contemporary poetry

withdrawal

raw fields of bliss

If a closed
pair of eyes where
I could crowd
the effusiveness of 16
hours spent in doubt
and awe,
if I could stitch the
wonderful cloud
of perception behind
the dark mirror
of sleep,
if a coarse
hum of cars could
kindle the low brass
handsome innocence
of the thunder,
if the cocks collide
at hilarious dawns
in darkness the pupils
empty of light
to be cups brimming
with the honey of sense,
if the boulders of the eyes
spewed by the dreamer
land far away
in raw fields of
bliss

 

 

 

CONTEMPORARY POETRY BLOG

warmer stone

doodle art 2012

so much
to tear a song
from artery
and replace the
heart for a warmer
stone

a rivulet of memory
without ultimate value
a field where
the truth bends
as incense

when sleep
is a crumb
of eternity
an immense
solitude
in darkness

souls in flakes perhaps
sore of flight
come to alight
in strange dances of silence

what fever
by which the stars
seem like children
dim against the
thickness of the world

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry

a new language

light_as_language

now that light
rather than words
is the vehicle
of reality

now that language
has ended
its journey

now that sunlight
is pregnant
with passage

I must forfeit
the concept
and be thick
with tears

life is not
happiness
but the stage
where things erupt

love is the eye
making love
to the light

 

 

 

NIHILISTIC POETRY

without earth

Imagine the earth
disappearing as it turns
behind the sun;
no one was on it
we were all sleeping
and dreaming various
dreams of animals
having sex without
condoms under
moonless evening.
Some next morning
that will be
when the mouth
wakes
without appetite
and the whole
village of our thoughts
has been
burnt down   black.

Absurd Poetry

manifold

the hurried streak of beauty
to walk chaotically
on open midnights
hurl hums to cosmos
like a muddled beethoven
ahhhh the freedom of finitude
to live and die instantly
within this globe of atom –
I see you
vast manifold energy
spiraling around this
meaningless soul!

 

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry

staring

you see
idont give a damn
you look at me
holy emblem of waste
granite fuck beyond idea or purpose
proletariat or anarchist
I’ll sit legs crossed
hair spiked up like
million million hands up
in the air for manna
only it never comes
you see
we are merely relics of the infinite
retrospectively the truth
is so simple
in this interlude of rustling
there are only moments
faint improbable moments
visiting the tender pouch of consciousness
and to sit is just to wait
for fire and nothingness to fuse
into a scar of memory
I sit rather than lie supine
because I know the sky’s lips
are there nibbling the souls
I prefer to sit today
to catch your stare
like hard bright
moonshine in m y
face.

Nihilistic Poetry

glyptotek

epicurus_Beard_poem

the feet preserve their nails
but the noses have returned
to the grind,
below the throat of dome
pencils crushed to mosaic on the floor
pensive but not counting the days left-
this endless translation
of feeling to words to image to truth to play;
I’ve got a favorite seat in a museum
greek perfumes still cling to epicurus’ beard
the marble is still cool
like the pillow of the centuries,
melpomene turns with funky mullet –
somewhere I hear a trickle
as both stone and man
wait for the last crumb
and bone to rest
far beyond the tongue
of the sun.

 

 

 

Absurd Poetry

surface

Sun image

Oh who would know
the meaning of having an eye
on every atom that springs
from no to yes
but it would not be god or opiated man in bed
it would be the distinct essence of a cloud
leaving the sky to rest like a heavy rock
at the bottom of the restless sea,
so extreme an image
that our souls will coil
around the shortest memory
to remember the first patch of light
that burnt the skin with warmth
to remember the first arrow of sound
to pierce the nimbus of silence
to remember the first and only object
that grew like wings to become a universe; –
how would anyone fail to notice the sun
is only the light on the surface
of the image?

 

 

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry

strange

deep time poetry

How a book
of history and deep time
carves to certainty
the doom
that is inches or eons away

we subsist
clothed & saluting
as speck, blip
so this is a cosmic process

love and civilization
the means to forget
the end

I think of sex
and a daub of paint
on loose sandstone

I wonder,
the pride of grass?

as mankind climbs
like vine
weather slackens
the skeleton merely
scars the brick

my words,
how strange they hunt
the vanishing core
of things

these temperamental chords
that tremble momentarily
and regress
to sole silence

 

 

 

 

 

 

AbSURd PoEtry

the last moment

within the
last moment

when you lift
existence
as a weightless
fish in your hands

when the road
becomes your tail
shivering
as the endless
echo of the earth

when nothing else
shall come
and the eyes dance
as flies in the darkest air

within the last
pause of perception

when
the blood becomes
still as the shadow
on the ground;

a white butterfly

leaves your mouth
to be carried away
by the gale of

silence

Nihilistic Poetry