Categories
American Place Ars Poetica Garden Psalms

It speaks to you

I went to buy a book of poems
Hearts, identities, wants, failures
Scattered across pages, books, shelves of books, shelves of
poetic thrashings

Awaking from the same bad dream, writing the same bad poetry
that releases your free will to subjugation and lies
dormant in the pithy pulp, poet after poet
screaming unto no one, until

“I’ll take this one”

Categories
Ars Philosophica Ars Poetica Footnotes

Hubris

I don’t care what you think the meaning of your own work may be. The listener will be moved by their own experience or you aren’t doing a very good job as a poet. This is not to say that you should not know what your own work means (to you). Don’t expect the same from the user.

Categories
2019 American Place Garden Psalms Poems

Barber Shop Blind

Lenses down
Sight bubbles
Faceless forms
Busy cutting
Head vibrates
Blur tremors
Walls reflect
What I cannot see

Busy people
“Looking good”
Cell stacks
Aged clippings
Fall slowly
Swept away
Cheerful chatter
Finishing with a new me

Categories
Ars Philosophica Ars Poetica Footnotes

A Philosophical Question

If a poem sits on the shelf and no one reads it, is it poetry?

Categories
Garden Psalms

Words

Poems

Broken

Syntax

Exploring

Broken

Feelings

Categories
Ars Poetica Footnotes Why

A New Ink for the page – Paterson

I suppose I should start with why I picked up my pen again. Or in this case a Pentel p207 and a keyboard. Jim Jarmusch recently did the film Paterson (2016) with Adam Driver. Unremembered by me before watching the film, I had studied William Carlos William’s “Paterson” in college. I didn’t recall that my last college course was Modern Poetry, probably because I had fixated on the lyricist as the modern poet. (I had started my band LedgeWalker while starting Grad School. The band won at the time.) But, the learning remained, germinating a new poesy. “Must remember to write it down.” JMK

I love the idea that the poet is a poem; is a scribe of events. MindScribe.

“Paterson is a long poem in four parts–that a man in himself is a city, beginning, seeking, achieving and concluding his life in ways which the various aspects of a city may embody–if imaginatively conceived–any city, all the details of which may be to voice his most intimate convictions.”

Categories
Poems Road Less Travelled

I’ll Catch Up To You There

For Granny

The sun is always
shining on The Road.

It’s the place I go
to be with them,
my ancestors,
my fellows, my friends.

It is where I walk
quietly, alone
Thinking of days past
and lives well lived.

There’s no time
Out on The Road
Out of the hustle and
Bustle of everyday lives,
Just the place
where I keep walking,
talking with the
Ones I Love.

 

Elizabeth Sutherlin, March 7, 1917 – October 1, 2013

Categories
1996 Poems

 An Ode to Pithy Poesy

(A Keatsian Formatic)

I

Dante, Milton, Shakespeare, Keats — Blake, Wordsworth, Whitman, Shelley, Byron, Yeats & Williams; more whom I may not name here, Have created a creature beyond Plot, Setting, Scene, or Character. Illuminate, These great ones do, that which is past this tier Of Human understanding & take us
To ancient realms, where Pithy Poesy rules The words & truths that are the essences Of Inspiration: The ‘Prolific Schools.’

2
In this summer, our bounty breeds delight
Full of thoughtful thoughts which wild wisdom breeds. With concentrated contemplations we
Shall resolve to evolve, finding the right Means & Methods in everything we read; For Pithy Poetry provides Suns to see In and beyond our shadows of a thought. That blind & enlighten our ev’ryday’s
Search for Truths, which some have found, but few sought.
“Prolific Poesy show us newer ways!”

3
It does respond, this Mythic Immortal,
Who thrives in pages by Sages who’ve tried
To tame that beast of Thought, which rages on, Inside their minds defying ritual,
For when it strikes no Muse can turn aside
These willful words which shall prevail anon.
The call is heard, from mindful men who speak, By this Creature of their creation, who
In reply gives voice to that which they seek
And offers Time to words which we hold true.

4
O, pithy Poesy, Praises shall be suns
To thee that is the essence of out hearts
for you tell us of Wisdom Truth & Right.
It is through you that the passionate young
find their rhymes of Love. Your meanings can start Pure Wars, and fan the flames for a Just Fight,
Where Freedom frees Spirits for the pursuits Of Love & Peace, so we may grow fruits For proliferating purity, and
Once again reap from a civilized land.

Categories
1995 Poems

An Ode to Profundity

 (A Keatsian Formatic)

1

What subtle leaf plays havoc on my cheek? Wild westward wind blew thee into my hand.

Proponderance —*my mind sets forth to seek; Violent beauty laid waste across the land.

“Fall Sentients, tribute Profundity!” Gods flow forth beneath its omniscient stance;

With bowed heads, thin grasps take up marbl’d capes; Fair beings, lost, regain humanity.

Mythic response to endings seen short glance. Sun eclipsing, shallow graves, pull forth escapes.

2

Rise up thou used living dead. Be led Unto simpler, easy thoughts. No more Shall it be asked that Ponderance be fed.

Close, you, your mind to stairwell leading doors. Why worry one’s self with wild willful thoughts? No need to seek the deep, un-navigat’d Terrain, which leads unto pure divine Expressions. Shun such petty useless rot.

“I shall not let this be negotiated! O, Profundity, save this soul of mine!”

3

Dig deep, trench through, swallow the sallow soil, Until the reflection of self is seen.

Fallen creatures abashed by earthen toil.

Bear on, oh Brother Slayer, hands washed clean. Deserted plains produced sane green sages—

Tablet law from mountains for moral men—

Symbolic wood, blood stained, forgave wrongs done. Ancient ways trampl’d under war hooves’ rages, ‘Til submissive souls sang the song of sin

Never to understand—why? “Holy Son!”

4

“Profundity, why dost thou madness bring?”

Unto Poetic Genius a gift,Yet some sad souls sit shattered by your sting.

Between extremes, plain thoughts are free to drift. We shall not let these blanket us in cold,

For, once settled, stale shovels dare not dig, Since plugged-in gods make minds afraid to stand, And have one thought, original, be told. All this calamity from one truth fig?

Last sweet morsel. Rejoice! Now dreams command.

*

Proponderance the mental action or process that occurs prior to the consideration of profound thought.