Posts tagged ‘prose’

October 21, 2014

The North Shore

Drift wood lie on the ground bent
Fixed there in midday sun ease,
Exhausted on mind’s fickle intent
Hard resting, come at fast release

Visible footprints mark this stroll,
Paths we meet coming toward,
Gambling dice we take a roll
Wagering what value we can afford

Making way we wander ’round
Pleasantly procured- what sight we sought;
Relishing that which we have found,
Making play with thoughts wrought

Likewise we stand the surrounding wilderness we stare,
Taking inside us breath, becoming alive through fresh air.

October 19, 2014

The Mississippi River in La Crosse

I recall the smell of fish from the brown water
And white caps rising high—
Brown, dirty… undulating—
Ducks stood in speckled sands,
Trash mixed rock…
And a cloud passes overhead
Casting a new shadow;
Ducks waddle under the dock,
Disappear
And below they quack.
And I see boats
Moving across the River,
And waves,
And I see that water
Has been moving past.

***
Inspired by Frank Herbert’s Dune: (source: Unbroken Thread): One of Gurney Halleck’s Tone Poems for Sad Times

October 17, 2014

Moments in Autumn

Brittle leaves chased round a bus,
Clouds layered dark, hung above.
Traffic lights; sparked and changed,
Trees kept at bent in long headwind.
Walking stiff with faces downcast,
In sweaters—sweats; cotton warmth.
Moving towards bleak and gray day,
Chilled in each windowsill opaque;
Book-bags, pumpkin spice, cigarettes, wait…

October 15, 2014

Idiots with Entitlement

One is made pragmatic by experience;
A grave man
Speaks grave words
Of which the living cannot hear.

I would not spend $50,000 to buy shit.

Old-time orthodox tradition;
If fish didn’t kill themselves
By swimming out of water
We wouldn’t have cellphones.

Fact.

Relative relations wouldn’t spring so fast on advantage.

Fact.

Men wouldn’t stand on two legs,

Or breathe the thin air.

Or Fuck or Fight,

Or even care.

Fact.

Modern times,
What is art for?
Based on rhymes,
Behind closed doors.

And then they tell us to read:

Edgar Allan Poe,
Shakespeare,
Derrida,
Asimov.

Where “Lawyer” isn’t even a Word…

-Small town folk,
With small town ideals.
Maybe I’m joking,
Maybe I’m ForRealz.

I argue,
The same;
Because I am
Cut from the same cloth.

Then they tell us to fit in this:

Tight
Rigid,
Imposing,
Oppressive,
Box.

Though,

I was merely stuck in a book,
You merely read some words.
If things weren’t going for me
I’d probably too act on urge.

Now, how does one do the first part again?

October 10, 2014

Each Blade of Grass

Each blade of grass
Rests
Different
In the sun.

Some appear blue-green,
Others appear well-done.

Scorched in noon-day sunrays,
Dancing in the wind for fun.

Each blade of grass is an individual.
Each blade of grass is but one.

October 8, 2014

Blood Moon in the Morning

We live in warm beds,
We comb hair on heads.

We light smokes,
We tell new dirty jokes.

Standing in shambles,
In the sun-
Avoiding preamble,
Damage is done-

Rambling on,
-Sweet sad song.
On this;
-Waiting for a kiss.

Crunch of crisp autumn apple;
Intensity was at tenfold ample.

Camped on thought-
Completely lost…

Blood Moon coming soon, a forewarning,
And after that one must survive morning.

October 6, 2014

College Reading

Another book to read,
-Yes indeed.
Language, words, grammar and punctuation;
Literally, a fine luxury.

October 3, 2014

Seasonable Clock

Even the morning seems acutely somber
Broad clouded skies hold steady longer
Green leaves thick ripped from their place
Void departed relatives we save nigh space
Juxtapose this deep cutting- chilled contrast
Waiting for summer’s waning neb to fast pass
Vexed by cruel and unrelenting, stiff nature
Fool-heartedly with their lives they wager
On a single day we wish to stay the same
On forcible winds we wish to have changed
Man can live amongst this time and watch,
As he winds the seasonable swift ticking clock.

October 1, 2014

Patience in the Rain

Rain sluiced along proofed fabric
A time for lights in opaque dark
Hope at the end of a long tunnel
Cautious minds where thoughts start

Wet roads have been transposed
Reflecting on headlights and glare
Soaked to the bone, not wet- froze
Sore feet, legs bent, to climb stairs

Trees brown hung in a thick fog
Broken dreams soaked in ketamine
Short life; once considered so long
Desperation in true wants and needs

Appeal to us, they scream their pleas
Attempt aloofly soft big bear hug
Buried alive in the blackened soil
Fist blooded at the red door front

Pushing hard shiny metal pedals
Once a kiss, and then once more
Some say that patience is a virtue
It depends on what you wait for.

September 28, 2014

Dream Goals

If you treat

your goals

as dreams

they’ll disappear

when you

wake.

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