First Movement; Poetry: Tyler J Wiseman

[24givdivine]

1 First Movement

2 Lament for Father I

3 Porter

4 Lament for Father II

5 The Pariah

6 the Essence of Umbra

7 Poetess: Dedicated to Jane Mead

8 Vicious Tongues and the Damage Done

9 Atlas crawled over broken Glass

10 Afterthought -PL&T

11 Driven Through Kentucky- PL&T

12 graveyard at Sunset- PL&T

13 Grey Matters-PL&T

14 Love Letter to the Supreme-PL&T

15 Quantum Hope-PL&T

16 victuals for the mind-PL&T

17 Villianized-PL&T

18 Amy

19 Jade

20 Death of the poet III

21 Jewel I

22 Symphony of Crackles

23 S.A.F.E. in Santa Cruz

24 Paradigm

25 Santa Cruz poems number X

26 Perv

27 Virgin's Ode

28 Anonymous

29 Frisco @ Now You See Me

30 Remembrance: Paradiso

31 Naked Lands, Fantastic Light, The Longest Night

32 Hare Krshna Temple, East Village

33 Quantum Hope

34 Standing Still in Wiser Footsteps; The Man

35 West Palm Gusting

36 Euphoria I

37 Awareness

38 J-03

39 Alania

40 Alex

41 A Black Cat

42 Because of Casey

43 Beat Between North Beach and Haight Ashbury

44 Avowed Eternal

45 Seasons of the Fall

46 The Bull Lackluster Blue

47 Personal Helicon

48 Night Falls, and Continues to Fall

49 And Come Now, The Dream

50 Vicious Tongues and the Damage Done

51 Razorblade facets

52 The Buzz: NY poems #1

53. Awakening II

54. Sonnet on Loss and Loathing

55. Mule

56. Library Festival, Woodstock Ny

57. In a Sense Lost

58. Signs

59. Jewel: Absence

60. Silk and Fig Leaves

61. Java Joe's San Diego

62. Snowflake

63. Northhampton, MA

64. Quickstop off 85 N, Georgia

65. 20 miles II

66. Jewel III

67. The Bull, Lackluster Blue (Columbus, OH)

68. Because of Casey

69. easter poem

70. Lost Poems #1

71. J-04

[24givdivine]

First Movement (Santa Cruz)

Migration,
I'm taking my wooly words worth
and moving on home

Diggin the concrete, time to break my teeth
upon the ample edge of indifference

I'm sitting with my pretty self
in the Santa Cruz Diner
where I was told in so many words
"Hippies use side door"
Just ordered a Jack Kerouac,
side of fries
twenty five and some scratch in my pocket

Menu, it says "life is uncertain,
eat dessert first"
and I do
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lament for Father I (Santa Cruz)

Oh, what certain laments
we are subject to,
with fate a cruelty presiding
upon miseries throne
.
I was home again, a serf
bound to my familial servitude,
and grace willing in divinity
for, in truth, what nobler disposition
turns the indifferent cheek
from Paternal suffering
.
Yet, so it was to be
that I would sow regret's seed
deeply in my breast,
and, sustained by mortal circumstance,
such as it were to blossom, mournful beauty
resembling my final diffidence

UCSC, Porter House (Santa Cruz)

For the days at Porter, I have found
immense contradiction, children becoming more,
steeling for academic crucible
I slept in the rain,
and woke up to the sunny side of skies
teetering on clouds
For a moment I believed
I was a Redwood
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lament for Father II (Santa Cruz)

With a cooling lucidity his cares swirled
about a tarnished prison of self refusal
There in that room of broken frames
he would spill glass gingerly
into a fading husk, of will
and self deprecative valors

I could palpate the struggle,
for, made ineffectual in means
of a cancerous captivity, just so
shy of his expeditedly yellowing heart,
the speech he slurred was an inmates yawp,
and his arm, unlikeningly heavy,
held the key to escape reality

Yet, such as it was, I was scarce in means
to assist another with deliberate struggle,
for, in having a guilded nightengale as heart,
my tender mercies were unattainable, if only just so


The Pariah 2002 (Scotts Valley, Ca)

Oh what abhorrent lamentations!
What hideous capitulations feed
this fire that consumes, leaves
us all exhuming the realization
that this crystal city, cracked and faded,
is now mere remnants of social decay,

Wicked city, your parapets have dulled
to gray, blackened charnel peaks
for the words were once as your hall
of Valhalla, warriors intrigue
The poets are broken upon the steps
and, barren to behold, I fear there is naught left

Morlocks scavenge the shattered veneer
of something that once gleamed gilded,
as creatures hound unintelligible fears
to tear down the ivory towers' pillars

? 2003 Tyler Joseph Wiseman

The Essence of Umbra 2003 (Ben Lomond, Ca)

In touching flame the chill pervades;
shadow centers the luminescence
and by it's pin:censored::censored::censored::censored::censored: contrast life remains
centered around the essence
Of umbra we find reconciliation
between light and darkness
Day and nights trend
burns in a shadow core

Within us there burns the Yin, Yang, and
other essences we care to define in
the least terms of understanding
A bit for the great things, we are white,
black, and the glaring reds which compose
sunlight upon the skin

The racing light screams antithetically to dark
negatively concurrent, universally opposed
in phantom words and essences
The eyes corner wanders
to forms on the borders of our imagination
unenlightenment in shadow men

Poetess: Dedicated to Jane Mead (Scotts Valley, Ca)

I gave my knowing, poet
to you who, by notable nobility in beauty,
and with the certain character of steady silence
have irrevocably shaped my life

>From the first blushing of the pen

on paper's virginal garb
your fluid therapy graces pages that conquer
the night's soliloquy of weariness

I say to you, poetess,
that to behold a creature of such wonder
as the form you prepossess,
tears the dominant negativisms asunder
with confounding degrees of abstraction
in the fathoms of your graced beauty

You are an inspiration in the certain terms
of infallible palpability
I feel most fortunate to have greeted your words
on that rainy April morning
of the twenty-second, two thousand and three
where we spoke in a veil of dreams
just after three A.M.

Atlas Crawled over Broken Glass (Fargo, ND)

Watch now, the glass tesseract of our lives
sparkle like newborne snow upon Atlas' tongue

The tranquil pool humanity greedily craved
was divined to be poison by a prophet bleeding ash
while hungering to be human again
It's pure hell (heaven) being closer to God
when the world around you takes comfort
in lies and lives lived for the simple satisfaction
of the crystal cities promise



Afterthought (Fargo, ND)
? Tyler Joseph Wiseman
------------------------------------------------------------------------

Should a Summer 'Frisco fog roll in
obscuring the clarion skies in murk
or a Denver frost settle, heavy from the west
and I should pen my oppression, know
it is not for your eye my skies weep
Would that I could articulate the passage
of time in a cold November frost
It would not be for your heart alone
Supposing the spring waxes gaiety,
flittering and fluxing in Vermont's day spring,
were to drive my pen through here to unseen reaches
it would not speak of our history, or causes lost
Where once I carried mountains for you,
and shrugged like Hercules awaiting Hesperides fruit,
I yet knew the burden you asked was too great
for even my strength was sapped by the vicious tooth
of some venomous thing amidst leaves of grass
so now every testament is to the Omnipotent 'I am'


Driven through Kentucky (Fargo, ND)
? Tyler Joseph Wiseman
------------------------------------------------------------------------

I recall distinctly the dashboard reflections,
that halcyon puce mimicking the streak,
the rap tap
of lighting bugs
expiring

Love bugs were like Jupiter,
fornicating by whimsy to make heroes
who would flail themselves in futility
against this beast of a windscreen

Then came the rain, washing it dirty
with smoke and refuse of tired bald eagles
leaving DDT offspring on the roadside
You sought to speak to the almighty
but he was gone
a smear, road kill
smashed by some political machine

Graveyard At Sunset (Michigan)
? Tyler Joseph Wiseman
------------------------------------------------------------------------

Walking along, another dusty town
General store, Hardware outlet, an old Church
but no one is around, it's sunset

In the distance, a bulbuous gleam
upon the horizon, below encroaching twilight
the stars reflect off a steeple,
one likening to Buffalo's Bank, golden
Romanesque

The soft luminescence of evening wraps me,
warm and welcoming, I find
an old stone wall, moss enshrined;
inviting respite from the journey
graveyard twice blessed

Can't read the graves in the darken night,
too worn by the rigors of time,
so I sit and smoke a cigarette
in a gazebo composed of plant life,
the living rise from stone in testament

Poe, my Poe, blinking bright;
a breathing burst of jade to light
my way between dearly deceased,
you afford grand meaning to this sight
in being little things now earth ascendant

[24givdivine]

Grey Matters (Fargo, ND)
? Tyler Joseph Wiseman, Nov. 22, 2003
------------------------------------------------------------------------

It's not the black, fading to pale
that moved me so emphatically
to better ends and finer friends upon the horizon
nor the white, dulling with brilliance,
like lightning weakening the tongue too often tasted,
that recoiled to the melancholic lethargy

All the grey matters that shuffled along
with mortal coil and wrap
became indistinguishable, shades
left wailing and wanting
upon the horizon

It's burdensome to carry
these mountainous skies,
threaded by the sinews of humidity,
and though, like Atlas shrugging,
I too may cry clarion oaths
it is inconceivable
that there should be any hope


Love Letter to the Supreme (Fargo, ND)
? Tyler Joseph Wiseman
------------------------------------------------------------------------

Was it the flavor of lightning,
ozone's metallic trim upon the tongue
that moved you so, to throes
flinging tiers from your eyes
and into the heavens?

What did you want when this world began
turning for your sanctity of breast,
beating the stars plasma
into every living source
of new beginnings?

Did you expect love to be perfect,
or nobler yet through the adversity
of temptation and ardor, hunger,
pursuit and the ends gained
from futile cravings of the unattained

I love you for making me
with every taint and stain,
with crooked teeth, broken skin,
and a bevy of tragic circumstance
to feast upon in all saint's musings

Quantum Hope (Fargo, ND)
? Tyler Joseph Wiseman, Oct. 21, 2003
------------------------------------------------------------------------

Be it that I have a thousand and one lives,
each shall be spent in the pursuit
of you, my daring to dream, my darling of constructive humanity

I've walked a thousand and one miles in simple shoes,
and the clay feet of times travail
now dare to tread where angels scorn and fear

This life may be spent on a sojourn soul,
bygone when lost upon desire's precipices
and made perpetually less whole
with every moment, each experience
which distances my immortal spirit
from the exquisite nobility of your condition in purity

I may be unworthy this go around
to savor your cleverness and cloy,
but it cannot be said for each incarnation
Beloved, hope springs eternal
of the infinite possibility inherent in our existential cycle
I'll find you again in the next world
rest assured



Victuals For The Mind (Fargo, ND)
? Tyler Wiseman, Nov. 09, 2003
------------------------------------------------------------------------

Savory, slavering in juices,
sauteed thoroughly, it sizzles
I anticipate that its flavor
will chain me to my table,
with all it's din and silences

A glass of red, mildly acrid,
is graced with the slightest hint
of vinegar and spices, distilled
to the point of the exquisite;
lolling about, a swirl upon the tips

Greenest white along the side,
an iceberg juts above the surface,
frosted in the sweeter sour cream,
with paprika, italian seasoning,
a ranch hands delicious vegetable dip

Finally, sated on the juices,
quenched on the dry bouquet,
and filled with the crispness
I move on to the cake

Villainized (Fargo, ND)
? Tyler Joseph Wiseman, Nov. 06, 2003
------------------------------------------------------------------------

Watching the television, I can see
long haired people as villainized
for ratings and conformists free

to oppress those that look, like me,
so much like a Jesus reprised,
yet why this is I just can't see

Why must the longest of strands be
mongrelized or uncivilized
when in fact we are seeking free

exchange of ideas, harmony
and all the devices devised
in assisting the world to see

Is it a crime to have such glee
in the life led, uncompromised
in ideas intent to be free

Lennon used to sing McCartney
"Let It Be" for those to realize
the vibe flow in a life to see
we all really want to be free


[Previously published in Makata]


Amy (Santa Cruz, CA)

Her eyes, and must it not begin so,
being not merely looking glasses to the spirit,
rather also the gateway to hope for futures
well spent in nobler pursuit and discourse,
they ensared my fascination as if in a web
of sinewy strength and perceptible scintillations,
likening to the shimmer of her wheaten hair

Oh, how I have imagined well, in prodigious fondness
of softly scented reminisce, of tangling my fingers within
the gilded bars of her locks, whilst enraptured in soft
and lingering kisses, dashed across like Oceanus' furor
those pale and bountiful lips

likening to succulent fruits, the hue of angels breadth
ascendant upon the dawn, I dreamed of embraces with them,
and the potency of my hearts conviction
issued utterance, imperceptible yet for a moan
that howled as the low wind from earthen depths


Jade (Santa Cruz, Ca)

Jade takes a name
based on her hearts breadth
Abuse peppered her salad days,
now fifteen and pregnant on the concrete
She runs from her story to find tragedy
metamorphosixing itself into triumph

Anorexia was the ends
of tender days spoiled on crank,
with mommy in the background
with chains of insatiable taste
for belligerence, abuses, and hate

Now, hope springs anew
in the hard edged truth
of straight living on crooked streets
She's braving the crucible,
and learning how to be free


Death of the poet III (Santa Cruz, Ca)

Would that I could pen the oppression of the day,
it might speak volumes, for the ocean, so distant,
flitters away from my visitations perpetually

Eyes of adoring disposition wither and fade,
as I, a man of divine compunction, do meld softly
into my concrete backing, to become sum and composition
of the imprisoning enclave where I sleep

Morality and ruse are little in the way
of pittance for struggles so despondently
fixed on the melancholia of shades
wandering along all the varieties
of gray and spotty green in this city

I'll find a home in the people again,
for now, all is neglible, so issue
death of the poet


Jewel I (San Diego, Ca)

Such sufficing grace
as to precede creative desire
The essence of beauty
held within my sight
How can I be brave
when my only fear is losing this moment

Love falls upon me like summer rain
as so many colors resound within
this heart made fragile by caution
like a crystalline tuner
her voice reminds me of a lily lined fruit,
the soft willowy warble,
sweet melodic reverberation,
the soft full sound
What sweeter words I know not
than I love you



Symphony of Crackles (Battenkill, Ny)

They roll,
thick black leather transcending the night,
rumbling denim, rough and tumble
With a kick and crackling murmur
the words are spoken

"Let's go!"

Right on, kiss the concrete
with your rubber and civil disturbance
All right, rock and roll
was made from your mechanical soul

"We sold our soul for open roads,
tattooed our flesh with the stones caress
The hanging Yap Jap gardens a delight
the land of Sturgis in our sight
Oh, let your love light shine on me"

Down the black broken beacon of the road,
rough and tumble and rumble,
they roll



S.A.F.E in Santa Cruz (Santa Cruz, Ca)

Kickin' splits, I see the sitting
stance of protest, silent
reverences to the truth

Prolific, I sat in the streets
of New York City, Kansas, San Fran and the Bay,
with every multitude of places between
not singing, though my tongue dances
fitfully with the poetry

You've got to let your feet
caress the streetside along the way,
see the protest effusively cry lament
and deliberate on the atrocious ways

Paradigm (Santa Cruz)

I think all the words unspoken
translate through sun-rays anyways,
yet actions go unmanifest,
though the spark of adoration nestles quietly-
fluttering in my eyes and breath

I cannot express the fathoms of my admiration,
nor articulate any of my wanton yearning
All I can do is dream, and pray blessing
befits my experiences in hunger and longing

I somehow miss
what I could never possess

[24givdivine]

Santa Cruz poems Number x (Santa Cruz)

I am the architect of my personal ideological deconstructions

Hey, the best part of waking up
is a woman at your side,
though I'm quickly discovering
that a cup of coffee runs a fine second

Last night I let someone run over my head
with the heavy bristles of an acid rush
I made love to a figment, an apparition,
but she just wanted to f**k
That's alright
Everyone's beautiful in the sweet reverie of reminisce
Besides which, I can't get any better than one night mind screws beyond this

I'll still love my phantom,
and wish she shadowed me yet
She asks one question
"Next time you are on the train tracks,
who will you play chess with?"
yet I cannot answer
until the sun is at my back


Perv. (Dedicated to Will, the jackass) (Santa Cruz)

I feel the whispers settling,
cold and empty in the hollow of my back,
they speak of vulgar things,
of unjust assumptions breaking sacrament
to such ends that I hush my dreams
to a lowly murmur of fain wandering
.
Take care your compassion rings
true to accepted conventions of society
for you can feed a rat easily,
yet show it where to eat
and all the colony will feast
on Mercurial heels, your flights of fancy
They will bit your back without hesitating
.
I feel as if a feast of friends
have brazenly burned my image
in order to bake this poets heart,
for what else is so succulent

Me I'm just looking for a match
to illuminate skies laden with pitch ignorance



Virgin's Ode (Santa Cruz)

I want desperately
to savor the perspective
in the eye of your hurricaine

How succulent the scents must be
amidst your tempest of hair and hands,
all fluttering with the redolence,
your peach and sandalwood
found wanting and satisfied on the wind

Ah, I must imagine your softness
tempered of it's passion, to fade lax
along the refined small of back,
your heart's ebb to a butterfly breath
expansive yet across all your continents

Yet these are mere contrivance,
and all my expressions to wit
die on the page, with the poet


Anonymous (Santa Cruz)

I see her again, she is beautiful,
so much that my mind trips a tesseract
spanning my eyes to her smile

She wears green, an affirmation
of the natural vivaciousness
that clings between
these sheets of concrete

Her name stands just short of a tree
that branches peace and laudate
yet I cannot say it


Frisco @ Now You See Me (San Francisco)

I know sufferance well, the concrete crucible
of these paned walkways, daisy chains of junkies
and glamorless vets, so well as the insurmountable unrelenting
of ends as composite trends in urbane misery

I see those within self imposed imprisonments,
aghast and uncertain through fields of broken glass,
surrounded in hopelessness by sad sacks of sorrow,
with hope, the only potential respite, found in warm puddles
of s**t colored liquid dispersed through a hollow cradle

The rain cannot wash away this crucifixion in filth,
they know this, yet given no means to make a sum
of the remainder of sole consequence, so are judged
by thier own kin and awareness in
the contrived moments of clarity to see sin,
wearing within a mask more hideous
than envy- that of self deprication



Remembrance; Paradiso (Fargo, ND)

I spent the evening
drinking Maui, smoking chocolate mint cigars,
with a slice of coconut cream pie
balanced on my lap
.
It was the plates that gave contrast
Dyed blue and iridescent
in the Christmas lights strung,
while saved from the season,
upon my tilted walls
.
A skeleton hung from wrappings
of holiday decorations, tinsel,
fragments of ornaments
I had always determined to use as collage
but never did

The smoke was blue to contrast
the light and darkness alike
(perhaps that was the plate
holding up a dish in the sky,
like L.A. juxtaposed, a scattered night)

I want to make a collage of all the lights
spent in paradiso, of the open night,
cars whirling by, making streaks of the road

I want home, fragments of happiness, of poetry
spent in long evenings and warm dreams
Reminiscing, writing remembrance
Now we simply have to be
in remembering things of last instant


Naked Lands, Fantastic Light, The Longest Night (Fargo, ND)

Naked, while excepting
the water which clothes me;
wanting for a length more
to cover my chest
which, chill in the nude air,
makes the seeming of an Adonis
wrapped in the veil of Tantalus
.
I think of rumcake,
the wrappings of incense
around bead curtains
I wonder of home
which has no trapping name
Bricks and stones built alone
on vapor and idealism
.
Now I am warm
Here I am well fed
Today I had the contentment of a bath
in this place, the words were said

I'd like to live in Alaska


Hare Krshna Temple, East Village

NYC 7-01-01

Sacred warrior of peace
fight poverty with a chant
I walk your path
No cars shall burden me
no path shall stretch to great
We shall live in suffering
to realize the way
.
Hare Krishna
Bhrama Rama
Vishnu lives in you
.
Jesus Christ walked the world
Met the ancient masters
.
Yoga this morning, lithe and devout
focus chakra, meet the Tao
Release the yoke we live under
The time is now


Standing still in wiser footsteps; The Man (Fargo, ND)

There was a man who walked a path,
and beheld toil in aftermaths
of earthquake and hurricane, flames
which skirted borders of reason;
In every season was wanting
to know why there were all these things
which gave meaning to the suffering
.
There was a man who took great pains
to discover answers which, plain
as the mind could then comprehend
would ease the worlds laboring;
In every footfall was lament
to understand how God could end
the sweetest and finest of moments
.
Taking a pen in hand, there was man
as he surmounted peaks of legend,
seeking wisdom on feet of clay
which were destined to temper to stone;
He abandoned home to understand
why mothers suffered to lose children
in wars which were ever present


West Palm Gusting

Wednesday, January 28, 2004 (Fargo, ND)

Handling your love
is as fondling
the shards of broken
glass roses and globes;
smooth, supple over ages
with the dangerous ends
ready to bleed a heart
for it's restless essence

Shattered flame in a hurricane,
the air stood to watch
the Roots Rust and Jewel shine
the terror of the coast
is placid for the show
the times were fine

Every time I left, part of me died
Desperation settling in, to live
for life clearly expressed
Alas, caught in the net of silence
I am wanting merely the Absence of Fear
Comfort took the plane, Love took the rest
the dust settled, and left a mist
of tears and tyranny, hope and dreams
as the road opened up before me


Wonder as I Wander (Fargo, ND)

I wonder how to suffer, how to dream
when the schemes I consort in unravel
along the gingerbread trail of love and loathing
I wonder why
I wonder how hip hop stars
can stand from afar, call women whores,
Bitches and "aint s**t"
with serial language meant to murder
all meaning and purpose to better ends
and yet get the women
I wonder how men can molest
children and the blessed beings,
sight unseen, uncaring to the need
of each and every thing intrinsical
to the soft parade of humanity
and yet hook up with gorgeous ladies
I wonder why
I have to die in every love
which, invited to my door
wishes rather to do things
for the monster that hopes
to know loathing, above
all my cares and wanting
I wonder why I can't soar

[24givdivine]

Euphoria I (Fargo, ND)

Friday, January 09, 2004

The absence of you
Pulses fervently
like blood beneath wounds
shallow and needing
of closed air and thought
.
Your silence bruises
my lips, brutally
as fate or hunger
I don't know the way
to euphoria
.
I miss you, my dear,
terribly as fear
wanting of your hope
instilled so surely
as a rope hanging
me from precipice,
dire and careless


Awareness (Santa Cruz)

I, in shuddering the frosty manacles
of slumber, find depths untold
fleeting from my meditations
and I am beholden by the prospect
of gilded rays, sunlight breaking
across the parapets and treelines,
with shimmering green telling fables
of flightly residents to thought,
and I breathe

The cool crisp air of winters divide,
filling my bronze lungs, more primitive
than fire or wine; it fulfills my wanton
whimsy for enlightenment, and so I,
with draconian sole, walk the scattered entirety
of a new world borne on firefly wings,
and I dream

This is the strangest wakefulness I've yet known
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
J-03 (Fargo, ND) PP in Autumn Leaves

Transfixed for a moment
in the crystalline music,
your picture touches,
entertaining
my mind with
deft
subtle
brushstrokes of dawn's waking harmony

The rose mimics the myriad
of sunlight slicing across horizons
as it dries and, fading
above your golden visage,
finds itself always
paled in contest
to your grand/
fine
glory
of an immaculate becoming

Your beauty proves true the
quality of quantity
yet I must wonder
if love fades so
as a rose
cut
away
from floral bouquets, it's warm birthplace

I shall expire so gorgeously
separate from your fiery hunger,
your soft eye's wonder of
flames, hurricanes, awkward thorns,
and dandelions
adrift in seas
distant from
me
I'll keep my blush in this fond remembrance


Alaina (Santa Cruz)

A blue rose descends
into the graceful unknown,
where fantasia springs unbeckoned
into my minds delicate flow

Oh, how like a restless bird
desire can taunt and bid,
an appreciative glance and word
that teeters precariously; yet pinned
to vicarious wanting and whim

I would savor the ambrosiac flavor
of sweat on her petal soft skin
while penetrating with deep deliberation the
the divine in her lotus blossom...
eyes


Alex (Santa Cruz)

From the first moment meeting
the old soul flavor of your eyes
I was captured in enrapturement
that springs inherent of unbidden
love which lies securely
in the promissary of new found dreams

That I can offer absolution
in the reverence of distance
is perhaps the finest testament
to that virtue which nestles,
so demure as to render senslessness,
within your bountiful heart

As much as it pains, I give the grace
to hesitation for all your convictions,
which, made certain through purer devotion
shown to an adoration long ago sown,
so seems insured beyond all the disaster of my hope

Had I known you sooner, I could have shown
the pearl of wisdom a worlds breadth,
which, rolled along an eternities passion,
offers the possibility of lifetimes well spent

A Black Cat

A black cat
A black cat hopped
A black cat hopped up the tree
A black cat hopped up the white tree
.
A Siamese
A Siamese bounced
A Siamese bounced up the willow
A Siamese bounced up the white willow
.
A white cat
A white cat leaped
A white cat leaped up the tree
A white cat leaped up the black tree
.
An albino
An albino jumped
An albino jumped up the oak
An albino jumped up the black oak
.
A patchwork cat
A patchwork cat clawed
A patchwork cat clawed up the bark
A patchwork cat clawed up the clear bark
.
Today a dog ate a Calico


Because of Casey (Fargo, ND)

Because he lured you with candy,
a different kind of sweet,
one that made you ache without;
It beckoned with irresistible logic
Seven Percent baby, ride all night
which you did, because
you couldn't sleep
.
The train blew the whistle,
you saw it rollin on,
knew that those tunnels were hollow
until the stillness was punctured
with a light fantastic, far and away
from New York City
.
But it the glamor left soon enough,
and you were tied down to the tracks
as the train, cold and black
ran into you again, and again,
and you screamed, but knew
it was muffled by your lacking conviction
.
Because you raped yourself with steel,
with the great desire to find unfeeling,
you knew it couldn't be true ,
held hostage by the lack of willing
the train rolled on all night
but Casey forgot to turn on the light

Beat Between North Beach and Haight Ashbury (Fargo, ND) PP in Poetic Voices

Amidst the fervor of fog, a silent appeal
in the lighthouses ghostly tendril
beckoned me to the shore
of which I could not be certain
.
I was marrow damp, chilled
by masses flitting in an instant
before they were gone the next,
specters dead from too much life
.
The martini signs which characterized
all of the debaucheries opulence
shone a distilled red, clinging to the night
like it was some drunkard's gut
.
I died in the similes of the valley, years back
and the metaphors of the beach, they beat me
until I could only seek respite in the concrete shoal
of San Francisco, Pier 39 to Golden Gate
.
Everything else was abhorrent to my soles,
the foot beat excruciating, the junkies and queers,
an evolutionary leap from Burrough's legacy
Ginsberg is now juxtaposed
.
Go to NYC, but not so long it makes you soft
and go to Frisco, though not so long it makes you cold

Avowed Eternal (Fargo, ND)

I am nothing less than you,
my audience, the litophile muse,
and lover of Hestia?s hunger
To bear those laurels bewondered
is your noble course and due
So walk on, lady of darling virtue,
let your virginal garb flee unhindered
and your worldly feet trod the cinders
from which my body burns so true
as Apollo?s toil perpetually renewed,
perpetually renewed
..
The Pillars of Heracles have tumbled,
and Rhodes Colossus does fade,
while the pyramids stony peak is dulled
by Chronos' rigors, Rheas birthing pains
.
(All old wonders were struck by lightning)
.
Yet, while your Vestal flame may wane,
and all mens mountains grind to sand
one thing I shall proclaim as constant,
as temperate as birth or death, love and hate
is my eternal and infinite devotion
.
I am not the hero, for they are monsters
to other lands and reasons of man
All my devices are of the artist, as Pindar,
Plato, Herodotus, or Homer were,
for it is their words that make heros
of monsters and the vice of each verse

Seasons of the Fall (Santa Cruz) PP in Autumn Leaves

I watched the foliage burn
with an ephemeral flame
and so the divine was prostrated
with a permanence of wondrous proportion
Irrevocably stated, hinting of a divine symmetry,
life imitated the bare bones, chalky and wanting
which flared with a desire for dawn
and all it's illustrious imagination
for a day's, albeit an eon's panorama

The burning bush spoke to me, weaving
as might a snake or spider, of promise imprisoned
in the dusky intercession between the space
inside chronos' womb, hiding in the stillness
of umbra all things lost to time, which
aged well and spit forth, defy and denounce
with the devices of an immortality gained
through the recognizance of a courted imagination

In the seasons of the fall a rainbow dances one final jest,
flaring forth in a supernova of silent presence,
with the sanguine, the crimson, the bruised velvet
screaming it's appeal in a whorl of wind
before winter comes again, shattering texture
and grinding it like a crystal city fated
to fall as waters frozen leaflets

The Bull, Lackluster Blue 6-27-02 Columbus, OH

A quiet rain settles upon the skin
with languor bereft of desperation
Though oily patches loom in the sky
no girth carries the gust
The summers air is thick, sweet
as new rose wine gelatinating
into this, the cities great paradox
ethereal concrete
.
The finest sight I've ever known
was sprigs breaking through this soil,
filthy chained sand, melancholy hue
bound to our feet and toil
Give me Picasso in the street,
give me Rembrandt, Montague,
anything rather than the color of rains
held in my place of sleep

Personal Helicon (Fargo, ND)

For Richard Vallance

As a child, I walked through the Olympics
of imagination- myth's perfect bind
for my tender mind conforming like leaves
to the fantastic monstrosities

Gods became the men becoming again
Deities of many splendored nations
I savored the rigid writing tablet,
with fair flesh of Helen, voice of Homer

So too did I attend rapt, taking in scroll
the battle of Marathon, of Persians
and Herotodus dancing with a lyre
beneath everyman's celestial globe

Soon it came to pass that I had to leave
these childish things on the path behind me
and thus, I was made to gather only things
precious to my intents and purposes

Wearing each my comic and tragic masks
I took that lyre, with a look quite pensive,
and a flute to romance the winds and land,
striding from my cave to unknown sands

[24givdivine]

Night Falls, and Continues to Fall (Fargo, ND)

Yesterday
I watched the night fall
flat on it's face
.
I then wondered,
if it's so clumsy,
why does night fall
and the sun set,
when in fact,
the night is set for hours,
and the sun keeps tripping
on it's myriad skirts
.
I became designed
by dearth and desire,
through color and shade
as it inundated perception
and made from my feet of clay
a new face upon the horizon

And Come Now, The Dream (Woodstock, NY) Quill and Parchment

We speak
slowly
filling our days
with the multitude of snippets
that form collagetic conversations
and come now, the dream
.
And now, the idea
insubstantial as humor
flows from our lotus tongues
which, with nary a spot
of dark cynicism, malevolence
births the fruits subtle blossom
.
I used to consume you
with Nectar and amphitryon

Vicious Tongues and The Damage Done (Scotts Valley, Ca) ?

By your slanderous tilt I am wounded
more grievously than any brilliant spear
which, ordained from the heaven's clarion oath,
might strike me down as Hippocrates, Persephone, Proteus falling to the sea
.
Your silent language is an insidious succor,
courting mischief with malice
and while I am starved by the wonder
of all these hideous silences
your monstrous mechanizations grind my heart to sand
and, so undone, I am fearful for it to beat again
.
With all this maligned devotion you strike at me
as it were I who cleft the devil's hoove
and yet, for all this loathing, it's breadth, depth, scope, and meter
I can only strike with compassion in turn
for fear is fickle in all it's jade devices
and ruled over by the perseverance of patience
and the insurmountable temperance of words

Razorblade Facets 2002 (Ben Lomond, Ca)

The mirror mocks me
with its silent echo and accord
for all that what was and for
the promise of a flame
Without a touch, it pains me
for all which could never be again
and so, the razors edge is plain
The shards remain fixed
in the edges of consciousness
Jutting memories bear the same
anguish that is absence, love as fain
reminders of all I could not perform
and all the steps that left my soul worn
Oh, there is no worse place than to be free
when razorblade facets expand all things

The Buzz (Albany, Ny)

Whats the buzz bumblebee?
Is your yellow flower blue?
Do you need some sugar honey?
Can I get some for you?
New York, old town
What's on your agenda
carting that millstone around?
Look at me when I'm not speaking
to him or her or anyone in particular
That's when you know its True
I'm speaking to all in you

Awakening II (Ben Lomond, Ca)

Across these bony ribs are written
words of wisdom a world's worth,
they say, the greatest gift given
is poverty, for the lands wealth
is in offering everything when
expecting nothing in return

Halfway between the path
of slumber and a lasting
longing, enlightenment
is nestled in darkness,
and superconscious


Sonnet on Loss and Loathing (Fargo, ND) 12/5/2003

Senseless, battered and bloodied by my own
thoughts of belonging and wanting a home;
I listen to a merciless wind blown
across the frigid confines of hope sown
in the seeds of need and greed woeful
The tones of lone humanity in whole,
brimming with empty appeal, soulful
yet, reverberate with literate toll
The words, viscous and bound in simple set,
tings and rings of lost marriages, estranged
from the etherial dreams which would let
loose liberation from the caged deranged
essence which left this fragile flame waning
from all these emaciations gaining

Mule (Fargo, ND) 11-7-2003

They took me as the slave,
only 13, walking home
from Castillero, a man
told me he knew my mommy
and was to give me a ride
.
They took me far away,
past the border, and let
men with dirty things touch me
in between my special place,
giving every kind of disgrace
.
I saw a poet in San Francisco,
who read a world of beauty to me,
I told him of the terrible things
and said I still wasn't free
then walking away to my duty
.
It's the only thing I know,
to whore and transport,
I get money to live on my habits
They won't let me go
and I don't know how to escape
.
Now I cross the border again,
to give filthy things to nasty people
to hold onto to slow sicknesses
and do my master's bidding
for the people who taught me everything

Library Festival Woodstock, NY 7-29-2001

With tired eyes and sanguine hands
she opened the door
The final sight she saw
before finding what she saw to be
not who she was so much as
what was definitively perceived
was blue spiderwebs on loose skins
.
The light clothed, made her
and voices, elusive as time, echoed
a hush in her eyes and mind
.
How old are you?
.
five (50)
her voice seemed so small, now and again
.
Happy birthday baby
She laughed like an unblemished stream
.
What will you do?
.
Dream...
.
With tired eyes and sanguine hands
she opened the door
and realized she had
no hands at all


In a Sense Lost Oct 21, 03 (Fargo, ND)

I crave it so very desperately,
that sanguine soil road, and innocence lost
amidst the gilded Iowa cornfields,
the Montana panorama potent
enough to strike even the Gods senseless,
the virile plethora of Juniper
as it falls with each chill seasoned passing
.
Where has the hope listlessly wisped away,
carrying along with it the genius
of mundane things in our humanity,
and all things under the sun we appraised
as it were precious only to our need
In a sense, I, we are lost to devise
our personal eulogy for Earth's demise

Signs (Reno, NV)


Jewel: Absence (Fargo, ND)

Your absence has been the thorn
of this splendored blossoming universe
and being as such an abstract
can never be owned nor known
I suppose it is thus not yours
but only that which I perceive
.
The love we knew was a standard
for the illustrious freedom in certain terms
of a sublime conviction of character,
endeavoring henceforth and hither
for the greatest of unflagging morality,
be it for an instant spanning eternity
So it was as a dream
.
You have found a simple hope
floating about this world,
as the pale blush of a lotus
taking on the apparitional particulars
of Charon's ferry down the Styx
and with it, a drink from Lethe
Forget
.
The instant blood drops to the snow,
permeating the shattered rainbow of sun
with the inundated essence of oxygen
so the heart has been known to weep,
affirming purity and the reality
that we live by a hero's scream shed
like a sallow snakeskin, swords to plowshares
harvesting the rose red bounty of victims
now become Valhalla's gift


Silk and Fig leaves (Fargo, ND) 3-11-03

Sitting, my thoughts errant upon the whim
of the harps silent chord, sunlight upon spiders silk,
I ponder of how great I could have been
with relative ease if I cared for the will
to make the world great to live in
.
We are all living on it instead
and though not moles, blind to consequence
Chicken little was right after all,
the skies are destined to fall
Thanks Newton, you deserve the laurel

Java Joe's, San Diego

How can I begin
to describe the soothing my heart knows
listening to this poetic motion
The loss touches my fundamental sorrow,
it moves me, for I know
every hushed tone is shared here
in reverence to times lost
and kisses alight only on remembrances wings
Billowy clouds flash before me,
the silvery gloss streaming through
Perhaps eternity remembers
acknowledges these times gone with you
Still I know,
even if the stars forsake
what once was shall never abate
not while my heart beats strong
nor as the memory carries on
My lovely wandering whispering true
you live on as I close my eyes
and your beauty comes shining through

Snowflake 7-6-03

The wandering snowflake falls,
burns a romantic tongue,
frozen lotus!

Northhampton, Ma 8-20-01

The grand spatter contentious
of droplets patient caress
to concrete majesty fashioned,
the innumerable content of sand
Solvent, swaths of light
break towards unification
Primrose streaks highlight
the tears in blue nimbus
Amazing grace, the chortles of colour,
murmuring, shatter upon my flesh.

The beads streaming down
my grand arch and hollow
are immaculate conceptuals

Reunite, again
invigorating florin senses
of life recreated
in each solidified breath
Ascension
each empirical blessing
strewn upward through sinew
are drawn blades of grass.

We paint the skies
with the blood of warriors,
the scent of funerary pyres,
and the cries of buzzards
All eyes must someday
leak again into the stratum
to fall again,
tears in heaven.

Quickstop off 85 N. Georgia

The distant rumble of concrete,
and hum of six cylinder chassis,
18 wheeler mostrosities,
or wind on wind on steel
invites my abject horror
to meet with travails need
.
Three dimensions scream down the sea
of nameless blankness in faces of eve
Blind me, bind me, f**k or free me,
break me, bleed me, receive my flesh
upon your tongue, sanguine or yellowing
Oh, sweet sorrow of escapist suffering,
should you savor the jaundiced step
beware and belate every instant
it is not the martyr's poetic death

20 Miles II (Woodland, Ca)

Today I walked
20 miles with junkies
life in the fast lane was going rather slowly
I daresay we were walking backwards
spiritual devolution
Blood slowly seeping into malignant receptacles
consuming like wildfire future hopes and dreams
Here's a blast from the past baby
remember when you were a child
what you wanted to be
policeman fireman performing civic duty
now it is you doing the everyday looting
all to fulfill the need
but who can blame you it is all corrupt malignant
rape the land rape your body
force that needle in
when's it going to end?
When is it going to end

Jewel III (NYC, Woodstock) 2001

Such beauteous form
as to cater the eye
with a thousand colored vestiges,
like a sunset prismatic
an evening chromatic,
with pin:censored::censored::censored::censored::censored:s of light
expansively attributed
to the soft pinnacle of desire
.
Akin to all things of universal
and, therefore, miniscule appeal
your form breathes life
into the flesh of lightning's delight
It is as a dream

The Bull, Lackluster Blue (Columbus, Ohio) 6-27-02

A quiet rain settles upon the skin
with languor bereft of desperation
Though oily patches loom in the sky
no girth carries the gust
The summers air is thick, sweet
as new rose wine fermenting
into this, the cities great paradox
ethereal concrete
.
The finest sight I've ever known
was sprigs breaking through this soil,
filthy chained sand, melancholy hue
bound to our feet and toil
Give me Picasso in the street,
give me Rembrandt, Montague,
anything rather than the color of rains
held in my place of sleep


Because of Casey (Fargo, ND)

Because he lured you with candy,
a different kind of sweet,
one that made you ache without;
It beckoned with irresistible logic
Seven Percent baby, ride all night
which you did, because
you couldn't sleep
.
The train blew the whistle,
you saw it rollin on,
knew that those tunnels were hollow
until the stillness was punctured
with a light fantastic, far and away
from New York City
.
But it the glamor left soon enough,
and you were tied down to the tracks
as the train, cold and black
ran into you again, and again,
and you screamed, but knew
it was muffled by your lacking conviction
.
Because you raped yourself with steel,
with the great desire to find unfeeling,
you knew it couldn't be true ,
held hostage by the lack of willing
the train rolled on all night
but Casey forgot to turn on the light

Easter Poem

Blushing in paler shades, cool lilies
pulse with green veins of renewal,
rolling along stones and soil
to expand new seasons roiling
upon paths of spiritual toil

Blue water rushes along the clay,
with fillies and fawns prancing along
a jaunt and affirmation of life's resplendent
and complex recreation in the new day

A new king is resurrected, they say,
in this new age dawning, and today
we get our new legs to dance
He's the man that makes
us hope for humans again

Lost Poems #1

Yeah...
You know that flavor,
the river reed texture, baby,
that swamp harp hollow in your soul
You know what I'm talking about, hear
that old blues roll
With deep and thirsty tones
the hunger eats you up
until the world sees you
singing the soul of the soup-
a blend of sorrow, loneliness, remorse
The past blue blood flows to red
yeah flows to a throaty whole
It's a sedation in association,
there's no creation
it's what everybody-
every heart and soul,
every teary eye knows
Thats the flavor baby,
that old blues roll

J-04

Being rather taken with the idea of you,
a restless violet lighting upon the tongue
which, immutable with the thunder of love
and unabashed scorn, lets loose a rumble
which smacks of butterflies screaming
in March's softly developing belly,
I am consumed by new concrete abstractions

This very idea tickles my beehive mind
Incontrovertible with the tease of logic,
insidious in the portent of a Phoenix dive
which my heart deigns over prospects
of another night spent in the chill silence,
and innocuous in the design of intellects dawn
birthing the reminder that warmth is a horizon,
one finds truth to be perpetual in renewal

I feel new, to be with you again,
for, finding something left distant upon grey strands
stretching tentatively along the oceanside-
my name, which was reinvented in tragic triumph,
so has been lost to the complexity of its contrivance

[MrCC]

Originally posted by 24givdivine@Apr 25 2005, 09:35 PM
First Movement (Santa Cruz)

Migration,
I'm taking my wooly words worth
and moving on home

Diggin the concrete, time to break my teeth
upon the ample edge of indifference

I'm sitting with my pretty self
in the Santa Cruz Diner
where I was told in so many words
"Hippies use side door"
Just ordered a Jack Kerouac,
side of fries
twenty five and some scratch in my pocket

Menu, it says "life is uncertain,
eat dessert first"
and I do


I do too. I always enjoy Marie Callendar's pies. Expecially when they're on sale. Yum. ;)

[24givdivine]

Apple pie and coffee, mmmm....

Goes good with wine!

[michaelsjewel]

i haven't written much poetry in the past few years, but ever since jewel inspired me with spirt, i've written i believe around 600-700 i can't remember ....i ran out of room in some books and such - some are more thoughts than poetry...some sangs

some of my fav. i can remember every word.....

"we are not yet loved, entirely, until we have begun to love ourselves" is like one of the shortest ones i've ever written - i think poem number 5

the first 200 poems were on the shorter side - i think i've bridged out into more lengthy 1 page poems...my favorites included ones entitled "the THINGS that tear us" and "loneliness" if only i would've brought those books with me to school i could share some of them with you.....

i do have some i've written in the past year on this computer though....here's one

i've never seen things quite clearly...
until i looked into ur eyes.....
and when i did....
all my troubles just seemed to pass me by.....
i didn't care....
i didn't try....
i fell in love

and another....

There?s nothing left to conquer of this barren wasteland
For it seems that there are so many obstacles
So many impossibilities
But nothing to win in the end
My soul seeks to the truth behind its absence
For even though I?m surrounded, I feel alone
I feel like the stranger every place I go
No one notices me or gives me the time of day,
Or at least I feel that way
Everyone?s got their posse, their group, the sense of belonging,
Except me.
I watch them all laughing
Wanting to take their place
Little do they know I cry
Where?s the time to tackle this battle?
When will I find my place amongst the crowd?
I?m tired of living by a thread,
The sense of no meaning to anything I encounter.
There?s nothing left to conquer,
Of this wasteland I call myself
It seems so hopeless to even begin
To even wonder how it could be dealt
There?s so many holes to fill
But yet no comprehension to know how.
Alone, I sit and watch them pass me by
I wonder if they will ever understand why I cry.

i think that's the latest one i wrote - sort of a jealousy poem :dunno:

i, a long time ago, had created a site on homestead called POETRY BLISS....and i got rid of it - but parts of me want to start it up again - the whole idea was to have some of my poetry - and then take submissions of other poetry by others that would still have their credits - just for the world to see in simpler matter than that stupid poetry contest crap - .....but it takes time to make another website - i have like 2 other domain names i could make yet - that's if i decide to..... so should i start a site called POETRY BLISS again?

[24givdivine]

absolutely,

Start up that site, I'll even contribute some of my poems

[michaelsjewel]

k - the domain registration for http://www.poetrybliss.com is 24 hours to be officially ran through - YAY

as for the site - i've started a little on it - though i'm sure it'll look nothing like this as i'm a graphic editing whore - i just need to go to bed.... have fun

http://www.poetrybliss.homestead.com is what works as of this moment

[michaelsjewel]

k.... the domain name is officially registered....now i'll begin working on the site when i get more time away from finals and such - i'll let u know about updates - possibly collaboration with michaelsjewel.com linking.....


http://www.poetrybliss.com

[24givdivine]

If you need any help, I'm sure I could put in a few hours every other day, between work and misc. attentions. I'm due for a distraction anyway.

[michaelsjewel]

thanks for the offer - but i cannot have someone work under my name unless i give them my user name and password for homestead - in doing so - you could be entitled to viewing everything there is - such as billing history - billing account info etc.... so i think that'll be too risky - there used to be a way to have more than one work on a site when homestead was free - but that no longer is an option - i guess u can send ideas possibly - poem contributions will be more than welcome and will probably be the best u can do - thanks -michael

[michaelsjewel]

OMG...i just made the heading image to this...and the site color for it - it's so PRETTY it's a sunset - i think you'll like it - go check it out!!!!!

http://www.poetrybliss.com

i needs some ideas for pages though before i create the links on that faded bar - this might be the design idea for the next michaelsjewel.com site design - we'll see (like the bar @ top instead of side and faded)

[24givdivine]

ohh, pretty and punctual! :clapjoy:

[Eibhlin]

this is one i really like:

"Pursuit", by Stephen Dobyns


Each thing I do I rush through so I can do
something else. In such a way do the days pass -
a blend of stock car racing and the never
ending building of a gothic cathedral.
Through the windows of my speeding car, I see
all that I love falling away: books unread,
jokes untold, landscapes unvisited. And why?
What treasure do I expect in my future?
Rather it is the confusion of childhood
loping behind me, the chaos in the mind,
the failure chipping away at each success.
Glancing over my shoulder I see its shape
and so move forward, as someone in the woods
at night might hear the sound of approaching feet
and stop to listen, then, instead of silence
he hears some creature trying to be silent.
What else can he do but run? Rushing blindly
down the path, stumbling, struck in the face by sticks;
the other ever closer, yet not really
hurrying or out of breath, teasing its kill.



you know, i was just thinking of starting a poetry thread, but ya beat me to it :P

[24givdivine]

Prose, cry for help, or the meaningless ramblings of a madman, you decide.


I was a god.

This is meant in no figurative terms other than the inherent implications of the statement. In truth, I intend with the declaration a very literal sense. Having the capacity to bend to will or whim various meteorologic and mental forces upon a global scale, I found the grandest of promise in my future portents. Furthermore, I was loved well by she whom I sincerely considered, and yet do, the quintessential form of the Goddess, and worshipped to such ends as to offer a collaborative essence in the mainstream quickening which she rode.

I was a muse.

I cannot count the possibilities of those songs I inspired across the board of popular culture, and yet can say with certainty, only one was a direct cry from these lips. It's intent was shattered by certain mortal circumstance, as was my propensity for prodigous literary endeavor, artistic integrity, and general empowerment in the higher intellectual means.

I am the fool, dancing upon the hill.

Was it her? Did she write in candor of my nature, as my mind spilled out in the seventh day and I died in the throes of a whores love? Had she expressed the multitude of languages and means of the absurd condition which I had come to be possessed by? Who can say, that message, amongst the many others, is eradicated.




What I really wonder...

Do any of you really know who I am, If so, please give a detailed description, because I completely lost my mind about a year and a day previous, and have little conception of what I was. All I can truly remember with any degree of certainty(Is this a predispoition to dementia's intimate hunger?) is that I was a god.

Please help me find was it is to be us.

[24givdivine]

bleh

[greenpoet]

I really want this kind of league. Thoughts and poems are all rolled up into a lot of muses and inspirations. That is why, I want Jewel music and writings. I too have the flair on poetry. I will visit poetrybliss.com anytime soon.