I'm working on poetry in which the lines are largely interchangeable, causing subtle (or less than subtle) meaning changes, while retaining a specific overall focus.
brush strokes ignite canvas
acrylic luster stains my fingers
drawing down the sun
craving solid warmth,
searing face in shower's heat
winter stretches long
Yes, it's similar to haiku, but that was not the goal. (and using a Japanese form with English words creates a very different type of poem, anyway.) The goal was, as it always is, measured balance, casual but careful rhythm, and a fairly singular mood. The first five lines have heat in them, but there isn't any in the end.
crafted from clay and paper
fumbled together in earnest delight
a crowded nest for nomads
lined with feathers and flowers and fur
you broke the world in my paint-stained hands
splintered wings too delicate to mend
like a scrapbook retrieved after fire, or flood
half-formed thoughts at present. not very original.
fumbled together in earnest delight
crafted from clay and paper
lined with feathers and flowers
you broke the world
in my paint stained hands
splintered wings too delicate to mend
rain beating my face breathless
warm elixir for a cool afternoon
I lean back, yawning to take in more
yeah, that's not really finished, is it? but neither am I, so, well...
But I wanted to post these today. I have no idea who, if anyone, has ever seen them. I believe they are both from 2002, but am not certain.
untitled
digging, planting, watering
wearing yesterday's clothes
smearing soil across her cheek
hair caught up and forgotten
she battles drought for the sake of
lemon balm, thyme, sage and peppermint
her sky is parched the sand beneath her bare toes
holds no moisture for nourishing roots
once again no promise of rain in sight
never a promise only the knowledge
that rainy season does come around
eventually maybe it won't be too late this year
she just keeps planting seeds harvesting her little herbs
making cool tea for hot afternoons
now and then he calls, he muses, she laughs
that smooth laugh of hers
she tells him exactly what he wants to hear
or a little bit less, salt for his bland diet
he swallows her words with greed
she drinks his thoughts, a sweet deep well
unmapped reservoir
she thinks she hears thunder in the distance
sky darkens in the west
it threatens rain, clouds move in, pass by
goodbyes linger, she hangs up
knowing the storm has moved out to sea
another one will come around
eventually
on a cool breeze
gently but steadily
to nourish, replenish, restore
in a manner of speaking, that is. better to write when spillage has been released and detoxified another way. the line breaks are not cohesive or balanced, so I'll have to at least work on that before moving on from this. it's several years old but when I ran across it today, I realized it was full of meanings that could at least provide fodder for new creative considerations. something like that.
dancing with baal
dancing before the golden calf, stumbling drunk,
falling toward the flames of sacrifice
laughing, calling all is well,
all is magic and power as it swallows your soul
your new abode burning black and thick,
choking and charring;
accompanied not by sweet fragrance;
temple incense is not welcome in this place
black-hot coals, ashen souls
it reeks
you scream
your baptism by fire has removed your skin,
your shell of protection
and all can see what lay beneath your once glimmering surface
the window to your soul is smeared with tongue-licks
the stain of fornicating with yourself and your little
god who abandoned you in fear;
his double-minded weakness saving you from his digestion
smashing the filthy glass
you tremble and shiver
eyes straining at the white coolness of pure light
bathing, healing, tearing,
stretching a new clean skin over your feeble cobbler's child heart
embossed nametag in tatters—
laying it on the temple altar
you will watch it heal and grow.
This is over ten years old. And like most of my "poetry," works best when spoken aloud. I realized it belonged here since I named my blog after it, sort of. I'll never edit it, I guess, because it is what it is;
Apparently I actually am getting old and forgetting that my "glasses are on my head,"
"geez, it's all heavy-handed and preachy and crap, instead of funny. and i picked dumb words that can't be used in many different ways. but i did succeed, as i understand the point of a sestina, in starting with one mood and building to another; it's just not the one i first intended!"
Spirits only know what I must hope to gain
by concentrating on a form most find inane
and to further cause myself unwieldy pain
rotating rhyme, six feet in meter--quite insane.
If by day's end labor leads to aches in vain
Who cares? The French love Jerry Lewis; I disdain.
Frankly speaking I shall clarify disdain
of pratfalls on prats prattling on for comic gain.
Rabble pleasers they, whose living praises vain
ignoble creatures, sycophantic souls inane.
Innocuous you say? Yes, harmless? You're insane.
I'll parallel another scam that brings me pain.
Terminal distress no cure for new-found pain,
I'll make it plain. Airport officials earn disdain:
force boys to drink rainwater from a jar, insane
make mother sup on breast milk just her seat to gain
handcuff old ladies dare they ask for proof--inane,
that pilots are not drinking on the plane; it's vain.
Random tosses of the dice will show, in vain,
that patterns are a natural part of life. I pain
to demonstrate that every act which seems inane,
whether it's a fall for laughs (I so disdain)
or sneaking bombs onto our planes for Heaven's gain
can be traced to patterns though they seem insane.
The rest of us can fall or bomb or go insane
assuming that we will at any time is vain.
Assaulting eight year-olds and grandmas brings no gain,
this Western need for fairness is what causes pain
to those who're taught a hierarchy of disdain;
that few are righteous men and fairness is inane.
Songwriters' earnest pleas for love sweet love inane
coupled with this paranoia most insane
create these false views of the world that I disdain
In East or West people are sheep, mindless and vain
Journalists and preachers both provide the pain
galvanizing hapless fools power to gain
Though tricks inane imbue this piece I find I gain
some knowledge as to what drives folks insane with pain
Disdain for Jerry Lewis may be all in vain
Well. There we are. I wonder what else is lurking in the shadows of my hard drive?
life, the universe, and everything
it's all a farce.
a test for the gullible to fail
then take again in the artless belief
there is more than one outcome
behind a glass, the testmaker watches
shaking his head at the foregone result
her eagerness is her downfall
over and over again.
I wrote this about ten years ago, and ran across it today. Now and then I trot it out to see if anyone gets it. I'm not sure anyone ever has without having it explained to them, but I don't think it is all that clever or all that obtuse. Anyway. I'm in a dark mood these days.
tiny red room
it's dark in here; a missouri cave,
quiet, still tracing your brow
my fingertips come alive;
tripping, dancing,
seemingly moving of their own will,
trailing down your thin, pale arm
entwining your hand in my own
easing my weight-
so carefully, gently, onto your slight frame
with delicate cadence, friction,
where we meet and i am charged,
quickly overcome--
whispering gentle love notes
shhh--as quiet as the static air
of this little place.
don't speak, my love
one kiss--just a drop,
our last drop a tender goodbye--
then--shuddering--
my insides radiating out in waves,
i bury my face into your neck-curve
as the lid slams shut,
and i breathe our last...
