Posts Tagged Seeking God
Travels Through Death Soon to Come II
My death is arriv-
ing with brown and purple hugs,
temporary nails,
Gregorian chant sneaks up,
John Cage cheers my soul
Travels Through Death Soon to Come
windows cloak brown tracks
crossing past your vacant face
hiding drying tears
pulsating legs muddle fears
while rivers reverse their flows
That Hole, It Survives
A ghost sat
on me, relishing
in darkness
my colored
dance with her warm red hugs –
she left me nothing
America, 2016, Unnumbered, Crashing Crumbles Aboard My Late Train
Posted by Carl in Photography, Poems on February 20, 2017
Confusion
from concrete, crumbles
spray grain dust,
curling light,
crushing spirits that fly, creeps
crimping my dead brain.
.
.
Yet another Dystopia Today shot from the amateur Carl in some very small town (somewhere hidden in the midwest) sometime late in the Summer of 2016.
When the lightness of sky, darkened and shattered by winter branches, showed me my fears
Pierce my will-
ingness, make me sail
over shocked
towers fir-
ing waves, that iron jumps, kill-
ing angst, making m’love.
How I Want You to Let Me Go
When I’m Dy-
ing, over last for-
ty-six breaths,
camera
points towards cloudy nightmares
crashing heaven’s might.
The Sharp Brevity of an Isolated Spiritual Experience
For most of the day,
I had been treading
carefully, waiting and hoping
the tiger would eat me,
or leave me, and my daughter,
suffused in weightless smiles,
happiness. We had walloped
golf balls, hammered them
and missed them and whiffed
at them, so our energy
had been expelled. Driving
east in a smooth vehicle
like an oblong bubble. It was
evening, the sun in the
obligatory west, and maybe
it was a rear-view mirror,
but we were bathed in
gold, bliss and blessedness
on Highway 10.
.
I Want a Robot (3)
to sit amongst the tans,
the creamy, sandy blurs
that don’t muffle, but seem
to punctuate the sounds of
gossip, soap-operatic gifs,
and cackles that reopen all my
wounds, to sit there,
punching the numeric
keys and alpha, as needed,
to be a steel case, undisturbed
by the chaos of death wearing
down the cubicled, doing my
job, so that I might wander
in a normally-hopeless search
for my life, for my reason.
.
I Want a Robot (2)
to permit me a walk
on the fantastic stairs
by the architectural
wonder, feeling the winds
from the South, full of
future lives, to only
reflect on sharing experience,
hoping it helps or comforts
or perhaps alleviates wounds
of loneliness.
Tanka for Buddy
Waning, my dog said
goodbye, and I understand
why I must hope for
heaven for dogs, for without,
I want to hang, dead as mud.
.
stillfugue 