Thursday, May 31, 2012

Sealing leaks/Retaining form

Scotch tape, pressed to fingerprint
covet every inch of dust
the skin didn’t know was ever
even there

Easels doused in the afterthought, of
sprinkled reflections that
mindset’s purge, out upon
so many wasted canvasses,
producing a diary the flesh
would just as soon ignore

They say a good fire will cleanse virtually anything
they say that a can of jolt cola can strip the metal from a coin
In thirty seconds flat
And I think
what then could it do
to a heart made of steel—
lifelessly cold and listlessly hardened

Masking tape, generously applied,
tries to conceal, yet in time, all beneath,
will in some form be revealed

The ink on the eleven by eight point five is not yet dry
before you’ve decided it’s phrase means nothing anymore
the vowels have all grown askew
into consonants, hard r’s, k’s and q’s
vocabulary you’ve always known
yet still dismissed, until
that red line draped across your page
As it’s always has—but now

You see a line of music
and have no idea how to play
the chords so prominently on display—and you can’t
decipher, the damage that could be done,
if anyone but yourself
stood but feet from the point
where this fire first began…

They say duct tape has a millions uses or more
yet sealing leaks and retaining form, I assume, will the one’s most remembered for

Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Cornea's Arise

Sea, we’d
Drift, unto
And it’s ever

and it's there we realize 
                                     a play
on word

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

(Sequentially formatted tiers) of Thematic Voiceovers

It's Tuesday, and in a little over an hour, Claudia will open the doors to the D'Verse pub, manning the taps all night long, listening to the tunes, err. poems that are linked for Open Link Night tonight.  So head on over, take in the poetry and share one of your own.  

Fallen from utopian pools of aquamarine
into the outstretched arms of hazel green

A society of drones,
cut in symmetrical frames,
out of identically chosen casts and molds

The skies bleed the Heavens of ethereality,
songs matriculate from summits to cirrus bands,
fortifying the oxygen with inorganically formed bass and treble led compositions of unidentifiable sounds

We then find ourselves unable
to deny, the automaton within
bones no longer our own.

These actions lay the groundwork
for what the soundtracks here

Monday, May 28, 2012

A Transitional tale

I thought I'd give the Triplet form that Roger's made famous over at his blog, Chasing Tao, a go of it today.  Please visit Roger's site for a much more profound use of the form and see all the wonderful examples he has on display.  This piece is intended to be looked at three-fold, photograph, Verse, Video.  Thanks.

I wanted to try
I wanted to make
This world a better place
         Yes, I understood, to do that, I would have to travel dark and terrible tunnels
         Of course, I knew, that to succeed, others must fail, others would surely fall.
“Life changing,” is what the recruiter spelled in that initial meeting...
         and I bought the bait…excited to do so at that, to be a hero, to change the world, to let freedom ring, through the valleys of atrocity, to the shores of oppression…we cheered when each flag fell, when power was returned
but, no one ever said how life changing this all would be

Throbs of
         Each and every morning—when loud sounds stir-
Unsure of surroundings—of mission—of faces of family and friends-
Unaware—the war’s been won—finding fist formed, trembling, in a half-sleeping hand, staring down at a woman that loves you unrequited…

Snapping, at pin-tinged words—that provoke a bouquet of chastising gleams, from those who always told others how well they knew who you are and what kind of man rests inside—yet that was a different lifetime entirely—and now, all you want, is
For someone to save you
From those seeds planted
Deep within…seeds that continue to green, despite all the psychological weedkillers stirred about...
                  All you need is to see the flag, unfurled and proudly traveling it’s fabric’s length—spanning much, much further distances than a mere cloth could possibly transmit- and you salute, every time, regardless of where or when...

Honor and duty, you plod along, until you get your next directive, hoped for, under the guise of a civilian blanket, one that cannot keep your turning body warm at night—
you pray that a new assignment will take you far from this strangest land of all—
you’ve always done what’s been told—
As all good soldiers do—
         But at ease, is something you fear you no longer can do

Obviously not a celebratory piece, just not how my minds wired lately, but still wanted to take part in the Memorial Day celebration over at D’Verse, and thought an artistically, I hope, filtered informational piece about the tragedies of our nation’s heroes suffer upon their return home, how they leave their family as Person A but if they are so lucky to come back at all, they almost always return as Person Z, whether they speak of the differences or not, they see it, and in some way or another, they know things are not how they vaguely remember things, that something has changed. 

I know several people, that have served and they’ve all been very candid about their re-acclamation.  Each of them speaks as to how the world does seem reshaped, yet they just don’t know how or why.   They all seem to be transitioning adequately, yet do speak of having to seek counseling, wake up in cold sweats, unknowing where they are, and yes, nightmares always seem to part of the conversation. 

The one that has the hardest time is one that’s just returned home this past year after 10 years of deployment, and he’s told me that while the beer tastes much better being back home, he does feel like he’s still having to look over his shoulder at all times, amongst many other tragic aftertastes.  The worst though, has to be his 12 year old son, treating him as if he’s just another stranger, polite, yet distanced.  He says how he would look forward to getting new photos, and how he’d use them to help stay grounded while away, but when he first reached out to hug him, the child merely said hello and went to shake his hand.  His doctor says it might take some time, for all parties to readjust. And they all are fine with that, or so they say.  But I believe them, yet I wonder, should transitioning adequately be okay at all. 

My personal feeling is that the Governments of this world truly need to get their priorities in shape.  They need to come up with better solutions than simply sending their youth out into combat, where whether a single shot is ever fired or not, they become altered. 

Protecting one’s greatest assets, life and freedom, should always be the main priority, and obviously military operations will be a part in this defense, yet it would be nice if the system at hand is altered somewhat more than it already is, to help our brave heroes transition as seamlessly as possible, without fear of what may be next. 

Obviously you tread into neuroscience, and the mind is a funny beast, very difficult to pin down in entirety, but more science, more research, as I’ve heard it is, should continuously to be, done. 

The families of those who do not return, as well as of those of wounded veterans, which I use the term wounded in it’s broadest scope, need to be taken care of better than perhaps they already are.  The heroes should be remembered and praised for their courage and their unselfish acts of sacrifice, for it all is a sacrifice, is it not? 

Obviously I didn’t do this conversation justice, as there’s just so much more territory to go down. Yet I feel I got down the gist of the message I wanted to get out, and only hope it has been adequately displayed.  So, this is just something a bit heavier to mull over as we all eat our fruit salads and barbeque this afternoon.  As Decoration Day, as this holiday was originally named, is supposed to be for remembering those servicemen and women that have died.  But death, is that not such a subjective term, and in such, I think our definitions should be expanded somewhat.  

                              Mama by Godsmack

Domino Hustlers

Backgammon heartbreaker
A little vial of water trapped
About your neck

Domino hustler and
A chain of thieves
predicting which
wage will force the stake                 (crowd’s can please so easily)

allocating sensitivity
into folders of insecurity

Shadow boxing with the Ali of hype
quick and shifty evasion grows
culpable…mighty, mighty mistaken
but agreeably culpable none the less         (scholars think they know)

In-Jest.  Ingesting generally, a generic, general
gesticulating generally.  Gestures of a gentile
generalist, gently genuflecting Jen e se qua
gee wizard…Get Shorty. Gelatinous mass
of attack, gentries of sanctimony, sellers of kind
solicitation unlike anything you’ll ever find           (Reawakened now)

In and out of pubs, scrubbing bubbles next to a quartet of jacked-up
amphetamine smoking ducks, of the rubber persuasion, spitting bathwater, as high as the eyeglasses can see.  Free…generational guesswork…popping the quark and nine.           (False Adieu)