Nothing Much – a free form poem about . . .
May 28, 2009
Filed under Uncategorized
Tags: free verse, good old days, mind's eye, poetry
I have often thought that I would have to be dead
to feel what those meditating pros feel: nothing.
When I shut my eyes, I open my mind’s eye
and I have to say it is quite a sight – anything I focus on
I can see whether that be chirping birds or smelly trees
creaking cars, or big ass trucks releasing their air : chchcchchss
But this is the realm of the senses that are present to me now,
I find that I can go backwards in time and somewhere in space
to childhood and there is candy in my cereal bowl ( or so I thought at the time)
Cocoa Puffed up with more sugar than most desserts but still we added our own spoonful
Ah, sweet lordy – Mama I want more !
And prizes, we want prizes – what good is a box without a prize
who cares if the decoder ring does not fit – its a prize for gosh darn sake
(we had to say it that way in front of mom but outside we told each other the right words,
the ones that were way more fun to say)
And now the future, this too I see, ‘cept it is fuzzy and slippery
like a kitten that does not want to be held
you keep grabbin’ at it and it keeps trying to get itself free
I see people paying me with checks and cash and chickens
and I am excited because it tells me that I belong,
that I am doing something people are willing to pay good money for
and there is love exchanged and we all are happy:
me, them folks paying me and the chickens who I set free.
Lordy, I have rambled on here – this was to be a poem
about nothing except I was having trouble thinking which
particular nothing to write about – I was going to say I got nothin’
and leave it at that but then nothing but nothing came to mind and
well as they say, that is that – yet I got more words still but they’re nothing special
Best leave it at that.
Nothing Needing. . . (a poem)
Nothing
appears
to be
what it is
supposed to be
on this day of all days
It is as if
everything
has turned
to jello
leaving me
with
nothing to lean on
I
want
to go on
but there is nothing
that appears
to be
needing
me
Dreaming of Coffee (free form poetry)
It is dark, so I light a match
and that seems enough because
then it is not dark anymore.
But darkness is not wrong
and light is not right at least
in the absolute sense – every day
has both, right ? So this gets me to thinking
and thinking gets me to writing and this poem
is the result of not drinking too much coffee
which is dark in the morning which is light.
So I get muse that perhaps there is some wisdom
there in the harmony of the two, dark and light,
since both are experienced by me and I am happy.
I thought about extrapolating this theory into
something the rest of the world could use to conquer
its problems but I realize that will take more
coffee and more mornings. So I put my start here
and I am content to dream of tomorrows, coffee,
and light.
Dreaming and Yet I am Awake (free form poem)
They are moving in time
to places where they’re supposed
to be. Each is aware in various degrees
whether in a gnawing ache or stressful tension,
some sort of gnatty pest of a bother that won’t
seem to go away, in the quite times.
So they busy up themselves, packing more in the
day than ever before just to stay away
from these quiet times. I know too well this feeling,
having had this bad, bad madness stalk me mercilessly.
I ran by being busy as much as my body would allow,
I swallowed the liquid liquor, wallowed in the stupor,
no relief, I could not smoke out this ache of the heart
and I could not forget it either since I did not know it s name.
But that is the part of the poem that tells nothing
unless you are into suffering which I did. Now I have changed
and to my dismay I am the same. That which stalked me,
caught me and finally I realized I was being chased by myself,
my soul, my salvation. There is no preacher here, no hypocrite
telling half understood truths skewed to their own biases. No,
I am telling you nothing about how to be – I am telling you how
I choose to be. Take it or leave it. The blinders are off my eyes,
I see the truth in everything. It not a dream of eden – it is a
dream of eden coming to be. We grow slowly in geological time
it seems but we grow. Each and everyone one of us. This much I see.
Two poems – Haiku and 15 words
February 3, 2009
Filed under poem
Tags: dragonflies, flash poetry, haiku, nature, poetry, small poems
A couple of poems I wrote this week -
Pond surface
gossamer on wind
wings flit taking unseen paths
dragonfly flies by
Upon meeting in a Train Station
cacophonous din
echoes in abundance
induces a timorous response
a tatter of composure
duplicitously frivolous
My Muse Kissed Me (but it tasted funny)
When I took Creative Writing in college, my professor gave me a bit of advice :
Be careful what you write as Satire or Parody because these days there is always someone who will take you seriously, dead seriously.
I never forgot those words, but occasionally I have misplaced them in my head and when I do that I attempt to write parody/satire.
Once I wrote story about a talking dog that talked about nothing else except how good my REALLY GREAT NOVEL tasted when he ate it. I thought out loud (in the story) that since my words were hard for most people to digest – I would give FIDO some ex-lax and maybe he would pass my REALLY GREAT NOVEL intact.
Well, I thought, no one would take me seriously about that – but I was wrong – several women in the room in which I had just read the story out loud wagged their fingers at me – shame on you for doing that to a dog, you could kill it giving it ex-lax. (Read More)
How do You Tell Someone in a poem ?
Lazy legs splashed over the couch
laptop living up to its name – she is writing she says – shhhh, do not disturb
A warning that draws me in – a sweet siren’s song of leave-me-alone
I must know, I have to know – what words need her focus upon them
as I crash upon the rocks of Go-Away, I catch a glimpse which though fleeting leaves its mark upon me
It is a poem she writes (for some other face, for some other book, perhaps)
about love
using words against their nature
ripping, tearing, wounding love complete with scorn from ones abandoned, rejected, and used
cliche pounding cliche, subtlety discarded never played,
her message is blasted with rock concert loudness
“I Love You” it says (and you-better-love me-back-if you-know-what-I-mean-because-I-can-be-mean)
This is harsh razor blade in your face love poetry – one you survive reading and like all good wars you don’t want to go back there again – one that makes you look for the closest exit because this poem- is-getting-scary-and staying-scary.
But
She the one that I currently love – whatever that means – radiates passion and attacks life with a zeal-ly zest that both mesmerizes me and lures me in – I want her, I want her fire, I want her love.
Do I pet this scorpion, knowing I could get stung ?
I want to – there is something alluring in the danger of it all
So I stay, in the same apartment, together with her fire and spit, she is my tigress
and as
We all sit on the couch to together, now the real danger comes squeaking out (of her mouth)
“Look at my poem and tell me what you think.”
What I consider important in writing poetry
I think this poem says it all on how I write poetry – what guides me – hint it is not puncuation
PUNK, You ate Shun !
Said the Dude venting his spleen,
‘cept his spleen turned out to be . . .mine (gut reaction saved me almost;
Thus my colon became a semi-colon).
His weapon of words pierced my armor, jabbed at the heart of my messy message disguised as a poem – No Rhyme, No Reason, No thing worthy of placing my eyesight upon it – he continued believing in his vicious victory and was taken
both a back and off guard by my rapicious retort: (Ye of faire stomach should cease perusing here)
“I neither play by the rules invented by men long dead
nor by those secluded deluded fool-uded fellows you hold in good stead.
My rules are not what you could follow since they come from a dark place in my head.
There is but one objective in these lines of mine
never to reason, never to rhyme, if these commit the crime
of placing proper-ness over passion, sense over sensation, and/or method over message.
The power of the poet is touching the untouchable
putting words to silence
and piercing the heart of unknown readers
who thought they knew what they knew,
(little did they know it wasn’t so)
So back get ye to the nether regions of the page
dark upon the shelve – gather your dust -
I claim my spot among your memory cells.
You might not like it but it you will not forget.”
Taomaster 2009
A Bunch of Questions Looking for Answers
January 29, 2009
Filed under essay
Tags: looking for answers, positive mental attitude, Seeking from the Universe
When do I feel most alive ? What is it that I am doing then? What is it that is inside of me that seeks something better ? Do I think that knowing some new secret knowledge will make me better ? Do I really believe that ?
What is the next step ? Will I know it when I see it ? Will I reject it because it doesn’t fit with my current view of the world ?
Who is to say what the best way is ? Is there more to life than acquiring material goods ? Am I not alive ? Doesn’t just being alive mean I have a chance to learn and grow ? Doesn’t this mean that I have a chance to become more than I am now ? Isn’t that enough ?
Why cry over spilled milk ? Why not just get the cat to lick it up ? Is not the loss of one thing just making room for the next thing ?
What do I gain by being negative ? What do I gain by being positive ? Which is better ?
Is this a good start ? Or do I have to ask more and better questions ?
