Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

more poems

April 23, 2013

Some poems from the last half a year or so. read the tags to see what they’re all about 🙂

phone
Replaced Screen

Pry it open
Snap it back
Call the East
To fix a crack

Appease our deep consumer lust
For false, convincing copyright
And reach us with the creeping shadow
Cast by Beijing’s city light



Passenger

Saw a number
On an arm
On a woman
On a bus
In a decade
Whose tired limb
Will remind
The rest of us?



Windows Media Player Time Machine

My dear Nicolas, my sweet Django,
Dress me up in shades of Gipsy.
I’ll be your Gitana, ruffles swirling,
Your lorn Third Reich jazz refugee.



Campaign

We are but a faint rebuttal
As the warlords tightly cuddle,
Hiding clocks with broken gears
To reminisce on fonder years.

Washing us with fruitless vision
Rife with paranoid derision,
Out of instinct, feathers rustle,
Adding to the furious bustle.

Captive spirit once departed,
Rigging games before they’ve started,
Feeble minds clung to division
Clear space for your next incision.



Be Mine, My Other

The slumber stalls
For waves of thoughts
Identities
Haves and have nots.

–Filter me through your sifter
–Bend me like a shape shifter

Twinkling lights and knit hats,
Posh tri-lingual welcome mats



Makers

Did Your skilled hands form us,
Give breath to the stale dust,
Weave tendon and sinew,
Or did we create You?

The holy one
Blessed be He
The only one
Blessed be We



Ode

But Thee I adore
In pureness of spirit
In loathing of doubt
I tremble, I cower
Before Thee,
O, Wonder

To Him that establishes the mountains,
Towering with naive faith.
To Him that compels the tides,
Crashing with baseless conviction.
To Him that commands the winds,
Erratic with blind contradiction.

And I, but a child
Ever longing for a Father
Shall know synaptic clefts
As cleaving to Thy breast



First Degree

Double slanted cross check
Thus the fool regresses,
Wanting the first letters switched
By the triple exes



Logic

A quiet thought quite
A comfort: not always fright
No, dear, not always spite
No, Lord, but
Mercy – dare – love carries
Meek me, meager me, even me.
My shallow, selfish soul grants
Pardon.
So, pardon me, but
How much more, dear,
How much more, must
Any just author of them
Both grant?


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poems

July 17, 2012

no, i’m not back to blogging. that’s a terrible idea. recently i’ve been encouraged to post up some of my random bits of poetry…sometimes obnoxiously rhyming, sorry…anyway…here…a poem or 10 🙂


In the Club

I seek a song spun from within
That hums with fragrance, wit, and time,
But formulas seep through my pen
Creating marks not fully mine.


The Blonde

Dreams brought to me a premonition,
A fearful sight to clear my vision:
Fate’s forecast harshly proclaimed
With traits too truthful to be feigned.

“Dear, you are lucky,” I was told,
“To know just what the future holds.”
But how dreadful this luck is;
What devastating blows it gives.

Then graciously I am compelled
To recall in whose hands I’m held.


A Song of Hope

There is a dysfunction that drives away reason
A demon inflamed
Corrupt, unashamed
By it we may disregard lessons learned
Transcend healthy fear
To dare persevere
Through long, painful pathways which lead to dead ends
We live and we cope
We cannot lose hope


Refuge

two stakes to bind
one to
one from
two stakes to tear

oh, cover me in crimson!
gush
flow
trickle
plateau
as an indigo mark of undying faith.
…but my world for just one scar.

a place of silenced struggle lies buried near the planes;
lies here.
i too desire to be a place.
my arms ache to be a refuge.


 

Fond of the substance or just the idea –
Like Niña, like Pinta, like Santa Maria?
Far from the homeland to conquer new shores,
She sails toward the East, but the West she explores.

How violently vibrant, compellingly lush
The sweet earth she hungered to make her domain.
In conquests intended to cradle, not crush
The land spat her weak armies out with disdain.

Poor conquistadora, explore other ground.
You’ll never be lord of the Eden you found.


Ode to Inventor of the Web Rotary Printing Press, William Bullock:

In Philli he installed his printing machine.
It fell on his toe. It led to gangrene.
He died when the doc botched a rough amputation.
A sad complication of Will’s installation.


Three Sixty Something

Two wants of mine create abrasion.
The first one shall not be acquired.
The second is annihilation
Of that which was first desired.


To Stay

What allure you possess, lovely among the continents:
Of losing myself in your dewy, green serenity
Of resting my defenses in your calm, grey neutrality
Of dusting off, like grains of Negev sand, Zion’s spiteful sun


Unrecognized

The pleasure of peach pixel pixie dust scattered.
Black smears on white linen laced with hopes shattered
Find me, contentment, in other shaped vessels
Than boiled blood of blind men and mandible nestles.


Popular but Rarely Discussed

Your scent insinuates sweet satisfaction.
But you are only sugar substitute
Convincing until swallowed
With a bleak, barren aftertaste.

I know.
I already knew.
I have always known that you are a cunning siren,
That your inviting murmur is elegant deceit.
But knowledge is a useless device in your presence,
Debilitated by the flood of your entrancing song.

Not in ignorance, but in weakness
I follow your melodic falsehoods.
Your lies of life beyond the shore
Leave me a corpse carried indifferently by a vacant sea.


On Paper

By virtue of birth, most men have one.
Across this walled line, most men have none.
Ever entangled in cleansing and war,
One for each instance, they grant me two more.

What is your meaning, you colorful three,
You branding reflection of my history:
For rights,
For rights denied,
For denying rights to others.

A trio of booklets to open vast gates,
Have you atonement power for hate?
Hope seeds itself in your bright potential
Which likelihood states is inconsequential.

poemish?

March 8, 2010
these once solid particles i held now sublimate
and wisp through the crevices of my nearly emptied embrace.
hydrogen escorting oxygen seep abundant, seek escape,
and all is absorbed by the rock that remains.
appearing lack-luster, its rough edges cutting,
emitting subtle flickers of a hidden fiery core.
its matter cannot be changed, but is certain to transform.
and dare i let it slip through my grasp, i too will slip away.
so i fuse it to the violet supplier, bind it to the grey processor,
meld it to the red enforcer, that we will not be moved.