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Mumblings / Poetry, Early 2023

Like mentioned on other other poetry pages, it's James Dickey-inspired poetry. Not sure why all these ended up on yet another separate page. It seemed necessary to break up the uploads of dazzling, brilliant prose. (heh, heh)

NOTE: None of these are repeated in the not-new-anymore digital poetry book, Brief Tales of Compromised Solutions

Divine and Conquer

 

Under oppressive drivel

I am trying to think and stay clear

Keeping independent and upright

Alive and kicking

Someone is trying to teach me something

A low hanging lesson

Staring me right in the face

Clutching an empty martini in glass in the correct hand

 

I brush it aside

Under ornate party favours

With beck and call art gallery memories

Stuffed into the trunk of an exploding automobile

Down the street from a hideous magazine house

Covered in vines and suspicion taken from across the street

Beside a tepid and wilting stop sign

Giving up its ghost for the sake of the pace of the intersection

 

I drink up misplaced applause

And carry it out to map of the world

Screaming and pining for a dose of inspiration

And a chance encounter with a tectonic plate

I hold my gaze like an Arthurian legend

Strong and true and out of its element

The nations are clamouring for my benign attention

But Iíd rather float on dreams of divine and conquer

 

 

Flat Eric

 

Fighting fire with flat eric

Making a point behind the desk

With all the thrills of a thundering repeat

 

The crossed fingers come on soft

The people of the throat cede their time

To the last person on the dark side of the street

 

Holding something up against the wall

Better to keep it cloaked in possibilities

And hope the bending lies never meet

 

A whiff of too much charity

Dreck and fission fall right down

The sense of purpose pheromones has to reek

 

Replete with discounted mercy

All hail the nobody police

The murder of signature wit is complete

 

Forget the patterns on the wall and floor

The routines canít be held against you

Itís just a romantic dangling of the educated clique

 

Like a doctor in a blender

A nurse off her nightingale

Going straight up dental covered in a bloody sheet

 

 

I have lived a thousand deaths

 

I have lived a thousands deaths

And I drink your tears for breakfast

A creature that smiles brighter than the light

In fact if truth be told the sun is my shit and the stars my sweat

I open my eyes each morning and that is when you all begin to live

Dog of the sky lord of the dirt governor of the in between

I make your decisions

No words of praise fall on my ears

Itís all glorious noise I can keep in my back pocket

 

I can open you all up like a can of gin soaked worms

Piling out of the tin into the real evening air

 

I crush the very names of things

Your thoughts are privy to my divine whims

The walls made of brick crumble with a stretch a sigh a dirty little look

A stupid little tune

A well anticipated dream

A fond fractured wish

An orchestra of odds

Coming up and down

With a symphony of pleasure

Dancing into your head

Where

Actually no this was all a bit of oversight taken a bit over the steep edge

Iím going to get a glass of water now my head hurts

 

 

 

Allegiance to the Slide Ruler

 

allegiance to the slide ruler

and all that ran along it

to tumble off its end and into the abyss

like a 5.8 dive with a hint too much splash

 

With a dumbing realization

Against a finger wagging backdrop

Forcing open the squealing lids of old and dusty secrets

Where the bones of the family skeleton come to be split like rails

 

I beat my hearts for your old mistakes

The change comes in torn pockets

 The stains be stories from trips to the counter and countless floors

 

Tired of this runaround and ragged shit

So give me destiny post haste

You cannot convince me of this proprietary position

 

And how itís tied to the ground with reasonable rocks

Open and closed case rot

Just canít get enough of that loving caress that shapes the slow burn

Donít even know how bad I got it when I get it

These are the ranges they all fall between

A bristling to the tapes of delay and ticker

A soft march to a hard as nails drum

It sounds to me like youíre campaigning against the weakest nightmares

Pushing around the paper thin frightening

While scratching true hellhounds behind the ears in deaf and dumb alleys

 

I donít believe you when you look outside

Flinging words into our possibly manicured garden

As a pleasant aircraft screams overhead

Lured by promises of off and on duty freedoms

 

There is a pressing of the two sides against the corners of my skull

And with it comes the silly persecutions that I cut up and use as bookmarks for the manuals that I stack to get high enough to climb out the corner window

It canít help but be morning

Iím not fighting against it

 

Thereís that sound again

Buck up, you snarling tunnel

You donít even remember that your backroom is filled with light

 

 

 

The Silence That Pools on the Argument Floor

 

The silence that pools on the argument floor

A place where resentment is sold on a stick

Where a sleeping pill is the prime escape hatch

And a denial of guilt is the overplayed trick

 

Drawing excuses in the dust with your finger

Letting the flaws howl down the dark halls

A game so simple you hold it close like a breath

And refuse to answer when old sensibility calls

 

Unlikely bedfellows strangled in the sheets

Eulogies that comes off awfully condescending

Youíve no time to appear at the sunís last wake

Falling off lines you wonít stop amending

 

Picking at the pieces of coiled and great success

Trying too hard for the steady lukewarm sighs

Stripping out the heart of the real patty patty sound

You get stuck out front with your back room eyes

 

You take out the ruler and use it with customer care

A black line comparison supporting fun and profit

Donít burn your enemies build new walls with them

The best feeling in the world if you could just get off it

 

 

 

Like a Slug Sloth

 

Like a slug sloth

Like a freezing moth on a bulb

Like a yawning bleary eyed earth trying to spin

A slow dog trying to catch its elongated tail

 

Like coughing dead skin

Like stretching into tomorrow

Like falling over the wet instruction rags

All was quiet on the human front

 

Distributing quickly is its dark mirror effects at work and the soul is cut up and served to the poor but they know not what they eat and their tongues lose the beat and the hands gets too cloudy all day

And within the steaming weeds I cut through to get back home the arms and legs of the blessed fall before me as sacred traps and offerings that I can only tarry so long over because where is the light if it is not my home my end table my stack of magazines in the bathroom beside the porcelain bowl

Dizzy with obviousness and drunk with something thatís not quite power because I canít see the ladder and I dare not ask for directions to the people who surround me with small smiles and cracking charms because Iím late enough as it is

 

Like a spineless sandstorm

Like a dull red click of the last button

Like a crack of diamond teeth against the stiletto

You are stuck staring at the yesterday party ceiling

 

Like piercing grey molasses

Like dying yeast in a stone oven

Like cowering in the warmth of the end times

Exhausted water creeping up the beach for the last time

A rotting carcass getting a tan in the sun

 

 

Seething Up the Shores

 

I lie like buttons on a coat

Keeping you together and the cold where it belongs

 

This collection of moments canít be much more

Than ideas in the minds of those who had too much time on the burning hands

Who never got enough from the demanding fields

Who pushed aside the chance for common slumber

Who laughed at those who gave their hours to jokes and pranks

Who scolded the men orbiting the myth of crackling science

Who saw gravestones when they gazed upon church spires

 

Itís a wonder that everything thatís happened to us hasnít left us for dead

You say

But of course thatís exactly what itís done

 

Youíll have to excuse us

Thereís been a contemptible mistake

Seething up the shores

Creating balance by folding up the narrow necks for all to sieve

Celebrating assumption and the wealth of the shortest terms

 

How were you going to succeed on all this accursed muck?

There must be a wall in all of this

The head was dizzier and it stuck out like broken thumbs

I came with an open mind and left with a hole in my face

That canít be the dirt you know and love

That drip drip dripping of ruined anecdotes

Spoiled by containment of the shortcuts

Touching the very yellow specks that come across our feet

Itís okay you were never supposed to know

That final moment of fear lasts a lifetime

You come and play in my silence kit

There is little chance of the mind coming together on such a Sunday

I am under ghost

Harvesting like a wizard machine

Youth full of fire extinguished by the loan ranger

 

No one is to know our improvisational skills

Better they are misinformed over our ability to know it all when it we must

 

Cause and effect left to their own devices

Which they built in their garage during the immeasurably momentary downtimes

And were meant to smooth over the long and winding bumps we taught our foundations of knowledge upon

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

All it takes is what you have to give