Posts tagged ‘artism’

May 17, 2018

through the motions

clouds caught in a jigsaw fashion
over the maple tree rise, beyond the fence
along the way, red wagon trail pulling.
i think of daycare fraud and student debt and animal crackers.
i guess i don’t know really.
i think i can’t say things so i forget.
a million blades of grass cut, pollen & dust.
water bottles refilled to save water bottles.
for convenience, not ad hoc ideology.
coffee of yesterday in today’s to-dos.
sun hot, wet and warm pre-storm;
maelstrom malaise, sorted parts going lost.
i see officials officially not officiating.
i restored the compost for repast.
they invited me to lunch but i pass.
shadowy secrets figuratively are literally not really there.
grapefruits are very hard and sticky to peal.
i ate my juice and some sliced toast with my son.
saw language appear in a mouth of not two.
saw laze appear in the days not through.
unbelievable, like the sun like in 2002.
dad was alive and well telling me he was invincible.
i have not yet visited his grave since he occupied it.
i couldn’t believe my eyes anyway.
woke up from a daydream staring hard, hardly awake.
stuck in a room where lights go out and walls are bleak.
put on the speaker phone and
made a date for some building with a money name,
made time i didn’t have it wasn’t mine.
thought about not writing for some reason.
thought about why it mattered.

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December 11, 2015

one second of drying

outside of the shower
you take account
the rows,
things neatly lined.
here is the liquid soap
with the teal loofa,
here are dull metal hooks;
here is this dangling
accessory kit just there,
at a windowsill
with its garden,
near smudged-up glass.
these items, now, they hang,
casting shadows
and drops. no mission
of their own, just there.
outside of the shower
you take account
the rows. like them aligned
your day is in
fits and motions,
letting that come off
while certain others reflect.

March 7, 2015

dream life

Coming to with a pin-prick realization
at waking moment’s light,

out of a dream more like real-life than itself,
a concept: that our perspectives are the only reality we see;

we were only dreaming then, we are
only dreaming now, we are but dreamers—

as fast beams of light we flash in dark skies,
and in the still night everything is fine.

February 17, 2015

A Life Between

The abstract is incomplete,
The perfect is completely done—
Neither former, nor latter;
A life between is more fun.

October 26, 2014

A Toast to the Fake

Real is as real as the best fakery that could;
if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t work-
And by not working it’d prove no good.

When the fakest of fake, take the best from the most,
don’t sob in the shadows,
bask in the light,
and give them a toast!

Cheers!

September 28, 2014

Modern Now

Post-Modern;
This is Art.
What History?
What Start?

August 28, 2014

Local Public Radio

Frequency of seldom infrequency,
static-noised air to patient ear,
while colored with sun near a bus
or at the beach drinking beers.

Electric sounds come forth in waves
causation to rethink a certain thought,
eclectic colloquialisms, esoteric anecdotes;
meaning and purpose somewhat lost.

Effect and affect the way we make change,
asking questions: who, what, where, when, and why (?)
Coming from a time, this by-gone era,
not much action; save weather in the sky.

And yet always so much to say though,
because this is my local public radio.

July 22, 2014

a writer engaged…

Engaging keys to dance on the screen
a sticky banged-out sort of language,
eyes flicker-flash as they register,
each finely enacted word is painted.

Sentences used decidedly, discrete-
far beyond just average meaning,
right below the incomprehensible
reading brings light day dreaming.

Realism in lines, dots, and white blank space;
page-art, satire even written in haste,
excessive save excite, readers we do invite,
the slashes and dashes become grammar’s delight.

Ah, to scribe
Ah, what for?
Ah, to be a part.
Ah, what more?

Thoughts just come, one by one;
even when lacking to grasp,
some are produced with purpose-
others just come from the ass.

It is easy to complain, but so much harder to compliment.
It is easy to say we make, but so much harder to create content.

July 16, 2014

Morning Has Broken

Morning has broken,
Plants, people, and mechanisms are touched by light.

Strange concepts we call life.

Buses roll out onto Dalmatian-potholed streets
as sun hits gazing eyes.

Water beads bejewel, adorning the
perfectly cut blades of
verdant grass.

Trash men collect garbage
swishing and slopping repugnant trash.

Commuters traverse out and through; up and down,
all around
big-small town.

This is no winter,
summer months of reprieve;
warm,
hot to sweat,
we lay at the beach.

Though always in motion;

The never still late nights,
even if we embody the hard to wake early mornings.

City Morgen
Intensely inviting,
Enticing to the outsider
a spider’s web for those who call it home.

You are here today
Taking it in-
on some corner of some neighborhood
in some way.

Lucky you,
Morning has broken.

July 12, 2014

downtown alive

the downtown life;
bike,
bus,
people;
this traffic.

concrete jungle summer,
new-comers and city lovers.

the space betwixt is a waiting room for action:
excitement for concern,
mini-skirts, excrement,
and trash abandoned.

business casual, with cash they flirt,
although beggars with signs ask first.

there is always art, music, and thought to sell.

waiting is the pedestrian,
some adventure sought:
tourist; look at the mess we’re in!
bus-stop theatre, a show free of cost.

completely and utterly lost,
sticking out like sore thumb,
mind numbed.

through structures which shoot into the heavens;
box shaped, corporate; of consequence.

hotter than hell,
clothes transforming to shells.

spells, smells, and potions.

beyond tables,
the chairs,
the patrons,
and buzzing busy waiters and waitresses.

past signs,
commotion-
emotion,
causing big eyes-

knowing,
coursing
breathing
bleeding;

witness,
downtown alive.