Only Words Remain
Soft lead to paper, it begins.
The thought precedes the action
But the action begins to fade,
Only words remain.
Eternal, Syllabic, the message left,
Emphatic. Inertial, words derive
With design pre-ordained, and strike
The mind with god hand’s intent.
These words, composed of graphite and friction
Hide more than any one could dream of diction.
Characters that can make you snarl, growl,
While others bring a ‘coo’ to form on waiting lips.
Each ‘S’ sends the reader soaring.
Through semi-saline seas
And sighing softly as sun sets.
Each ‘B’ brings barbarous thoughts to bear.
Burly brawlers, barreling their way through a Bazaar.
Bending bystanders beneath their brutish boots.
Do not forsake these scrawled inscriptions.
Do not banish them to paper piles long forgot.
Do not ignore the meaning that they chant.
For, when worlds erode and eons pass,
These words will remain, steadfast.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Red Light Beauty
Red Light Beauty
I can see your face.
Red light highlighting your features,
Each line, composing your smile,
Glows with a surreal ruby gleam.
I can see your face.
You lean in, so close to me.
Intoxicating, your sweet cinnamon scent
And the grip of your red-bathed hand,
Loosen my grip on the wheel.
Reeling, in the miasma of my affections,
Your soft cheeks,
pointed chin,
loving eyes,
delicate ears,
All bathed in a crimson wash that says:
“Go on, Love me”
I can hear the red light screaming to me:
Stop caring,
Stop worrying
Stop needing.
Stop everything, short of love.
In the moment, our lips now touch.
A kiss ensues, erupting joy.
I imagine my features red like yours
Speaking of passion and love.
The blushing lost in ambiguity.
I can see your face,
The comforting rouge, now a jarring green.
I am pulled from you, told to stop.
My hands on the wheel, I drive on.
I hope to see you again,
My Red Light Beauty.
I can see your face.
Red light highlighting your features,
Each line, composing your smile,
Glows with a surreal ruby gleam.
I can see your face.
You lean in, so close to me.
Intoxicating, your sweet cinnamon scent
And the grip of your red-bathed hand,
Loosen my grip on the wheel.
Reeling, in the miasma of my affections,
Your soft cheeks,
pointed chin,
loving eyes,
delicate ears,
All bathed in a crimson wash that says:
“Go on, Love me”
I can hear the red light screaming to me:
Stop caring,
Stop worrying
Stop needing.
Stop everything, short of love.
In the moment, our lips now touch.
A kiss ensues, erupting joy.
I imagine my features red like yours
Speaking of passion and love.
The blushing lost in ambiguity.
I can see your face,
The comforting rouge, now a jarring green.
I am pulled from you, told to stop.
My hands on the wheel, I drive on.
I hope to see you again,
My Red Light Beauty.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
The Room
I saw the Wailers (Bob Marley's band) last night and it was incredible.
I did not take off my shirt though.
Clubbin'
The room was alive with conversation.
Snippets of sentences,
Words with only individual meaning,
And the murmur of the growing crowd
Strike me like a cacophonous punch.
With the chill of night on my shoulders
And the clashing sweaty heat pulsing from
The room, I step through the threshold.
So many bodies, people packed in
Like pythons in an orgy.
My feet draw me closer,
Nonchalantly through the room.
Over crunching plastic cups,
Kicking discarded bottles and PBR tallboys.
The dancing, steaming mass
Drawing close.
A shoulder against my own
A hand across my thigh
It is a disarming feeling.
When music calls, disregard your anxiety.
Shuck it like a sweat soaked shirt.
Bare-chested, now become the crowd.
Dance with eyes closed.
Dance with soul out.
I did not take off my shirt though.
Clubbin'
The room was alive with conversation.
Snippets of sentences,
Words with only individual meaning,
And the murmur of the growing crowd
Strike me like a cacophonous punch.
With the chill of night on my shoulders
And the clashing sweaty heat pulsing from
The room, I step through the threshold.
So many bodies, people packed in
Like pythons in an orgy.
My feet draw me closer,
Nonchalantly through the room.
Over crunching plastic cups,
Kicking discarded bottles and PBR tallboys.
The dancing, steaming mass
Drawing close.
A shoulder against my own
A hand across my thigh
It is a disarming feeling.
When music calls, disregard your anxiety.
Shuck it like a sweat soaked shirt.
Bare-chested, now become the crowd.
Dance with eyes closed.
Dance with soul out.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Revised, Dining on Diction
Dining on Diction
Did you know, I like to eat odd things:
Secret, dusty things, kept between pages, sealed between covers,
Exotic conjugated and inflected things, possessing worldly flavors.
I never eat anything sissy like worms or boogers.
I eat words; lovely, tasty, inky, words.
Some words, like ‘Academic’, have tastes unique the world round.
You could call ‘Academic’, broccoli-esque.
Something you throw at your mother from your high-chair
And spit down the front of your clothes.
It drips with excessive preparation and care,
The buttery sauce ladled over to many-a-time.
It is soggy and overcooked, always.
I hate ‘Academic’
‘Periwinkle’, on the other hand, is scrumptious.
Spread it over your Bruschete and crumble it with feta.
Savory and sweet, the word melts in your mouth.
Warming your throat and clearing your sinuses,
It is medicinal and filling but watch the calories.
I could eat this ‘periwinkle’ all day long.
Nothing is more sublime than the interplay of words ala lime.
Let the syllables play on your palate. Savor their assonance,
Evaluate their meaning and critique their usage,
All with your tongue.
Disregard all of your mother’s manners and
Let juices run down your face, stain your Sunday clothes.
Grin ear to ear and show the world what you chew as you
Crunch and Munch. Make all of the noise you want.
Then pick your teeth in front of the company,
flick the Latinate suffix stuck between your teeth
across the table.
Did you know I eat odd things?
I do, indeed, I enjoy the pleasures of eating words.
I enjoy the rules of eating words,
None.
Secret, dusty things, kept between pages, sealed between covers,
Exotic conjugated and inflected things, possessing worldly flavors.
I never eat anything sissy like worms or boogers.
I eat words; lovely, tasty, inky, words.
Some words, like ‘Academic’, have tastes unique the world round.
You could call ‘Academic’, broccoli-esque.
Something you throw at your mother from your high-chair
And spit down the front of your clothes.
It drips with excessive preparation and care,
The buttery sauce ladled over to many-a-time.
It is soggy and overcooked, always.
I hate ‘Academic’
‘Periwinkle’, on the other hand, is scrumptious.
Spread it over your Bruschete and crumble it with feta.
Savory and sweet, the word melts in your mouth.
Warming your throat and clearing your sinuses,
It is medicinal and filling but watch the calories.
I could eat this ‘periwinkle’ all day long.
Nothing is more sublime than the interplay of words ala lime.
Let the syllables play on your palate. Savor their assonance,
Evaluate their meaning and critique their usage,
All with your tongue.
Disregard all of your mother’s manners and
Let juices run down your face, stain your Sunday clothes.
Grin ear to ear and show the world what you chew as you
Crunch and Munch. Make all of the noise you want.
Then pick your teeth in front of the company,
flick the Latinate suffix stuck between your teeth
across the table.
Did you know I eat odd things?
I do, indeed, I enjoy the pleasures of eating words.
I enjoy the rules of eating words,
None.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Rape that Continent!
In the Name of Civilization!
The sound of living life fills the air.
Bushes shudder after flowers are removed, their delicate work.
Boughs groan at the un-natural weight resting on them.
There is indeed bounty all around, ripe for plucking.
Ripe for tearing your teeth into and slurping the nectar-blood,
sweet and salty.
When the clouds overhead grow darkly heavy
will they cry for the loss of nature’s
virginity?
Will the cry at the rape of
Europa?
It is those heaven born tears
that will clean the abused earth.
Wash away the herd-sized foot track stain in the dirt
Dissolve the rancid waste and midden left behind.
Revive the grass, like deius workings, that before was
chewed to cud by cumbersome cows.
Settling man, searching for a home to rest,
Do you not care for this cycle, like flaming callous reincarnation,
you make her endure at every rain?
Can we spare this daughter of mother earth?
Sweet Europa’s fate left on the temptuous sea of man’s pitty.
Before, the smell of a Garden,
untouched.
Now, the stank of effluence and
rape.
Europa, sweet bountiful boundless Europa,
left to rot for man.
The sound of living life fills the air.
Bushes shudder after flowers are removed, their delicate work.
Boughs groan at the un-natural weight resting on them.
There is indeed bounty all around, ripe for plucking.
Ripe for tearing your teeth into and slurping the nectar-blood,
sweet and salty.
When the clouds overhead grow darkly heavy
will they cry for the loss of nature’s
virginity?
Will the cry at the rape of
Europa?
It is those heaven born tears
that will clean the abused earth.
Wash away the herd-sized foot track stain in the dirt
Dissolve the rancid waste and midden left behind.
Revive the grass, like deius workings, that before was
chewed to cud by cumbersome cows.
Settling man, searching for a home to rest,
Do you not care for this cycle, like flaming callous reincarnation,
you make her endure at every rain?
Can we spare this daughter of mother earth?
Sweet Europa’s fate left on the temptuous sea of man’s pitty.
Before, the smell of a Garden,
untouched.
Now, the stank of effluence and
rape.
Europa, sweet bountiful boundless Europa,
left to rot for man.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
OM
Release your breath,
Close your eyes,
center your mind.
Take a step back
from the chaos around you
to know
Feel the world dissolve,
Colors become one
All sounds are now one.
a low moan
an
Slow and deliberate .
Lips move with purpose,
to mouth syllables
A
O
M.
Soon reality slips away
the soul preserved
and the words you say
A
O
M.
Bring God.
For he rests in the words,
in the breath
of a being at peace
in the
Know yourself,
in peace of the eternal,
resonating with a low
deep in the chest
moan.
an
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