Archive for May, 2011
smooth jellos enhance
for better mastery of
golden, distraught paths.
I hid my feelings with alcohol.
I stopped drinking.
How do I hide my feelings now?
All of it hurts more.
through buckets of paint babbling
eroding slimy, slick fears,
filling warm buckets.
I love how those forms control me.
Carl, idiot, don’t use the word ‘love’ in a poem.
Forms restrain me.
sensibilities rock my brain and soak me and make considerations so thick and make my tummy churn.
I don’t know how to think.
You know I’m sick, so I’ll say that I don’t believe in thinking with art.
I need restraint.
I need seat belts.
I need tape on my mouth.
I need hairspray.
I NEED RULES. GIVE ME POETRY RULES!
When I am free, I am really the town idiot who needs to be locked in the county jail.
Give me restraint and make me good.
There are so many characters, as in letters,
they swim through our modern world. I never see all of the characters I want to see.
Who reads this shit? Or that shit?
No one, idiot, and don’t use the word ‘shit’ in a poem,
So if they don’t read, why do I screw around with these forms.
I’m a rebel, but I do love forms. I love fugues, but I’ve written fugues in English,
and people are right-minded
to lock me up forever.
So I hate forms and I want to cuss and storm. I want forms that blast me
into the darkest areas
of my diseased mind,
so slash the forms, fuck the forms.
but I really need to work on my enjambments.
I want to tell the truth about what a sickly weak character I am, who is not fit for walking on the earth,
but who on earth would read that shit?
Give me my pen, my paper.
Let me read my books.
Feel free to lock me away if you give me pen, paper, and my favorite authors,
and leave me alone.
This poem sucks more than all of the others combined.
I need forms.
But none of the forms are real. None of them are true in the least bit. Isn’t that funny?
This piece started as a poem, but I am not poetic enough.
I sit, incredulous at the sound of so many trillions of rain drops (and this, a very gentle rain). Closing my eyes, I feel hands crunching foil forever. That is the sound but foil isn’t so magical. The forms of nature that surround me are impossible to comprehend. The cycles of nature are perfect throughout some avenue. The tall and narrow pines are stretching for light. The bursts of Aspen trees, how the rain so perfectly, seemingly, offsets the sun. Or how the two combine, far more powerful than any of humankind’s creations.
Surveying: Here in Branson, there are tiny hills, steep hills, steep foot hills, and man has tried to tame those with his town. I’m short on education. I don’t understand the most simple engineering. Our A-frame cabin baffles me. How do they know that the roof will accept the weight of what shall fall on it, relying on that simple, disturbingly-thick log through the middle? Those sides of the structure should wobble back and forth but they stick in place because people have learned. I can’t learn what the people have learned. I can’t manage the physical surroundings of my world. (I can’t manage the mental aspects of my surroundings, but that is a topic for another day.) I count on people who have an education to build these structures, and you’ll see me with my mouth agape at even the smallest engineering concepts. Even things which most people comprehend with the most basic common sense are amazing to me. I sit here and wonder why it is that I cannot keep up with humankind’s engineering brilliance.
Humankind has straight lines of all of the types you will ever imagine, and then when they do those perfect circles, you have to be astounded at how those are created to appear to be so perfect. All of these things that stand that should not stand, in my mind. I see one of the country “opera” houses. It is towering with the front of a Southern mansion, with hundreds of beautifully-crafted, square windows that have lines of small wood frames cutting through at perfect 90-degree angles. Amazing height, columns that appear to be impossible to construct. Most people might be flabbergasted at how stupid I am, at how these little things that man creates are impossible for me to understand. These things stand as miracles before my eyes, allowing my mind to wander over endless creations of man without ever being satisfied in having understanding.
Yet, I sit here with crinkling tin foil in nature’s surround sound, and I remember that as I drove through town today, the other thing that amazed me is how run down America is. If you open your eyes, man’s creations are crumbling all over, and maybe one piece in a hundred pops up as newly constructed, but how long will it last? When I was in New York City last month, instead of being struck, I was stricken at how that city looked like a modern-day collection of Roman or Greek ruins. When I looked just right, there were no people and it was the most un-survivable mess I have ever seen. I could see that we have failed to survive as a civilization as I saw the most rotten pile of creation ever known – Amazingly, in relative terms, a pile of garbage that did not take long to create. Even the brand new buildings looked to be very near death, perhaps because they were surrounded by death. So as I sit here, serenaded by nature’s cymbals, it occurs to me that nature’s creation, regardless of its source, a god or some other spiritual, creative flow, is the most powerful, is the only one that seems to last, even after we have worked to destroy it. I am not any kind of environmental wacko, but it was merely frightening to me that no matter how much genius seems to be behind all of these structures that humankind creates for itself, especially the most monumental ones, the ones created to worship the power of our brains and accomplishments, are merely beasts that are temporary like a tiny speck of sand in the huge General Electric engines of a Boeing 747. They are dissipating before they are even finished, just as we are, it seems.
Yet, while I sadly watch it all go faster than it should, I do relish in all of the creature comforts which my brain is far too small for understanding – This computer, the air conditioning, the roof over my head, the heat, the medical care for when I’m broken. Yes, I will enjoy those for as long as I last, or perhaps for as long as they last.
born from dark garbage
Patience hides in deep creeks,
humans dull, slow and undaunted by frustration,
design sharp but not challenging,
dichotomy of greens in trees and grasses,
pairs of contrasting greens everywhere but up high,
Really peace, but the mind is searching for some other truth.
Condo towers surround the course like white fences from god.
We are in a jar, being judged, but we also look out to judge.
Do they work? Do they love?
How do they find enough to fill all of these places?
From where do they come? What do they do?
All of these questions and I feel so stupid,
trying to imagine that I can catch on
with the flow of life.
I can sense how it is
to ride with the flow of life,
and when the flow is there,
everything should go right.
I work the flow on my ten-foot putt.
The putt goes way wide and long by ten feet.