and the emptiness of

poetry of despair 2013

A weak wind
being bent as silent structure
on the margin of the hours
by the beach
a walk through the empire of rock

after death

love sits
with legs cold
and the storm of the sand

every crash
is wrath
looped in symbol

of being alone
with others
older in the corner
of mosaic

mystery is a heavy mist
pounded on our eyes

love sits
with cold legs
and the emptiness of the sand

those fingers
to carve in the skin of this earth
the folded name;

the forgotten
labyrinth of him.

Contemporary Poetry

rockn’roll

dream_poetry

I paid
and he asks
how I’ve been
he left a shapeless mass of laughter
in the air
I’ve had a hangover for days
he says: rockn’roll
yeah it hurts
and the hard Furies strangle
each idea with a whip of flame
and in that throb
one must find a quartz
of moonlight under a window
and breathe in an avalanche
and heed the noise
dripping from the tiny tick
of the heart

sharply
the eyes begin
by the sway
of a moon drawn by wings
to sleep

and here
skirting a crater
at the roof of a boundary
I am
washed by a beam of music
pocketing the fog
and perfuming the worn rags of clouds
like in fable
or inside a final
visit.


Contemporary Poetry

from above

poetry_of_future

They found a bulge
between Amaliegade
and Esplanaden
and it was in the news

and the hearts
shook with dread

a long sack of skin.like flesh
growing from a thin string
into an enormous
bulk

a man stood drinking the ship
in a circle of dizziness

the lights of police
and the endless of an image

no one could understand the revolution
and beauty of the bulge

it was hauled off the street
like a rainbow
as a miracle of the flame
as heresy from our pedestrian slopes

factories puffing shades
roaring with flags and chords
of iron ringing
in the suburbs

it is pronounced that this age
will collide with the pillar
stumps of science

and melancholy is a growth
like tumor
in the heads of those
that gaze             with wonder
from above.

 

 

Contemporary Poetry

19A

Avant-garde-poetry

A saint is a stain on white monotony
aloud he thinks: I
am a strange dot among the government of lines;
a mystic is a calm slip into abyss
all joking aside he says:
above the city leaps into tower;
a shaman is a subject under the tyranny of wholeness
aware of segments he asserts:
a fraction is mind lost in the order of totality;
alone in the world every man wonders:
afraid like a leaf in autumn my life
amidst the rain;
a poet is an absolute ark of air
abstruse and above all
a little puddle of reflection
at the end he writes:

a full world and its aura
asleep inside a shoebox
an allegory for barefoot monks.

 

Contemporary Poetry

arterial aerial

modern_poetry_blog_21st_Century

Cleave to that place

arterial

the vessel no the aerial

where fading flight merges

with being and life

is no longer

an only particular

thing

but interior of great

continuity

of circulation density

dripping

in center toward

multiplicity

and radiates back

into blood

the skin, your eyes, your hands

the fur of the world

at your fingertips.

Contemporary Poetry

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

the moment

nonsense_poetry

The lens capturing ache, a spot left to blind around nobody’s serial zipper. Afar while ignorant by her purpose a sigh rehearsed black blink the tune is closing the drumming aperture. Zoom aerially alongside sensation my mirror coldly awakening after rebellion shoots truth like arrow shorn of wings. Meanwhile a little closer my love carefully and hairy the machine makes appointment between moons and bus stops. Shift dimension because the rule has carved rust on laughter and soil drips sardines, hungry small animalcules and vulgar drunk remarks. The visitor FLASH awesome teeth while zones of legs remember the long overhaul and missionary status. Lately a fly meditates on the heavy scent of sums, mean chasms calibrating the here and now; an owl overflies the morning damned. The events captured logistically by nature’s circumference white underpants exposed within the thick fog of human greed. Sex wonderfully colored, centrally in the mind because a flower is pure in the mind better than an orgy of doubts sweating paradoxes. Buildings always poured with honey and served at midnight with a television smile. Mystically our school shrank from situation to circumstance to coincidence like fish, schools of fish diving deeper into unknown coordination with night above bowing as strange concave dark banana. The birds tiny church angels motes of dust leave individually one by one consciousness a door with the figure of a feminine sound. The animal buys a ticket to catharsis calmly the wine rhymes the trees are sharp silent sticks. The animal fenced in irony learns the catechism of turning on its own axis. The animal takes the arm of the herd expecting nothing less than the wave of feasting on echoes. The animal stores sunlight in its radio, tissues of right and wrong, the effort is its monastery. The animal against animal but bubbles merge with soap bubbles like families holding hands forever against the backdrop of mountains forever, terrible shadow-drenched mountains forever that rise toward the pinnacle and forever pierce the dead corpse of night with their tips of white melting gold, forever captured in ache.

Contemporary Poetry