I’m not a nihilist

Nihilist_poet

What happens at city
when blank is a building
and the corner is brutish
and the road ahead pale
like something at the end of time
see nihilism is a tentative position
an aggressive form of modesty
because below the blue sky
a head is incapable of understanding
the many things that are absurdly naked
in the world;
of all words
we select a crown
to place that holy concept
over our heads like laurel
to impress the wavering leaves of trees
see nihilism is nothing about thought
but about feeling what thought cannot attain
at the light you stop and feel the beast
the wise thunder of blood
and what happens when city
is trembling and being chased
by whiteness or a hot drunkenness
you pick a word
and make claim that it will save you
under the streetlamp
like a natural haze
at that common street
you remember like an ascetic
that this flesh will be forgotten

 

Contemporary Poetry

outta here

beyond_language_poem

Let’s be tired of words.
Of how we started endless
galaxies from an eye that is smaller
than the grain of infinity.
Of sadness that is a mess
nailed to the CORNER of
LIFe.
Let’s be weary
of how eyes open
and close into new
continents of light
and junk like hung
in memory’s mausoleum.
Let’s put a Beard on Happiness
and let it sail without rum
into the range
of yellow.
L’et s be tired of language,
‘tis
but a mayor reason
to abandon reason,
look how wide
the measurements of our bodies
have curled like hair around
the concept of love.
Let’s be grotesque
born figments fancying
fragments of fire
making fury like florid
petals atop the function
of the facts.
Let’s sing silences.
In vaults of fine emptiness.
Let’s abandon
the distance that is mirrored
in the instance,
faintly so feebly fleeting
into utterance.
Let’s be flying error
that spat onto text
like orgasm.

AntiPoetry

one hundred twenty-one words

abyss_above_us

Yesterday there,
could have written
a poem, a tunnel
to something greater
than what we amassed
in many units
of cyclic century

I could have, yesterday.
Created a segment of fiction
that borrows truth as tool
and made universe
a cog in a bigger dream

Yesterday, there
was only need for one hundred
twenty-one words
to serve as ligament
between the earth
and a single
human heart

I could have, yesterday.
Covered my eyes, my eyes
with pungent dust and
swallowed the interior
of a cloud. Something vague
but elementary, could have
been spoken

Yesterday there,
could have left legacy
to some mad prophecy,
I could have dropped
an ounce of voice
into the hole
that is an abyss
above us.

Contemporary Poetry

sic erat scriptum

What no one will remember

(Part vii)

 

Photographs taken from the following books:

1.  History of Modern Art, Arnason
2. Our Oriental Heritage, Durant
3. Animal Faith, Santayana
4. Philosophical Investigations,Wittgenstein 
5. The Poetical Works of Byron

 

Nihilistic Poetry Blog

art and nothingness

What no one will remember

in 10,000  years or so

(Part iV)

To work and create ‘for nothing’, to sculpture in clay, to know that one’s creation has no future, to see one’s work destroyed in a day while being aware that, fundamentally, this has no more importance than building for centuries – this is the difficult wisdom that absurd thought sanctions.  The Myth of Sisyphus (Albert Camus)

Photographs taken in Statens Museum for Kunst. Copenhagen, Denmark.

statens_museum_for_kunst

Nihilistic Poetry Blog

Travel: I wanted mystery

Shiva_elephanta_caves_mumbai

I wanted mystery.
Huge black eyes
drawn to a mystic smoke.
The electricity of the rock.
The mantra of the beast.
I wanted to be crushed
and cursed by the flames of misery.
I come to India to hunt
for the invisible possibility.
To cease traveling in a vehicle of thought-
to walk on the scorching embers of intuition.
I wanted to drown in a river and resurface
as an absolute beginner.
I came and saw the mystery.
I came to see the truth
that there is no truth,
written in the eternal language
of their sacred eyes.
I came to India to tie all the threads
of incense around my restless soul.
Here I am.

Contemporary Poetry