contemporary poetry

the blurry horizon is infinity itself

 

 

If we become survivors
the elect few
to renew the significance
of toil and dream,
if we are the last
two Rimbauds in lands
of shadow and cave,
what message will be engraved
in the red clay of poetry,
will we bring the knife close to earth
carving steep heavens on the surface of a rock?

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry

desire of light

 far
this film
phantasmagorically alive
the wave is sensuous motion
a cusp of existence inwardly
joy by another name
in perishable lands of laughter
my child, you are born
and fiction begins
blood recedes as pound of music
descending cutting the cello in two
life drips as the dawn flower meant to pray
the cry is yours, crossing the sphere
of music tenderly
as a desire
of light.

 

 

of fields

I shall be of slavery
sobbing in the night
when the moon is hidden
behind a fantastic mountain

I shall be of anger
heat upon heat
glowing insanely white
alone in the dawning desert

I shall be of lies
blood gurgling above
as the stars drown
in its sea of disease

I shall be of number
when the bronze prophecy
casts the skeleton of the fields
where children remember nothing

I shall be of incense
a sound perfuming clouds
or a string wringing time
leaving the last drop to dry

 

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry

simulacrum

Simulacrum Poem

the receptor
is fire in the body
smoking as the embers
unite with shadow
over the ultimate
          coat of illusion

the path of the worm
is a flight in the night
this season of suffering
when wisdom is
reaching out to the
         divine
         death
         of the thinker

there’s only music
the ears are my feet
to dance is the fatalistic
         engine of love

         silence.
         pause
the rock
of the sea.

 

 

Poems

the nascent act

The Nascent Act Poem

it is the air expanding
leaning invisibly
on the things
that lie awake
in the oblivion of
our acts

it’s in the hair
how it flees
description
under a delirium
of nods

it is your hand playing
with the light and motion
of a naïve hour

a choice
forever collapsing
in the past

it is melancholy
beading slowly
these pearls of remembrance
in the wasteful hand
of a poet.

 

 

 

Poems

there will be poetry

There will be poetry
as long as the world
swirls in mad convulsion

there will be poetry
as long as the world
is hidden truth with
dreary eyes

there will be poetry
as long as the world
is a road to the dead
silence

there will be poetry
as long as the world
covers us with the cold
skin of bitter mystery

there will be poetry
at 5am with glass o’
whiskey till the horizon
blends in with the empty sleep.

 

 

More Poems