Poetry Digest: #5

From time to time, I hope to publish a collection of a few of my recent poems. I will refer to this series of posts as my "Poetry Digest". This is Poetry Digest #5.



The Escalator's Speech

The careful plucking of strings resonates
Between awful, desperate groans and gasps,
Straining mechanical encumbrance -
All the pride and fury of Beethoven:
Symphony seven, allegretto - two.
Thumping guttural hums and pipsqueak sighs;
An escalator for an orchestra,
Seething underneath to find the right pitch.
My pride peaks as my height rises to time
In swelling triumph with trumpets and flutes.
This raspy, tired...contrivance confounds me:
Moving people without stirring their souls?
I feel the agonies of wonder lost.
I resolve to share its humble thunder:
Wailing without end, in stale baritone --
Let us all thrust our songs into the world!


The Syntax of Things

Order is the absurdity of repetition -
the inability to see, singularly,
in the necessity of the individual moment.

Necessity is the order of the individual -
the inability to see repetition
is in the moment singularly, of absurdity.

The inability to see order is repetition -
the moment of necessity is singularly,
in the absurdity of the individual.


inside-out

brush
the dust
off your coat
fix your collar
redo the buttons
don mismatched gloves
no mirror
applies
here


siphon

blow
your breath
in focus
gazing within
the ephemeral
both in and out
together
either
way

twang
buzzes
underneath
smooth melodies
reverberating
past the effect
unaware
weaving
tones

track
hollow
wobbling
just passing through
empty stereo
between spaces
composing
what is
gone


transfer

use
swagger
expertise
your best bull rush
briefcase bludgeoning
with the stiff arm
swinging by
swarming
hives


Running for My Life

world class expert in banana triage
ripened owner of clementines
steward of much yogurt
dawn champion
I rise

ready
daylight beckons
just before my alarm
I leap into a buzzing burst
underdog of the drowsiness relay

I win one pants leg, and also the next
I have earned the title black belt
defend my crown daily
no atrophy
no ties

but ties
I am training
I surmount obstacles
each routine is my next event
I'll finish first place on the Metro stand


In Statuary Hall, A Proud Hoosier

Oliver Hazard Perry Throck Morton --
I'd commandeer that, commodore!
Oliver P. Morton.
Among Hoosiers,
First-rate

Leader
In civil war,
Staunch ally of Lincoln:
"Perhaps the shrewdest man I know".
Two men from my state who don't hesitate.

"Filled with the most Southerners in the North".
Confederate flag bumper stickers
Common in my hometown
Still testify - -
Too true.

Things change
Yet are the same:
Lead a state to acclaim -
You won't be lampooned in the East -
Which lasts longer...humor, or prejudice?


We're Borg Again in Indiana
*(to the tune of "Back Home Again in Indiana)

We're Borg again, in Indiana -
Where it seems that we can see
The growing of our might
Our crushing might
Burn the sycamores for me
So you will pay
Give us our tribute
Or we will burn down your home
And when we form a hive mind army on the Wabash
All the world will call Indiana home

Poetry Digest: #4

From time to time, I hope to publish a collection of a few of my recent poems. I will refer to this series of posts as my "Poetry Digest". This is Poetry Digest #4.



No Apology

there's something to say
to credit Winslow Homer
or Edward Hopper

for longing for clouds
Socrates drank his hemlock
no more Socrates

yet, you know better:
the clouds are, in fact, still there,
Aristophanes

even more than books
even more than life itself
I prefer the clouds

artists may capture
a brief moment of rapture --
that is all there is


The Fog Cycle

before rain arrives
my breath joins the clouds above
we are fog machines

slip into the night
filter your own outpouring
water the cycle

condensation drips
and travels through all of us
so I relinquish

the trees fill my lungs
their shadows overcome doubt
sustaining my life

I pine for a hush
that will return my silence
better than I found


advance

sprint
forward
do not stop
nor halt progress
keep running apace
if you sputter
company
will bring
you


exile

last
winter
gaping wounds
exposed my fears
I walked silently
no companion
averted
trials
fought


rationale

sleep
is not
an excuse
it is my foil
to suspend my doubts
moving deadlines
encourage
undue
haste


paradox

change
I am
change itself
to be the change
I remain the change
that is no change
I must change
the same
change


Into The Void

if I am not long for the world of dreams
I can consider anything
all possibilities
stir together
endless

formless
yet to take shape
a place where time ceases
between everywhere and nowhere
I am on the shoals of consciousness

tell me which direction I am heading
my only guarantee is fear
I must wait until dawn
when I wake up
to know

before
I can relax
I will pay my respects
to the memory of each day
to a story with a life of its own


Rush

I could be the Vice President,
Since I'm great at undoing ties.
I am careful how I present.
As each one of my fingers flies,
Why do I have all these buttons?
Clocks race, adrenaline heightens:
Who is that stranger in the suit?
I forget during the pursuit.
Zipping alongside the platform,
I look for the right car to catch -
Or wait, sit down, and start to kvetch.
As a queue begins to reform,
I find a window -- look within --
To find the place where I come in.


Reference Point

I'm not the one to strike boldly.
Look elsewhere for the first to stride.
I would rather detach coldly;
Stress needs a place and time to bide.
I will change nothing, and needing
Nothing changed, I will do nothing.
Frequent madness is my advice,
But few exist to pay that price.
Above all, do not be passive.
Supply a beginning, and end -
Join them together as you bend
Timing, enormous and massive.
I warn all those who dare ignore:
There is no such thing as before.


In the Year of the Lighthouse

When I'm drifting and I'm falling,
I don't even know where to start.
I keep swimming, I keep searching -
I reach for something in my heart,
Catch that beacon, and I follow:
Not to let my love lie fallow.
I turn those pages, flip a switch --
My light and signal, perfect pitch.
Here's my harbor, here's my guidance.
Raging waters aren't what I seek,
But without waves there is no peak:
I cry out for deliverance!
Watching you, I unleash my sails,
Now I'm fearless - come tide or gales.

"Disambiguation": A Poem In Two Parts

Disambiguation, Part One

I’m running. Split into 4 guys remaking Cool Runnings. Like the Epic Rap Battle of History.

I like history jokes. I don’t want to know what happens below your 38th parallel. There is no cease fire. The fire burns white hot.

I heard a TED Talk. As far as talking goes, it’s a fine medium of communication. Not that I would know lately.

Some woman with schizophrenia, mentioned her obsession with wordplay. That reminded me of a poem: I wanted to write yesterday. I’ve wanted to write every day. I’ve wanted every day. I’m overrun with wanting.

It’s why I’m still running. I have so much left to prove. Yet it is mathematically impossible, to divide by zero.

I take the remainder of my wants: the silence divides my wants...but I cannot continue. I cannot produce irrationality.

The answer is not infinite. The answer does not exist. I live without answers, even as I have every answer: a list of possible references and explanations.

I see everything and know nothing. I’m the epitome of my age: too little skill, too much meandering. Overstimulated and underexperienced, underqualified and overwrought.

I forsake knowledge. I forsake friendship. All I have is instant gratification.

Will I never learn? Will I always be this empty?

I am sorry. I am very sorry.

***

Disambiguation, Part Two

I shaved today. I saved face. I shaved my face. I cut myself, and my chin wouldn't stop bleeding.

If it bleeds, it leads. That's what my dad always said. That's what I told my friend Michael yesterday.

Yesterday I had not yet shaved. I saved that for today. Every day the blade of time grinds against the face of humanity.

The blade is a decade. If only I could get each decade spayed, the moments of my life could have stayed.

Judgment cannot be stayed. Justice is blind, but it must be paid. There is no karma, or if there is, it's delayed.

Delayed like the Metro and the bus. An omnibus. Everything slows. Distance only grows. Perhaps those are inextricably linked.

I've got to hit the links, but I can't play golf. I can't save Rolfe. I just watched The Sound of Music. How can you watch a sound?

Time is already at the pound, that's why it's spayed. Time's never made a sound. Therefore sound does not exist, yet somehow sound persists.

I saved time and sound today. I saved spacetime by shaving. Is this the expression I'm craving? Is this incoherent raving?

I'm caving in. Like Plato's Allegory of the Cave. What's shadow and what's real? What do I hide and what do I conceal? The answers refuse to congeal. The wound on my chin refuses to heal.

There's too much depth, I cannot feel. Too much death, but it's a wheel. I'm taking life for a spin, I'm finally caving in, but I'm short a tail-fin. Fin. As in, the end. What is my end? What is my design? What is my teleology? Perhaps my questions are a matter of psychology. I do not question that psychology matters, but I'd like to thank the woman from the TED Talk for an educating me phenomenally.