Here it is,
Everything once calm
Shooting down
Flames of fixtures that sit and split
Into two separate beings.
Non-human, this body of ridged cotton feelings
Keeps on flopping on the structures of music and rhymes.
Forward, always, scooping up fragrant sparkles
And looping fingers through
Stretchy springs.
Collapsing and tugging
At the depth of high morality.
Scribbles of happiness falls
On heavy wet leaves, green, crisp
From the sun’s warm rays,
Touching the face of something great.
Two plus pages to let out
all this special, marvelous calling.
The calling to just
be
me.
Open up those shut, starched eyes,
Open them wide.
Plastic and stride.
No rhymes, because
Running out of time.
Struggling to finish
This diminished
Plushy perspective.
Fritz the anxiety
That melts into continuality.
Don’t judge these precious calls.
The calling to just
be
me.
Whap, then slap
Parched throats,
and soak all that marinating pleasure.
Funny noise from outside,
Exasperating giggles
Swell up in this
Four-walled-room
Into a great balloon
To fly straight up
Into that winking blue sky.
Shadows face sun kisses
And beat up all fly-ball misses.
Womping, arting, solfling.
Made-up words to carry through
Loads and
loads and
loads
of phew!
Thank goodness!
One exclamation mark!
Then two emerge!!
Give in three, so they can flee!!!
Now, four, before they escape!!!!
Finally five, so weakness can learn to look alive!!!!!
Fear swishing down that futile
Well of hell.
Keep it going,
Keep it flowing,
Keep it growing.
Distraction of the white mist
Shirt
That alerts what the sun dial
Has to say.
Leaning on tree posts,
Bed-throws,
And salt toes.
Taste the space
Between
Teeth that graze
Sparks bomb this world of spit and song.
Random red
Spripes ahead.
Look out so life won’t wed
The pills and thrills
Of tomorrow.
The calling to just
be
me.
To be free
From burdening fails.
Flapping shiny wings
Float on the width of the clouds.
So damn proud!
Like what is willed,
From the flutter of exciting frills.
Covering up life in pink, brown, and orange
Patterned flowers.
Everything situated,
Yet shifting
FORWARD.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
[Untitled]
A mixed message
Of many julebelies
Coming together.
A time to sing
Your heart out.
A life, unraveling
At one touch.
A piece of work
Not yet finished.
But it’s started, at least.
A brain, uncluttered,
Partially sane.
Needing ju-ju powers
And depthful cleansings.
A heart, washed clean in the shower.
Those strings, connecting
To a variety of new people.
Branching out; connecting worth
And strong virtue
In its path.
A world cracked open
To let all that
Wimplewander juice pour out,
And escape past that stubborn drain.
A shelter,
Re-evaluating harmony
With just a memory.
A flavor of spittle,
Tasteless; however, awaiting the universe.
A wheel, spinning, spinning, spinning, spinning.
Churning faligaments,
Yearning for more funny moments.
A color of the cheeks
After awakened.
Breathing tough,
The bird gets up.
Unclips its weak wings,
And dives (head first)
Into the blank chasm;
awaiting its destiny.
Of many julebelies
Coming together.
A time to sing
Your heart out.
A life, unraveling
At one touch.
A piece of work
Not yet finished.
But it’s started, at least.
A brain, uncluttered,
Partially sane.
Needing ju-ju powers
And depthful cleansings.
A heart, washed clean in the shower.
Those strings, connecting
To a variety of new people.
Branching out; connecting worth
And strong virtue
In its path.
A world cracked open
To let all that
Wimplewander juice pour out,
And escape past that stubborn drain.
A shelter,
Re-evaluating harmony
With just a memory.
A flavor of spittle,
Tasteless; however, awaiting the universe.
A wheel, spinning, spinning, spinning, spinning.
Churning faligaments,
Yearning for more funny moments.
A color of the cheeks
After awakened.
Breathing tough,
The bird gets up.
Unclips its weak wings,
And dives (head first)
Into the blank chasm;
awaiting its destiny.
Balanced Reciprocity
Balanced Reciprocity
The bad
goes with the good,
as despairingly as
it should.
light of morrow
silt and sorrow
melt into subtle melody.
Winds shift,
Derangement uplift
This petty fault
Better salt
Those perfect picture frames.
Both sadness and laughter,
Find a path
To devour the last-gate way
Slide through
That slippery barrier,
Merrier than yesterday.
Wimboozled, and tired;
Don’t be a liar
Until end of days
Break
Into the morning’s wake.
Just take a stick,
Snuff a wick
And lick the soft, fresh air outside.
Don’t hide
From past extremities.
Just breeze on by,
Breathing high.
Maybe catch a draft or drift
And fly.
The bad
Goes with the good,
As despairingly as
It should.
The bad
goes with the good,
as despairingly as
it should.
light of morrow
silt and sorrow
melt into subtle melody.
Winds shift,
Derangement uplift
This petty fault
Better salt
Those perfect picture frames.
Both sadness and laughter,
Find a path
To devour the last-gate way
Slide through
That slippery barrier,
Merrier than yesterday.
Wimboozled, and tired;
Don’t be a liar
Until end of days
Break
Into the morning’s wake.
Just take a stick,
Snuff a wick
And lick the soft, fresh air outside.
Don’t hide
From past extremities.
Just breeze on by,
Breathing high.
Maybe catch a draft or drift
And fly.
The bad
Goes with the good,
As despairingly as
It should.
Friday, February 24, 2012
The Gourmet Gulch 2
Salty Sweet
Tart Fragrance
Recycled Loot
Lights Shine
Chinese Lanterns
Mustard Kick
Hidden Within
Slap on the Wrist
Slurp Tomatoes
Fry Red
Crusty French Baguettes
Lemon Sour
Taste Enhances
Everything Eye
Opening Amazed
Creamy Goodness
Blue Cheese
Lovers Unite!
Tart Fragrance
Recycled Loot
Lights Shine
Chinese Lanterns
Mustard Kick
Hidden Within
Slap on the Wrist
Slurp Tomatoes
Fry Red
Crusty French Baguettes
Lemon Sour
Taste Enhances
Everything Eye
Opening Amazed
Creamy Goodness
Blue Cheese
Lovers Unite!
The Gourmet Gulch
Open for all occurrences.
Never closed
To cheeses
Of all sizes.
Bitter.
Salty fresh.
Ginger chocolate
Balls
Coffee beans
70%.
Never disappoints.
Always ready
For a new adventure.
Goat cheese, Blue cheese, Sheep cheese, Ginger, Coffee, Dark Chocolate
Nibs,
So delicious.
Taste so fine.
Buds singing on
Multiple tongues.
Never closed
To cheeses
Of all sizes.
Bitter.
Salty fresh.
Ginger chocolate
Balls
Coffee beans
70%.
Never disappoints.
Always ready
For a new adventure.
Goat cheese, Blue cheese, Sheep cheese, Ginger, Coffee, Dark Chocolate
Nibs,
So delicious.
Taste so fine.
Buds singing on
Multiple tongues.
Let Silence Sleep
Other side is far more daunting than it seems.
One touch of heart beats; silenced, muffled, and muted.
Can’t help this precious world-view from calming insides which rumble.
Stale orange crackers crunch under teeth.
Just keep on slowly breathing…
under plushy spongy light bluish-green lungs.
Everything will get better, and that careful headache will go away…
No one can read these scribbles and scratches
as soft silence bears down on us all
and rests its weary head over this room; hands flopping on the floor,
giant torso limp,
legs stiff as wooden marionettes,
feet slumped on the ground,
just resting.
Silence sits here,
lying down
heaving quiet, invisible snores.
Only the sharp tap of computer keys,
gurgling of one upset belly, breaths, yawns, and shuffles are heard.
And the quick sound of a mechanical pencil writing on white, blue-lined paper.
Why are the lines “blue” anyways? why not purple or green or red or black?
Why can’t the side-line be a nice turquoise color instead of pink?
No answers evolve, as one more sentence emerges.
Leave the last line for Silence; Leave it be.
One touch of heart beats; silenced, muffled, and muted.
Can’t help this precious world-view from calming insides which rumble.
Stale orange crackers crunch under teeth.
Just keep on slowly breathing…
under plushy spongy light bluish-green lungs.
Everything will get better, and that careful headache will go away…
No one can read these scribbles and scratches
as soft silence bears down on us all
and rests its weary head over this room; hands flopping on the floor,
giant torso limp,
legs stiff as wooden marionettes,
feet slumped on the ground,
just resting.
Silence sits here,
lying down
heaving quiet, invisible snores.
Only the sharp tap of computer keys,
gurgling of one upset belly, breaths, yawns, and shuffles are heard.
And the quick sound of a mechanical pencil writing on white, blue-lined paper.
Why are the lines “blue” anyways? why not purple or green or red or black?
Why can’t the side-line be a nice turquoise color instead of pink?
No answers evolve, as one more sentence emerges.
Leave the last line for Silence; Leave it be.
Tom Sturgis Artisan “Thins” Since 1861: Pretzels
The start is near,
the end is finished past all time and space.
Intrepid inglorious music whizzes past all eardrums
and falls gently on the strange red- brown carpeted floor.
Two sock-clad feet stare up at me,
as I take into account the vocals and worth of the universe.
Flagrant melodies saunter and spit globs of sticky white pus,
which leak out of the windows.
Glass starts fogging up,
and a friend in pain needs comfort from a peace-patterned snuggie.
On this blessed star-filled night,
my stomach rumbles from angry pinto beans and an overload of pretzels.
Study hard, or do no pain as reality shifts from doppelgänger fetches to obscene, but surprisingly helpful aliens.
What is seen through the brain of overloaded thoughts.
One blank page,
getting devoured by pencil- one word at a time.
Flying through secret songs as positions are shifted,
and spark fissions within my heart.
Never looked outside of life,
this far it settles on nothing and changes everything
to make a new perspective.
Making it through the night in uber hipster style.
the end is finished past all time and space.
Intrepid inglorious music whizzes past all eardrums
and falls gently on the strange red- brown carpeted floor.
Two sock-clad feet stare up at me,
as I take into account the vocals and worth of the universe.
Flagrant melodies saunter and spit globs of sticky white pus,
which leak out of the windows.
Glass starts fogging up,
and a friend in pain needs comfort from a peace-patterned snuggie.
On this blessed star-filled night,
my stomach rumbles from angry pinto beans and an overload of pretzels.
Study hard, or do no pain as reality shifts from doppelgänger fetches to obscene, but surprisingly helpful aliens.
What is seen through the brain of overloaded thoughts.
One blank page,
getting devoured by pencil- one word at a time.
Flying through secret songs as positions are shifted,
and spark fissions within my heart.
Never looked outside of life,
this far it settles on nothing and changes everything
to make a new perspective.
Making it through the night in uber hipster style.
Powerful Woman
Powerful woman, queen gold and shining.
She has fighting colors, as strong as a sunburst
She opened her heart, and now it swims in liquid nitrogen and hot fizzling fire.
Slice that pen-marked cheek and rally for insanity as this woman
inside me) bubbles out.
Never fuse, just light the end and watch it burn delightfully.
Crazy guitar strings are plucked and intensity unfolds.
True Power!
This Sienna, yes, the one with the “S”
She is dualistic in her pure Gemini form.
In order to get through spoken words in abnormal positions.
She is a ruler of all things, dominates the gold and orange.
Too much to handle, she thinks not.
Hand her reign over to the women goddesses.
Spiritually here and alarming, sneaking poetry between hidden blank sheets.
Only the sun can know her indestructible musings.
In the back of the room,
particles align and are ready to explode into thousands of yellow-red-orange orbs.
Levels of nourishment.
A mark is made.
Nature is this woman’s mind.
She feels moutainloads and ships cargobanks to pull that might up.
Made up of inconceivable parts of being.
Yes, she has fizzy silver bones, palpated sinking hearts,
a neon-green liver, steel-wool lungs, meaty palms, and a pure golden bladder.
She is an entity, fully in love,
exerting her power on the world to bend its reality.
Maybe look at the meat-machine,
sluice open her head, and you will find a Sienna-colored brain.
Not grey, or gray, or bulbous matter.
This woman has a soul, like a clock that tells the wrong time,
but it is always correct.
A complete unit, never ill or malfunctioning.
She powers on through the bad stuff and minute perils.
She powers on through the doubt and skepticism.
This woman eats the universe; swallows it whole.
A composite unity,
which smirks and bellows fiercely into empty, dark caves.
She brings light to resistance and fury to stagnant brain cells.
This solid woman of power sparkles when she feels like it.
She smiles, all the time, because of her shallow happiness.
She has fighting colors, as strong as a sunburst
She opened her heart, and now it swims in liquid nitrogen and hot fizzling fire.
Slice that pen-marked cheek and rally for insanity as this woman
inside me) bubbles out.
Never fuse, just light the end and watch it burn delightfully.
Crazy guitar strings are plucked and intensity unfolds.
True Power!
This Sienna, yes, the one with the “S”
She is dualistic in her pure Gemini form.
In order to get through spoken words in abnormal positions.
She is a ruler of all things, dominates the gold and orange.
Too much to handle, she thinks not.
Hand her reign over to the women goddesses.
Spiritually here and alarming, sneaking poetry between hidden blank sheets.
Only the sun can know her indestructible musings.
In the back of the room,
particles align and are ready to explode into thousands of yellow-red-orange orbs.
Levels of nourishment.
A mark is made.
Nature is this woman’s mind.
She feels moutainloads and ships cargobanks to pull that might up.
Made up of inconceivable parts of being.
Yes, she has fizzy silver bones, palpated sinking hearts,
a neon-green liver, steel-wool lungs, meaty palms, and a pure golden bladder.
She is an entity, fully in love,
exerting her power on the world to bend its reality.
Maybe look at the meat-machine,
sluice open her head, and you will find a Sienna-colored brain.
Not grey, or gray, or bulbous matter.
This woman has a soul, like a clock that tells the wrong time,
but it is always correct.
A complete unit, never ill or malfunctioning.
She powers on through the bad stuff and minute perils.
She powers on through the doubt and skepticism.
This woman eats the universe; swallows it whole.
A composite unity,
which smirks and bellows fiercely into empty, dark caves.
She brings light to resistance and fury to stagnant brain cells.
This solid woman of power sparkles when she feels like it.
She smiles, all the time, because of her shallow happiness.
My Love is the Rain
The rain, it keeps on falling, falling down
in buckets, liters, whirlpools, collecting in vast puddles.
Cannot stop pouring, reaching,
washing away what was once lost and abandoned.
A full page, wet with raindrops,
spatters and trickles down soft cheeks.
The water swims as it filters down;
mixed with teardrops, so salty.
Dirt collides with the rain,
creating a rich brown mud
in which to cover the sidewalk and pavement.
The absorbent earth sucks up the clouds gifts;
the leaves glisten green, bright, as they eat the water up.
The rain, it sprinkles across every windowpane, glass
misting up with its hot breath and gentle touch.
It smells, so crisp and fresh.
Nostrils heave in the stormy clouds overhead,
grey and pulsing. Rolls of fluff in the sky,
like thick plushy cotton-balls.
They cover the normal blue with no color.
A blank canvas.
Like all the color was sucked out, slurped up. Gone.
What remains is a cold, wet, damp nothingness.
The need to write this all down speaks wonders.
A small, but sure writing practice with the scent of rain,
and the breath of assurance.
Spelling doesn’t matter.
It never did.
The bending time frames see all that was lost.
These words engulf the page, white and slender,
with the same voraciousness as the rain
as it washes away the dust on boots and soaks subtle cotton.
Just let it all out,
seek virtue in the dim morning light
as slivers of silver strings steam through the combustible door-frame.
Just write, write, write.
Do not stop to think or pause.
Let it make sense in what is confusing or muddled.
Erase mistakes,
and keep on going, moving, learning, living, breathing, hurting, smiling.
No, no more wimpy thoughts of wallowed shivers and bumpy skin.
No, no more stalling; just break down the barriers of life,
as it silently calls from beneath the quiet, peaceful trees.
The need to write is quite amazing; for it trickles out of hands and fingertips, and doesn’t wait to find the brain waves to take it all the way home.
Follow those mute thoughts,
like a sick old blind man.
Only a few stacks of lines remain
for vigor and spoken water rushes out the metal, bronze, wood, and silt.
Feel the beauty of nature and thank the rain,
as it cleanses every stem, leaf, and flower.
The rain keeps on falling, falling down.
in buckets, liters, whirlpools, collecting in vast puddles.
Cannot stop pouring, reaching,
washing away what was once lost and abandoned.
A full page, wet with raindrops,
spatters and trickles down soft cheeks.
The water swims as it filters down;
mixed with teardrops, so salty.
Dirt collides with the rain,
creating a rich brown mud
in which to cover the sidewalk and pavement.
The absorbent earth sucks up the clouds gifts;
the leaves glisten green, bright, as they eat the water up.
The rain, it sprinkles across every windowpane, glass
misting up with its hot breath and gentle touch.
It smells, so crisp and fresh.
Nostrils heave in the stormy clouds overhead,
grey and pulsing. Rolls of fluff in the sky,
like thick plushy cotton-balls.
They cover the normal blue with no color.
A blank canvas.
Like all the color was sucked out, slurped up. Gone.
What remains is a cold, wet, damp nothingness.
The need to write this all down speaks wonders.
A small, but sure writing practice with the scent of rain,
and the breath of assurance.
Spelling doesn’t matter.
It never did.
The bending time frames see all that was lost.
These words engulf the page, white and slender,
with the same voraciousness as the rain
as it washes away the dust on boots and soaks subtle cotton.
Just let it all out,
seek virtue in the dim morning light
as slivers of silver strings steam through the combustible door-frame.
Just write, write, write.
Do not stop to think or pause.
Let it make sense in what is confusing or muddled.
Erase mistakes,
and keep on going, moving, learning, living, breathing, hurting, smiling.
No, no more wimpy thoughts of wallowed shivers and bumpy skin.
No, no more stalling; just break down the barriers of life,
as it silently calls from beneath the quiet, peaceful trees.
The need to write is quite amazing; for it trickles out of hands and fingertips, and doesn’t wait to find the brain waves to take it all the way home.
Follow those mute thoughts,
like a sick old blind man.
Only a few stacks of lines remain
for vigor and spoken water rushes out the metal, bronze, wood, and silt.
Feel the beauty of nature and thank the rain,
as it cleanses every stem, leaf, and flower.
The rain keeps on falling, falling down.
We are all modes of God
Two different, but related senses combined.
The substance of this heat beats slowly, quickly everywhere at once.
Clashes because of intrinsic reality.
Only God can differentiate between everything and see the clarity.
I am God.
I will write smaller, smaller still to try to capture the love that is enclosed within my being.
So much is held between organ and skin.
Breath and sight.
My heart is as big as this page.
It widens and shrinks as time will let it.
The substance of this heat beats slowly, quickly everywhere at once.
Clashes because of intrinsic reality.
Only God can differentiate between everything and see the clarity.
I am God.
I will write smaller, smaller still to try to capture the love that is enclosed within my being.
So much is held between organ and skin.
Breath and sight.
My heart is as big as this page.
It widens and shrinks as time will let it.
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