this alone is clear

pond_of_universe

enswathe me
with the leaf
of another name

if a violet flower
quivers like ornament

on the ephemeral rawness
of this earth
so a tiny poet

cleaves like thistledown
to the thin vastness

of the word

if it was genuine
my standing by the pond
weighing the quantity of universe

in these thoughts

if it was certitude
that clung as cascade
to the branches

of renewing blood

upon exiting the flesh
I thought unto death
to look back toward

this pallid clarity of ash

this has been important to me
to fling final words as anchor
in the hidden plethoric ;

time as billowing toward
some lambent exit

without us,
this alone is clear
all these residual things

will remain
spilled in darkness.

 

Contemporary Poetry

a minute’s peace

minute_of_peace

when 3:13
it was foggy
and too careless
to measure the vastness of solitude

when 3:15
a slither of divine ache
clashed against a clump
of earth
probably though
it was against my
awfully wakeful heart.

when 3:17
my extended hand
kneads the air
and the eyes slough
a peel of memory
towards a new gloriousness

when 3:29
I show my membership card
staff smiles. They know me.
I ask: what’s the time?
3:29, they say.

3: 38
the southernmost minute’s gone

3:39
without consenting to our isolated reasons

when 3:43
I begin reading:

Religion is the last subject that the intellect beings to understand. In our youth we may have resented, with proud superiority, its cherished incredibilities; in our less confident years we marvel at its prosperous survival in a secular and scientific age, its patient resurrections after whatever deadly blows by Epicurus, or Lucretius, or Lucian, or Machiavelli, or Hume, or Voltaire. What are the secrets of this resilience?

when 3:45
I don’t want to smear eternity
with another coat of futility

when 3:59
got up comically
confusedly
coquettishly
can’t wait for spring to come

when 4:01
outside again
ready to concoct
some opaque purpose.

when 4:05
with a beer
throwing away the wreaths
of opinion that cling to my hair.

when 4:26
murmuring:
everyman’s angelic grave

4:26
surrender the surrounding suffering

4:27
for a sparse minute of peace.

 

Contemporary Poetry

time’s the renegade

Time_Clouds_ Modern Poetry

The century skipped a beat
you, me and them
now dance in the criminal perplexity of death
I don’t want to state the obvious
but you are so obvious
my brain feels like the word: bacteria
almost an etcetera but never like a cafeteria
time hopped onto future’s back and left me back there
with the orphan past
I said, the century missed a beat
now we sleep listening to the lullaby of underwater winds
things broke
but chaos is a wonderful planetmaid
in the last days of last decade
I held my feet up high, pretending to be a bat
that could sleep and digest while clutching the sky
she loved to watch things grow – she was a true prophet
is it a sin father to make life a pillow and all events fiction
since the century ran over us without saying goodbye
can I sleep for the rest of this
illusion?

 

nihilistic poetry

Unreadable Poem

Dipping the feather of the imagination in the ink of eclipsed wounds
The insufferable stupor of recovery staining our creative dejection
Our rejection, the simple negation to all illusory satisfaction
When have I seen you clearer dear Nature
is it not when I carry swollen heart beats
The last, at last, strength necessary
to care not and endure resignation
And you carry on, bemusing me
with irrevocable volatility
savagely laughing
at all temporary maxims
That life loves to refute these
Make our grasping unsuccessful
Our understanding a tragic comedy
How to deal with your sickly transitoriness
Lasting revelry enjoyed by the nihilistic-spirited
The few that cultivate their joy in uncertain opinions
Friendly foe! Bearer of all things, transform my low seductions
Turn me into a prisoner of your suspicious truth, and my words
                                                                                                        will never draw near it.