Sunday, August 26, 2012

Intemperance: The Insignificant Parallel of a Denigrating Identity

Bottles by Borg de Nobel / / used with permission /
For Poetics: Borg de Nobel @ D'Verse, hosted by Claudia Schoenfeld

9 to nine
aligned, atop some fragile ledge-
at least that is how it once appeared-
when we regretfully never paid much attention- to the
finite desires and infinite dreams of those details deemed
as immaterial noise-whitened by conundrum and muted under
the guise of second nature-

when we had already forgotten the appearance of our first

Broken, fragmented, blurring, shard-like daggers-
driven deep, from the imagined dimension residing
only inches behind the retinae-

Corroded by dancing apparitions,
unconcerned with division or caste-open wide,
lean back-until
the spine quivers from denial-
and then
through design
for antidotal reassurances-

where it won't matter
if you fabricate
the meaning and the mores
as long as the intention is
to propagate an atmosphere
unique to here

by lipstick and whitewash-
careening imagery
blends into smear-
only to seek shelter
from the dirty mugs that persevere-

the hours, drenched in withdrawal-
yet ever awakened at the slightest scent

elixirs, potions, prescient concoctions
potent yet potable
protraction in non-invasive postures-
bled fresh for that falsified sickness burrowed impossibly within


bottles of what-might-have-been,
condemned by their isolated indiscretions-
validated through witless reminiscence
and the scouring that envelopes all
enlivened beasts-

Where the frothing disturbances blink-
concomitantly with exaggerated frames-
originally built for the demons of phoresy-
the remoras of your world-worthless in
many ways, yet still, you allow them passage
in bewildering effervescence,
adulations, you've grown too frail to dwell upon

and despite all things antithetical to a state of proper
being, you gain a fondness, a possessive remorse unto-

alternating chromatics
imbuing the hearth with
flames that burn
flush, flashing forth from
a lost prism's fire-
where forgotten
invitations colate and concur
in dystopia's
cascading obfuscation

Make sure you head on over to D'Verse, and read through Claudia's excellent write up.  If you're like me, you'll really find the Q and A between her and Borg de Nobel fascinating.  Finding poetic inspiration through her art was extremely easy.  In fact, it was virtually impossible not to find inspiration.  That said, if you like this piece or any of the other's from Claudia's article, do yourself a favor and check out the artist's site, lots of excellent pieces there.

And, I guess, I might as well throw in some shameless self-promotion here.  I also paint for fun, digitally though, and have an art blog as well.  While not really even in the same conversation as the work Borg does, but I do a lot of abstract, experimental painting, that perhaps you might enjoy.


  1. i always find that your poems have this abstract and experimental feel to them as use words in unusual ways and combine them to layers that need a careful look to discover the depth...this one is no exception fred...well done

  2. Interesting take on the image that doesn't take the easy options on finding a meaning

  3. 'Bottles of what might have been' That's the saddest line of all. Once that alcohol gets you, it's a hard one to come back from for so many. Deep, thought provokng and powerful write Fred.

  4. we never notice until its too late....smiles....really nice internal rhyming and flow, per usual...bottles of what-might-have-been,
    condemned by their isolated indiscretions-def relatable...smiles.

  5. Do you find that there's much cross-fertilization between your writing and your visual art?

    Also, if you don't mind a constructive suggestion, it might be worth taking a very close look at what the adverbs and adjectives in your poem contribute because there is clearly a powerful story here, but sometimes it isn't visible under the words.

  6. In the same way, I think reading/listening to this could inspire a drawing.

    Lots of glass and fire references -- things with edges, fragile yet can hurt. Feelings of loneliness and breaking down. I can't pin this down, most uncomfortable imagery of strange concoctions boiling and frothing, and someone possibly withering away there. Seems a metaphor of trying to fix something, and in the process of doing so, actually causing oneself to erode.

    I appreciate you included your reading. There's possibly tones and mood in there I would have missed if I read it myself.

  7. An amazing write! Loved all the images I see through your words.

  8. Wow, Fred, this is so good. You give such insight into the dilemma of addiction, almost drag us into the experience.

  9. You surely took the painting and spun it with your own words, bringing it to life, glad that is a road I'd never go down, needing to drink and ruining my liver would surely cause me to frown.

  10. Bottles of what might have been is such a wonderful description- if only!
    (Drink up.) As always a very interesting poem. k.

  11. i like the intention of propagating a unique atmosphere

    slowly it had to last