migrations

poetry_of_swans

How they got into thought

– the swans –

nobody knew

how they would echo through logic

like a kite in the wind

and

like little girls

they would comb their feathers

with infinite time on their hands

– these swans–

had a sense of mission

but they are complex

creatures with sin as a stain

on their coats of snow,

who knows if they’ll go back

to the nervous quivers of the pond;

for now, they’re stuck

like a satellite

to the cusp of an hour

and I’m embarrassed

to admit

that I stare at them

all the time

as they sleep between

the chunks         of words.

 

 

Contemporary Poetry

us

postmodern_poem

They told me to squeeze
structure
into home
and open windows
to air out essence
see I have been obedient
shedding coats of laughter
like films of light over
a miracle of corner,
and this thing
consciousness is hanging
like dust

in the atmosphere
but we’ve
made arrangements

and passion is hard
like furniture,

mahogany and steel
like dream and real

together bound
in braid

somewhere near
the end of this

and the world
tiny pretty thing

climbs into the air
like a moth

to disappear
over the object
and become invisible
like the rest of

us.

Contemporary Poetry

Memory has become an uncomfortable lump in my consciousness.

poetry_of_memory

It quivers
constantly and endlessly
ripens into new peculiar
shapes.

Needless to say
it increases weight
every minute,
often requiring immense
exertion to fit it in a corner
so it does not overshadow
the timid appearance of
the present.

It branches out
like a gluttonous tree
in all directions,
wavering disparate aspects
of itself without logic
or internal organization.

A primeval adolescent kiss,
a manure fight in the fields,
a quote from Montaigne
the location of masking tape
in a storage room, all mingle
shamelessly like an orgy
of bacteria in the Petri dish
of my mind.

Language is forced to perform
extreme feats of lucidity
to convey the peculiar manifestations
with which memory
fuddles the intellect.

I imagine a day
when consciousness of the present
will be completely drowned
by the swelling tsunami of memory,
leaving the brittle instant of now
floating like débris
on a flood of lifelong reminiscence.

 

Contemporary Poetry

Q&A

Poetry_for_children

Father what is bigger than the moon?
The earth my child.
Why?
Because if the earth were an empty bird’s nest,
it could fit several moons inside.

What’s bigger than the earth?
A sun my child.
Why?
Because if a sun were an orange
then the earth’d be a tiny crumb of bread.
If you were starving, which one would you pick?

What’s bigger than a sun?
A galaxy my child.
Why?
Because if a sun were a bee,
a galaxy would be a swarm of bees
flying in hypnotic circles, ellipses
and parabolas around their hive.

What’s bigger than a galaxy?
Human thought my child.
Why?
Because thought is like a net
that can catch all the bees in the universe
and put them in a jar and study their
colors, structure, venom, instincts,
language, and habits.

What’s bigger than human thought?
Emptiness my child.
Why?
Because thought is like a tiny bubble in the vast
sea of nothingness that surrounds us, leaving
little more than a local ripple on the surface
once it expires.

What’s bigger than emptiness?
Mystery my child.
Why?
Because mystery is the quality that all things
share in their being or nonbeing.

What’s bigger than mystery?
You my child… you.

- dedicated to my unborn daughter

Contemporary Poetry

A noun is a thing that serves as a vehicle for the quality of its adjective

2013_poem

In the sky
whiteness
travels like a passenger
inside the cloud
I have seen it journey
across the blue
until it reaches the golden
arc of horizon
where it suffers
through a whim of fate
a mutation
from pure whiteness
to the brightness
of the gold;
but abruptly
as a bullet
entering a vein of blood
the vehicle cloud
turns red
in the throb or throe of twilight
and whiteness dies like a sigh
in the expanding gloom
of purple tinge.

 

 

Contemporary Poetry

Unlikely and nevertheless

modern_poem

A flower is
a knot of chiaroscuro
enlightenment entangled in a coil,
finely spread seasons of spirals,
long mournful curves
chained to moment or cycles,
it is sense in a state of song,
desire dense in dew,
a phase suspended in façade
electricity distilled in feature
a flower
is essentially unknown
some element
in petal passion perfume.

 

 

21st century Poetry

they’ll know what to do

weird_poetry-blog

 

help
poets
my voice
a big blot or blob or block of black
terror
is stuck
like a burning whisper

in my throat
the rust
leaves a bitter
shadow
in the melody
of the silence

and sleep
the narrative of time
condensed
like magic
in the empty fire
of death

dust with
elegance
like the echoes
in a dream

Contemporary Poetry