Posts filed under ‘new poetry’

courses and their anagrams

courses and their anagrams

voices (and ears)

know naught of meanings

touch cannot know sight

there are no meetings

…odd, then, that i wish

so much, sometimes

to merely touch you

 

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Resurrected sometime in the mid-80’s. I’m pretty sure that’s Carolyn Yeaw’s shadow, yes.

December 30, 2018 at 10:03 pm Leave a comment

of sundry avoidances

of sundry avoidances

yes, those crosses stand askew
upon their hill; it’s
been so for years, since before
i was a boy. you

can hardly see the stains
now, though, time’s
many hands having cleansed
wood though not memory

i think sometimes
those nails pierced more than
palms and legs, as if
we’d been forever soulcaught

in that act, all executioners
all torturers
quite unable to preserve
even that we think to love

–but that’s merely idle fancy
and beer will fill this emptiness
quite nicely and we can
at least pretend to forget

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Previously published elsewhere on the web.  I still find it flawed.

 

 

 

December 30, 2018 at 9:40 pm Leave a comment

scarred recollections

scarred recollections

momentcaught
i glance youward but

it is only
my version of you
yet again

you are once again long-gone

oh my mother, tho
i hardly knew you
i remember;

i do not mourn
but i remember

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As of this I will begin submitting again after 40 years–unless someone wants to tell me why I shouldn’t.  I have a bad habit of throwing manuscripts away.  Mind you, encouragement wouldn’t be unwelcome, but this is the internet.

 

 

December 24, 2018 at 4:41 pm Leave a comment

On Meeting You

On Meeting You

these shards remain

of our prolonged meeting

distorted echoes and

reflections, and

each time i touch a

shard, a shattered

memory, you cannot guess (at all)

how bitterly i bleed

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Not real life, at least this has nothing to do with a specific person. I suppose someone who always knows the glass is half full (rather than half empty)–the optimist–could embrace losing relationships as well. Actually I know some do, and the common reasoning was that it was an opportunity for growth.

Were it current, I probably wouldn’t be able to post this.

December 23, 2018 at 2:48 pm Leave a comment

About Truth and Inarguable Definitions

About Truth and Inarguable Definitions

dreamed toward but unspoken
because unwordy*
the name of the desired
unvoiced by very nature

(whispered only by the lipless wind)

cuts
unseeable unstoppable: ‘knowledge’

like ‘love’

is one word for many things
and hence
quite inescapably false
whenever used
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Yes, coined and not an illusion of mine that it’s an existent word.

 

Perhaps 2 weeks old–or 2 months–but I do remember writing it, which is uncommon for me.  As I said elsewhere, sometimes I go through long ‘dry’ periods with my poetry.  Every time so far since I was 10 I will then proceed to find a great deal of poetry written during that time period, of which generally at least 50 per cent is scrapped, along with incomplete studies toward.  I also have a confirmed habit of trying to write something and sometimes working on it for months (in the case of the manuscript ‘Voices’, decades), writing any number of poems that lead toward the final one. I’m starting to write (fictional) prose again as well.  And prose with the poetry.

December 12, 2018 at 1:42 pm Leave a comment

in memory of my fictive father

In Memory of my Fictive Father

i bear your name,
yes, but
like a scar
not like a blazon
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*Note; I finally ‘made contact with him’. [I made contact with my biological father & half-siblings in my sixties; I never bore his name.  My fictive father is my adopted father.] He was in the terminal phase of Alzheimer’s. His children found my existence (as his other and unmentioned child) unnerving and unlikely at the beginning, intolerable and impossible at the end. Since the connection was made by my wife via one of the gene-testing places [yes, the implied is the existent; how else?], I certainly had no part in the cause–which was in fact long past, if you want to get down to it, but in this cause the cause for the supposition of any connection between all of us. I’d even neglected to contact them, oddly enough, at 60-some-odd and with a habit of avoiding; one of them contacted me (she vehemently declaimed that I was a mistake, later; my mother would have agreed much of my life). I was born during the formal Occupation of Hitler’s Germany (yes, that one that persists* in a number of places; this was 1953)
*Calling it The Occupation openly is somewhat dangerous, potentially. To the obvious question, hard to tell, I don’t know, um…, perspective is generally drawn from methodology,

December 11, 2018 at 10:44 am Leave a comment

dedicated to Quora

dedicated to quora

i dream

i think

of speaking your name
endlessly
so much that my lips
are cracked and dry

but come morning

i know no name
–nor, indeed, “you”–
my lips are quite whole
and my mouth isn’t dry

tell me

can this mean
something?

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You have to know what Quora is to appreciate this. Google it or better visit the site and try to find some of the odder questions (and answers); it isn’t hard. Right up there with Mil Millington [assuming he’s still on the web].

 

I came close to considering this submission-worthy.

December 7, 2018 at 9:14 pm Leave a comment

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