance in tune, tone and meaning for good reason.
The creation is with truth created and created it is by the Creator who is known by many other names including the Originator because in essence that is the definition of creation.
Without signs in the creation there is no knowledge of the creation and therefore, signs are manifest as a gift from the Creator along with the tools to recognize the signs themselves and their inherent, obvious and unobvious meanings.
If we are to recognize these signs there must be a means for translating existence into context and for that reason Allah must have established Time as a resting place for both the signs and their hidden and unhidden congruent and incongruent meanings.
The creation cannot be held in equivalence with the Creator for obvious reasons. The Creator does not demand the existence of the creation however the creation demands the existence of the Creator for its meaning, signs and presence. Without a Creator there ceases to be a need for the creation and this is where modernity fails to explain a variety of things about life all the while it tries desperately to do so through psychology, science, spirituality, athiesm, luck and logic to name a few. There is no end point to this affair until such a time that a person succumbs to the idea that their own existence depends on the creation itself which in turn depends on the role of the Creator.
Knowledge is finite (in Time) even when it is infinite (beyond Time) and even when it appears to have reached it’s endpoint because knowledge is a possession not a trait. It can only be awarded through seeking it honestly and can only be removed through disability of the seeker, mutilation of the information by others utilizing a type of magic which encourages the seeker to acquiesce to such trickery or denial of the existence of Truth. Therefore, knowledge depends on both Truth and Time but does not depend on the finitude or infinitude of itself but rather the other way around. Truth then does not depend on knowledge and it is exactly that measure of certitude in anything at all that leads a seeker forward or backward either toward the goal or away from it. The goal being Truth, the mechanism being Knowledge, the vehicle Time.
Seekers who follow the wrong paths on the way to knowledge will inevitably either go back to find out where they become lost, will give up and rest at the point where progress is no longer possible or will fall off the ledge completely to their own physical and/or spiritual death (by ‘going back’ on their initial promise to seek knowledge honestly). Knowledge does have an endpoint but it cannot be fathomed by human eyes because the trap of knowing enough is as bad as not knowing enough. Knowing too much (arrogance) for one’s own good is a false precaution in a world that has far more opportunities for learning that it has moments or mankind to find them. Knowledge and the extent of knowledge knows only one limitation and that would be where it meets with Truth and in essence, becomes Truth and no longer resembles mere knowledge (of which so much is made and rightly so). There has to be a limit upon knowledge then but only for the fact that it ceases to exist in the presence of Truth which for the purposes of defining it must either be infinitely large or infinitely small or both. It is the case obviously that Truth's border with Knowledge stands at the gates of Death because Death is by far the most known and unknown thing mankind understands.
So much must then depend on Time and the constraints of Time. As part of the creation, the Creator is not dependent upon Time nor subject to the willful nature of Time as a subtractive and subjective process, in other words, a continual process of loss. To lose time means to lose the chance to have knowledge and therefore Death intervenes and prevents and is feared.
Arrogance is linked to Ignorance in tune, tone and meaning for good reason.
He Pointed To Her Picture
Disease embellishes those with resignation
and poverty the garment upon which it is
worn or worn out even though there are ample
lesions into the body that the wondrous
bandages might destroy by filling
the measurements in as days go by,
no one can recover the last few pieces.
There are poems about birds and love,
poems about poems and even about words
but few indeed are the poems about
the unfortunate lot waiting in their rooms
for the caregivers to arrive with washclothes
who will try to remove the stink and prepare
the bedside tables for the long afternoons
in the prison of stroke and trouble.
Disease embellishes those with resignation
and poverty the garment upon which it is
worn or worn out even though there are ample
lesions into the body that the wondrous
bandages might destroy by filling
the measurements in as days go by,
no one can recover the last few pieces.
There are poems about birds and love,
poems about poems and even about words
but few indeed are the poems about
the unfortunate lot waiting in their rooms
for the caregivers to arrive with washclothes
who will try to remove the stink and prepare
the bedside tables for the long afternoons
in the prison of stroke and trouble.
10.3.10
Wrong
The mechanism is too big to manage,
to small to see, uncover
the wound it makes, wet
pulled together samples of
raw meat organized to crave,
to suckle and eliminate,
in other words, to coagulate.
However small, however light
such omnivores, the brilliant
conductors of search and rescue
chant their silent sermon
one crunch after another.
Take one or two, the pile
will continue and recover,
the legend will have
a share and though it is
dress rehearsal,
the remedial dose
given to the father
will hone in on the son
and make little difference.
Too late is afterall, too late.
Although sympathy is in order
repugnance shows up sooner
and with that confusing aroma,
the devil's name is despondence.
One nanosecond of hell is worse
than hell to the cautious
who remain wary and patient,
better yet than never.
what if?
rather than when.
The mechanism is too big to manage,
to small to see, uncover
the wound it makes, wet
pulled together samples of
raw meat organized to crave,
to suckle and eliminate,
in other words, to coagulate.
However small, however light
such omnivores, the brilliant
conductors of search and rescue
chant their silent sermon
one crunch after another.
Take one or two, the pile
will continue and recover,
the legend will have
a share and though it is
dress rehearsal,
the remedial dose
given to the father
will hone in on the son
and make little difference.
Too late is afterall, too late.
Although sympathy is in order
repugnance shows up sooner
and with that confusing aroma,
the devil's name is despondence.
One nanosecond of hell is worse
than hell to the cautious
who remain wary and patient,
better yet than never.
what if?
rather than when.
5.3.10
4.3.10
1.3.10
21.2.10
Rain
Yes I am
the
SC in the debut
promotional copy,
blonde yes, single
yes but
hooping
parrot
drivel dumping
the action
all vegan
contemporary
all virgin
patriotic like
vacation
empty
vineyard
like a vineyard
our bed
and breakfast
some of that
antichrist
going on
we there
yet?
consumer
survey
on the scanner
easy as 1-2-3
deregulated
exchanged
the empire
falls more
quietly
Yes I am
the
SC in the debut
promotional copy,
blonde yes, single
yes but
hooping
parrot
drivel dumping
the action
all vegan
contemporary
all virgin
patriotic like
vacation
empty
vineyard
like a vineyard
our bed
and breakfast
some of that
antichrist
going on
we there
yet?
consumer
survey
on the scanner
easy as 1-2-3
deregulated
exchanged
the empire
falls more
quietly
16.2.10
Review in Golden Handcuffs
Under the Dome, Walks with Paul Celan
And further into #12 we run across some silly poetry by Robin Blaser....language is love being one of the silliest poems I've ever seen.....while reading Buk of late, Slouching Towards Nirvana...wondering why in the hell is this meaningful...other than the fact that he notes how impertinent it is to guess about such things and by the end of that magnificent tome, he reveals the dangers of living dangerously and not dying soon enough i.e. prior to the perfunctory embarrassment of poets who have outlasted their shelf life and then some...there is this wonderful response to a libretto written by Blaser. The response no doubt is better than the libretto:
http://www.goldenhandcuffsreview.com/gh12content/24.html
FACING UP TO THE SUBTERRANEAN STREAM
the challenge of Robin Blaser’s libretto
by Patrick Wright
This matter concerns me deeply as it does Black Moses who lent to me his copy of Fear and Trembling written of course by Soren Kierkegaard (and whenever I read such things I remember Joseph Campbell's advice to seek one's bliss through the company of stranger's and their books.....which I intersperse with a Regency Romance just for kicks and to make other people wonder what is going on to do such a thing!). What gets me is the notion that throughout all of these notable articles on such theological cul de sacs, not any or many or even one mentions the missing pieces. No wonder they end up sad, frustrated and writing more of the same...about each other, through each other, over each other.
"This need to go on is of ancient standing." -Kierkegaard
Under the Dome, Walks with Paul Celan
And further into #12 we run across some silly poetry by Robin Blaser....language is love being one of the silliest poems I've ever seen.....while reading Buk of late, Slouching Towards Nirvana...wondering why in the hell is this meaningful...other than the fact that he notes how impertinent it is to guess about such things and by the end of that magnificent tome, he reveals the dangers of living dangerously and not dying soon enough i.e. prior to the perfunctory embarrassment of poets who have outlasted their shelf life and then some...there is this wonderful response to a libretto written by Blaser. The response no doubt is better than the libretto:
http://www.goldenhandcuffsreview.com/gh12content/24.html
FACING UP TO THE SUBTERRANEAN STREAM
the challenge of Robin Blaser’s libretto
by Patrick Wright
This matter concerns me deeply as it does Black Moses who lent to me his copy of Fear and Trembling written of course by Soren Kierkegaard (and whenever I read such things I remember Joseph Campbell's advice to seek one's bliss through the company of stranger's and their books.....which I intersperse with a Regency Romance just for kicks and to make other people wonder what is going on to do such a thing!). What gets me is the notion that throughout all of these notable articles on such theological cul de sacs, not any or many or even one mentions the missing pieces. No wonder they end up sad, frustrated and writing more of the same...about each other, through each other, over each other.
"This need to go on is of ancient standing." -Kierkegaard
Miles and Miles
It would be impolite to be sick
right now, to run a fever
join the aches and pains
but if we did it together
at the same time, it might
just be a vacation.
Thirty hours is such a long
time to be apart
and that is what it is isn't it?
Riyadh-London-Chicago-Tucson
and then
you there, me here but at that
we are quite good.
Now you here (no snow or delay
beset you on your journey)
me, I am here, can touch you and if so,
then how about spending a day
sick in our bed, fever
running, clock ticking, the sun
shining together, all at once.
We might wake up.
It would be impolite to be sick
right now, to run a fever
join the aches and pains
but if we did it together
at the same time, it might
just be a vacation.
Thirty hours is such a long
time to be apart
and that is what it is isn't it?
Riyadh-London-Chicago-Tucson
and then
you there, me here but at that
we are quite good.
Now you here (no snow or delay
beset you on your journey)
me, I am here, can touch you and if so,
then how about spending a day
sick in our bed, fever
running, clock ticking, the sun
shining together, all at once.
We might wake up.
15.2.10
Glue Factory
It won't go well if the ink cannot
remember, something so small
it cannot be erased, so large
it will not be found. Nearly
there, it's almost Tucson
in really bad timing
to wear the best dress
and bring several
bad examples to the airport,
the birds drown us
with their courage
and what about bird?
It isn't the job nor the laundry,
it isn't even the degradation.
The neighbors don't know yet
do they? Has anyone counted
the fingerprints, aroused
any curiosity at all?
All the index does
it does again,
it is outrageous,
those bricks were
already broken and the sand
in the right places, the tablets
could not melt or reconoit,
until the map was a map
and the road a road,
no friend could assume
the lesson or that one
hoped to sell albumin
instead of roan-colored horses
amidst the semen and the sage.
It won't go well if the ink cannot
remember, something so small
it cannot be erased, so large
it will not be found. Nearly
there, it's almost Tucson
in really bad timing
to wear the best dress
and bring several
bad examples to the airport,
the birds drown us
with their courage
and what about bird?
It isn't the job nor the laundry,
it isn't even the degradation.
The neighbors don't know yet
do they? Has anyone counted
the fingerprints, aroused
any curiosity at all?
All the index does
it does again,
it is outrageous,
those bricks were
already broken and the sand
in the right places, the tablets
could not melt or reconoit,
until the map was a map
and the road a road,
no friend could assume
the lesson or that one
hoped to sell albumin
instead of roan-colored horses
amidst the semen and the sage.
12.2.10
To The Mideival World To Be
Not what you think after all
pours the juices
into the crucible of desires
with the accuracy of surgical
steel contemporary soul
might and wisdom vernaculars
distressed factory to you
barbarians fastidious codes
clip currencies alter gross
national products and proliferations
from Biblical whores to whores not
fiat emergency but handwashing
remains the most cost effective
way to prevent the outcome
deserve and demanded
subconsciously effecting whole
lifestyles rather than simplicity
craved after and caved into
upright then walk
into the abyss or shuffle
sky god(s) you dirty rat(s) and rascal(s)
come hither and smite
risk annunciation precipitate
the parable for which
we keep in touch with
polytheists scholars and handclappers
do not ask what is believed
for it is the case that is what
is believed not what is accurate
sentimentally logical compunction
of one supercedence gospel
(aptly, of the fittest)
the physiognomic cosmic threat
facing most people today
is hard to arrive at
and predestined to deploy
via sub-molecular bi-codon miraculology.
Not what you think after all
pours the juices
into the crucible of desires
with the accuracy of surgical
steel contemporary soul
might and wisdom vernaculars
distressed factory to you
barbarians fastidious codes
clip currencies alter gross
national products and proliferations
from Biblical whores to whores not
fiat emergency but handwashing
remains the most cost effective
way to prevent the outcome
deserve and demanded
subconsciously effecting whole
lifestyles rather than simplicity
craved after and caved into
upright then walk
into the abyss or shuffle
sky god(s) you dirty rat(s) and rascal(s)
come hither and smite
risk annunciation precipitate
the parable for which
we keep in touch with
polytheists scholars and handclappers
do not ask what is believed
for it is the case that is what
is believed not what is accurate
sentimentally logical compunction
of one supercedence gospel
(aptly, of the fittest)
the physiognomic cosmic threat
facing most people today
is hard to arrive at
and predestined to deploy
via sub-molecular bi-codon miraculology.
9.2.10
SLAM JOB
I received a poem from "Anonymous Poet" in response a poem recently cited that to me was particularly poignant...as a recluse, exiled poet who lives in her own home town, ironically. Who has lost another job due to my insistence on good behavior in light of such bad behavior from ...oh...a variety of characters in the plot. Ah, it's not so bad...I have a couple of houses and a piece of land somewhere else...I always have somewhere to go and poetry can sustain a soul through alot of irritable times. Not bad times because being jobless doesn't constitute a 'bad time' so much as it is an irritable time.
Anyway....here is what "Anonymous Poet" had to say:
The cloaked actor siphoned my soul in sand grain increments
The mono virgin pulse refracts the gonzo honesty of
the stereo master.
On chewing gum pavements Kneecap-begging beneath cupid for the bio-password - 'the flesh permit'.
Cliched lights humming cliched stories in the cliched moon hours.
The marathon atoms hurling towards the symbol
From kite perspectives they landscape sex-futures, the gust released her.
- Anonymous poet.
Now there are some interesting word choices in there....and it does boil down to word choices in poetry regardless of a poet's intentions, political stance or other sundry influences upon our delicate minds and bodies (as poets not to mention just as people).
GONZO is one. I am a real fan of Hunter, loved the movie and grew up on a diet of Fear and Loathing but from a perspective that I won't share here...too personal.
BIO-PASSWORD....don't you mean PISS word? That would be funnier.
MARATHON ATOMS.....now this is a cheap date. Dutch.
MOON.....well....in the history of Lilac's purpled prose, I have often cited the need to decrease the number of times a poet uses certain words in their entire canon and MOON is one of them. If this is your pick to use the fabled MOON word then so be it. It shouldn't be wasted on drivel however, if you ask me...which obviously you didn't.
SYMBOL....like, ok. Symbol. Personally I think it is best to invent one.
GUST...never end a poem with something that might reveal the hot-airedness of a piece. Poems ought not end with commands to the reader to do something rather, they best end by showing the reader how to feel something or remember something and maybe even, learn something or hey, laugh at something and in that case, you win. I laughed and perhaps I even farted.
Nice try but no cigar. Here, try this:
Anthropomorphisin for What Ails You
copyright 2010 patent pending, all rights reserved, etcetera
Supplied as effervescent tablets
developed by PaidWellConsulta
services at the institute of labcoats
which have been starched
under strict conditions
of conduct and reliability
by Smith-Hollenger dry cleaning, the blade
wiped and concluded that
postnatal demise is a feature
not a fate/fatal/nor fetal
subject to hormone DU casualty
intervention or swaddling
leeching disconjugate hydrogen
links saturated polysaccharide
in compound reduction chambers
of ass-grabbing tender photocopier
memories of such and same dependent
laws, regulations and so forth
clauses and so on complete adverse
reactions stated clearly
isotopy in the literature
plus company benefits package
her hair I remember
was done up in one of those
whirly kinds of pins
for safety and hygienic
exposure to radiological
serums and vaccins, Fr.
to control the spread of
variant wild type I and II
rather than the polka dot
derivative scale versus gender
age county ethnicity
diverse fecund correlative
specs of night vision goggles
in this series and as such
bona fide returns equal less deaths
market analysis suggests
in separate models proved
to be of use in clinical trials
trends microcosms of flesh and blood
one application tiny daggers of 10-20 microns length
which leave nothing at all
to collect or contain,
saving storage and disposal costs
in the dangerous mud
museum of post holocaustic war
after the international covenants
were broke, then hidden
and citizens stopped asking.
I received a poem from "Anonymous Poet" in response a poem recently cited that to me was particularly poignant...as a recluse, exiled poet who lives in her own home town, ironically. Who has lost another job due to my insistence on good behavior in light of such bad behavior from ...oh...a variety of characters in the plot. Ah, it's not so bad...I have a couple of houses and a piece of land somewhere else...I always have somewhere to go and poetry can sustain a soul through alot of irritable times. Not bad times because being jobless doesn't constitute a 'bad time' so much as it is an irritable time.
Anyway....here is what "Anonymous Poet" had to say:
The cloaked actor siphoned my soul in sand grain increments
The mono virgin pulse refracts the gonzo honesty of
the stereo master.
On chewing gum pavements Kneecap-begging beneath cupid for the bio-password - 'the flesh permit'.
Cliched lights humming cliched stories in the cliched moon hours.
The marathon atoms hurling towards the symbol
From kite perspectives they landscape sex-futures, the gust released her.
- Anonymous poet.
Now there are some interesting word choices in there....and it does boil down to word choices in poetry regardless of a poet's intentions, political stance or other sundry influences upon our delicate minds and bodies (as poets not to mention just as people).
GONZO is one. I am a real fan of Hunter, loved the movie and grew up on a diet of Fear and Loathing but from a perspective that I won't share here...too personal.
BIO-PASSWORD....don't you mean PISS word? That would be funnier.
MARATHON ATOMS.....now this is a cheap date. Dutch.
MOON.....well....in the history of Lilac's purpled prose, I have often cited the need to decrease the number of times a poet uses certain words in their entire canon and MOON is one of them. If this is your pick to use the fabled MOON word then so be it. It shouldn't be wasted on drivel however, if you ask me...which obviously you didn't.
SYMBOL....like, ok. Symbol. Personally I think it is best to invent one.
GUST...never end a poem with something that might reveal the hot-airedness of a piece. Poems ought not end with commands to the reader to do something rather, they best end by showing the reader how to feel something or remember something and maybe even, learn something or hey, laugh at something and in that case, you win. I laughed and perhaps I even farted.
Nice try but no cigar. Here, try this:
Anthropomorphisin for What Ails You
copyright 2010 patent pending, all rights reserved, etcetera
Supplied as effervescent tablets
developed by PaidWellConsulta
services at the institute of labcoats
which have been starched
under strict conditions
of conduct and reliability
by Smith-Hollenger dry cleaning, the blade
wiped and concluded that
postnatal demise is a feature
not a fate/fatal/nor fetal
subject to hormone DU casualty
intervention or swaddling
leeching disconjugate hydrogen
links saturated polysaccharide
in compound reduction chambers
of ass-grabbing tender photocopier
memories of such and same dependent
laws, regulations and so forth
clauses and so on complete adverse
reactions stated clearly
isotopy in the literature
plus company benefits package
her hair I remember
was done up in one of those
whirly kinds of pins
for safety and hygienic
exposure to radiological
serums and vaccins, Fr.
to control the spread of
variant wild type I and II
rather than the polka dot
derivative scale versus gender
age county ethnicity
diverse fecund correlative
specs of night vision goggles
in this series and as such
bona fide returns equal less deaths
market analysis suggests
in separate models proved
to be of use in clinical trials
trends microcosms of flesh and blood
one application tiny daggers of 10-20 microns length
which leave nothing at all
to collect or contain,
saving storage and disposal costs
in the dangerous mud
museum of post holocaustic war
after the international covenants
were broke, then hidden
and citizens stopped asking.
7.2.10
I found this poem particularly pleasing, astute. Just enough misery in there coupled with a touch of hope and caution, reality and soul. It is written by J. Allyn Rosser a teacher at Ohio University.
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=28098
have soured through bad alloys
of companionship, diet, occupation—"
Well said.
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=28098
From the poem, Coming Your Way
"And now this woman whose good intentionshave soured through bad alloys
of companionship, diet, occupation—"
Well said.
Body of Chemotonins from, The Body.doc, Specimen A
Near the bottom scrape
against it searching it-in vain
for the dreamy obturator past the wedding
no mere accident the accelerator
cut fibers that descend punch out
deep and superficial inguinal rings
Saturn and Jupiter plexus
in the antero-latero aspect
distal bifurcate which terminates
oblique contra iliopubic eminence
squeeze damn you squeeze
gray water the magic potion
of deliverance or creation
barstool onto, stirrup into
where she lay on the median
Drop by drop leaks the contagion
into the jejunum this biliary
chemotonin which hasn't been
thus far used to describe
any of the features
so it is trademarked here
first usage and so on.
Near the bottom scrape
against it searching it-in vain
for the dreamy obturator past the wedding
no mere accident the accelerator
cut fibers that descend punch out
deep and superficial inguinal rings
Saturn and Jupiter plexus
in the antero-latero aspect
distal bifurcate which terminates
oblique contra iliopubic eminence
squeeze damn you squeeze
gray water the magic potion
of deliverance or creation
barstool onto, stirrup into
where she lay on the median
Drop by drop leaks the contagion
into the jejunum this biliary
chemotonin which hasn't been
thus far used to describe
any of the features
so it is trademarked here
first usage and so on.
5.2.10
Shatter, February 5 2010
Look up there the car landed
in front of us and behind
the sign rewind to the tree
which upended
the roots savagely torn
teased bad hair or tangled
necklaces and then
this car landed
in the middle of the road
it teetered like a quarter
does before it ends the spin.
Inside were no bodies
no cries it turned
the color of a shipwreck
as it condensed.
My foot out of the door
cigarette flung dramatically
after one last puff to prepare
for that, ready to apply care
to caution, fate, prognosis
to cure, align, designate
pump, call, interupt
and drive over the shatter.
It is the case that there are no accidents
no trees suddenly uprooted or cars
burning or blocking the way.
It is the case that for each one
the vision made particular sense
that day but had it occurred
in two weeks (as it must,
somewhere else) the meaning
would be quite different.
II.
An owl was killed on this road,
I wrapped him, prayed, touched
his beautiful feathers, looked
into his eyes and his life
that I supposedly had taken away
then I laid him in the proper direction
under a mesquite and walked away.
A tree was uprooted in this place.
The wind had knocked it down
but ignored the others. I cut it
into several pieces and will wait
to burn it next year.
A car was flipped in front of us.
I stopped and looked at it,
tried to contain my pride,
the knowledge of witness
and I told the driver
to thank Allah before I left.
I met several people at the right time,
in the right place. Her Quincinera
will not proceed, her object
had been stolen or given away.
There was nothing but to grieve
with her, learn to live quietly,
to watch, to pay attention.
His glasses and her glasses
broke at the very
same hour, on the very same day
and at maghrib, the ability to see
is very important. Very important.
Two groups of birds came in
at dusk with a great noise.
Last year if you remember,
we were almost ready to leave
the pond in Elfrida, the birds
seemed to have gone away,
already performed their migration,
and then all of a sudden
a group flew directly over us,
over me and reminded us
to be patient, last year.
I informed you of this thing.
Yesterday at the pond
which had been refreshed
with winter rains, I knew to be patient,
I learned to wait, to walk slower.
I walked to the other side
of the pond so that I wouldn't
be tempted to leave before
they returned from their day's
journey, to witness their
beautiful return. I wasn't wrong
and not one but two very large groups
came in from two different directions,
aiming for the same reflection
on the water in the core
of this old desert.
Not just large groups, but really large.
The noise that they made
was enormous. They wrote
a verse on the sky
but I couldn't read it,
I could only hear
their recitation
at maghrib, after all
the watchers had abandoned
not just the banks of the pond
but the great colors
and great darkness
after the sun sheds
its light on the water,
the cranes, the maghrib, the peace,
the blessed events and reactions.
III.
The birds fight too
they don't remember
They do not write it down.
The Flock, February 28 2009
-we keep asking the dead
all the wrong questions. -Darla Whitehead, The Long Storm
Here the word ends,
End too to end tends,
At you no end bends. -Musavi Garmarudi
9:00 a.m.
The tumour showed up
on the way to Oklahoma
about four years ago,
I believe in Jesus
she said to me
we're on our way
and can't take it
haggling over the price
of like new glass end tables
or sins, I don't know-
it's a yard sale,
I believe in Jesus
beet red, I must have turned
to look at the knick-knacks.
Her husband wants to be
a mortician she says,
in Oklahoma I believe in Jesus,
as if belief in lymphoma
makes it right.
Her wig band clearly visible
the sallow blend of skin
she was always brown
always believed in Jesus
though, amen, amen, amen.
5:45 p.m.
at Whitewater Draw
where the Sandhill Cranes
come and go on a yearly basis,
water table drops and leaves
cracky mud and gnats, the flock
mostly on the far banks
unwilling to move in a little
closer so that we might
hear them or feel their
territorial bicker.
Oh, last October there were 15,000
that left in March.
It's only February now
and the sun is setting down,
real fast, it is hopeless.
At the very last moment,
just like Firon when the sea
finally convinced him
one large group circled over
and the pattern
of wings as the sun
lit up the feathers
from underneath,
and the engine
of wings roaring
and the breeze
and yes,
the Good News
just before the Magrhib.
1:30 p.m.
The Jehovah's Witness
comes over about
once a month to bring
us the new Watchtower.
She is a real nice lady afterall.
I keep telling myself,
don't talk back, don't talk back.
Look up there the car landed
in front of us and behind
the sign rewind to the tree
which upended
the roots savagely torn
teased bad hair or tangled
necklaces and then
this car landed
in the middle of the road
it teetered like a quarter
does before it ends the spin.
Inside were no bodies
no cries it turned
the color of a shipwreck
as it condensed.
My foot out of the door
cigarette flung dramatically
after one last puff to prepare
for that, ready to apply care
to caution, fate, prognosis
to cure, align, designate
pump, call, interupt
and drive over the shatter.
It is the case that there are no accidents
no trees suddenly uprooted or cars
burning or blocking the way.
It is the case that for each one
the vision made particular sense
that day but had it occurred
in two weeks (as it must,
somewhere else) the meaning
would be quite different.
II.
An owl was killed on this road,
I wrapped him, prayed, touched
his beautiful feathers, looked
into his eyes and his life
that I supposedly had taken away
then I laid him in the proper direction
under a mesquite and walked away.
A tree was uprooted in this place.
The wind had knocked it down
but ignored the others. I cut it
into several pieces and will wait
to burn it next year.
A car was flipped in front of us.
I stopped and looked at it,
tried to contain my pride,
the knowledge of witness
and I told the driver
to thank Allah before I left.
I met several people at the right time,
in the right place. Her Quincinera
will not proceed, her object
had been stolen or given away.
There was nothing but to grieve
with her, learn to live quietly,
to watch, to pay attention.
His glasses and her glasses
broke at the very
same hour, on the very same day
and at maghrib, the ability to see
is very important. Very important.
Two groups of birds came in
at dusk with a great noise.
Last year if you remember,
we were almost ready to leave
the pond in Elfrida, the birds
seemed to have gone away,
already performed their migration,
and then all of a sudden
a group flew directly over us,
over me and reminded us
to be patient, last year.
I informed you of this thing.
Yesterday at the pond
which had been refreshed
with winter rains, I knew to be patient,
I learned to wait, to walk slower.
I walked to the other side
of the pond so that I wouldn't
be tempted to leave before
they returned from their day's
journey, to witness their
beautiful return. I wasn't wrong
and not one but two very large groups
came in from two different directions,
aiming for the same reflection
on the water in the core
of this old desert.
Not just large groups, but really large.
The noise that they made
was enormous. They wrote
a verse on the sky
but I couldn't read it,
I could only hear
their recitation
at maghrib, after all
the watchers had abandoned
not just the banks of the pond
but the great colors
and great darkness
after the sun sheds
its light on the water,
the cranes, the maghrib, the peace,
the blessed events and reactions.
III.
The birds fight too
they don't remember
They do not write it down.
The Flock, February 28 2009
-we keep asking the dead
all the wrong questions. -Darla Whitehead, The Long Storm
Here the word ends,
End too to end tends,
At you no end bends. -Musavi Garmarudi
9:00 a.m.
The tumour showed up
on the way to Oklahoma
about four years ago,
I believe in Jesus
she said to me
we're on our way
and can't take it
haggling over the price
of like new glass end tables
or sins, I don't know-
it's a yard sale,
I believe in Jesus
beet red, I must have turned
to look at the knick-knacks.
Her husband wants to be
a mortician she says,
in Oklahoma I believe in Jesus,
as if belief in lymphoma
makes it right.
Her wig band clearly visible
the sallow blend of skin
she was always brown
always believed in Jesus
though, amen, amen, amen.
5:45 p.m.
at Whitewater Draw
where the Sandhill Cranes
come and go on a yearly basis,
water table drops and leaves
cracky mud and gnats, the flock
mostly on the far banks
unwilling to move in a little
closer so that we might
hear them or feel their
territorial bicker.
Oh, last October there were 15,000
that left in March.
It's only February now
and the sun is setting down,
real fast, it is hopeless.
At the very last moment,
just like Firon when the sea
finally convinced him
one large group circled over
and the pattern
of wings as the sun
lit up the feathers
from underneath,
and the engine
of wings roaring
and the breeze
and yes,
the Good News
just before the Magrhib.
1:30 p.m.
The Jehovah's Witness
comes over about
once a month to bring
us the new Watchtower.
She is a real nice lady afterall.
I keep telling myself,
don't talk back, don't talk back.
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