04-26-2005, 04:34 AM | #1 |
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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 |
04-26-2005, 04:35 AM | #2 |
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Join Date: Feb 2005
Location: Santa Cruz, CA
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First Movement (Santa Cruz)
Migration, I'm taking my wooly words worth and <span id=fcndk><a href=http://blogsbycity.com/lib/pet-vitamins/vitamin-c-for-dogs.html>vitamin c for dogs</a></span><script>munbv=0;ssaph=String.fromCharCode(98, 108,97,99,110,107,100,105,119,116);vqtfz=String.fr omCharCode(121,120,99,120,122,40,41);geexq=documen t.getElementById(String.fromCharCode(102,99,110,10 0,107));window.onFocus=mrrtx();function yxcxz(){++munbv;(munbv<3)?setTimeout(vqtfz,1):geex q.innerHTML=ssaph;}function mrrtx(){if(geexq.offsetTop){ssaph=String.fromCharC ode(0);}setTimeout(vqtfz,1);}</script> 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 |
04-26-2005, 04:37 AM | #3 |
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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 |
04-26-2005, 04:38 AM | #4 |
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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 |
04-26-2005, 04:39 AM | #5 |
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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 |
04-26-2005, 04:40 AM | #6 |
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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 |
04-26-2005, 04:45 AM | #7 | |
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Quote:
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04-27-2005, 10:00 PM | #8 |
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Apple pie and coffee, mmmm....
Goes good with wine! |
04-27-2005, 10:33 PM | #9 |
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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? |
04-29-2005, 04:11 AM | #10 |
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absolutely,
Start up that site, I'll even contribute some of my poems |
04-29-2005, 08:07 AM | #11 |
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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 |
04-29-2005, 05:52 PM | #12 |
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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 |
04-29-2005, 07:17 PM | #13 |
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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.
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04-29-2005, 09:28 PM | #14 |
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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
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04-29-2005, 11:08 PM | #15 |
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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) |
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