Tag Archives: consciousness

Ouvroir De Litterature Potentielle: Two Poems

15 Jul

for Raymond Queneau

One:

Or only one after the other?
Us,
a virgin was in fact the
mother of the Christ,
voyaging out altogether
recently while staying.

Rivers (I’ve seen some
rivers in foreign
countries) of time
because the world was
full of men at
sundown predisposed
to something of
character.

I recognized a woman
by the softness of
her lips, into a
barborous patois-
remove- return home
for the disheveled
embraces, drinking,
everyone and the
earth like us and
whose face happened
to be on a level
with ours.

Listen to you. It
got late, I watch
the caterpillars.

Two:

I thought about numbers
a great deal- the
memories each one
before she could move.
It reduces me to tears
quicker than anything
else in time.

Referred to as his
aquarium- a bedroom-
though to cleave the
very constellations
there was nothing to
stop me from constantly
being unpleasant:
under return in three
days.

Roar with laughter
because elicit information
from events would unfold
in the workmen’s peaceful-
purporting to have met me
at some function or
another- original of
these adventures take
place at night,
truth to what we’ve
heard?

A terrain with the act
in which a body
exceeds.

Note: this poem was created in response to a prompt at dVerse- Poets Pub

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A Smile of Petals Stroking Handfuls of Sleep

13 Jul

You are sitting open
down huddling on the
Sun
under a fur tree.
Silently you carry spring
limp roots sprouting
stroking bluets
singwishstarworms.
Yes we touch.

I perceive eyes
close/shut.
Heaving breath
equals all the
beautifully frail
sleeping people
touching
trembling.
My soul
forever
understands
the rain.

Morning Meditation Experiment #01 062322012

24 Jun

I used to with a glance and
calculations of forestry
know the age of all the
trees.

A moth fluttering
in a flash
from door
to porch.

Hungry ants
all over the
porch &
the hummingbird
feeder.

Snails on the column-
black against a
backdrop of white-

The Mockingbird-
the name we gave
him eludes my
mind like crafty
fireflies that
refuse to be
put in a jar-
pretends to
be a quail

bob white
bob white

And I am
missing you
right now
tonight.

“Where did the Praying
Mantix- Bojangles!- go?”

You asked.

I replied.

“Or the elusive white
tiger swallowtail
butterfly- you’ve
seen him twice!”

You are sleeping.

Are you dreaming?

And you made me a
bracelet from a
single piece of
white
thread
breaded. Your
longhair now in
headbands, and
what do you call those
hair claw things?

Clips?

Gravel crunching
and a springwaterjug
of rainwater- that
first summer rain-
later today I will
wash your feet
in the keys to
the rain.

In Oklahoma the trains
were choragic- now
it is frogs after it
rains, dog howls,
and sometimes
silence. I miss
those train
whistle
harmonies
dogwalking
housesitting-
you are asleep.

Coyote populations
are on the rise up
and down the east
coast ecologists say,

Poetry of a three fold
consciousness- mayhap
more- Robert Bly’s idea
of leaping poetry from
a post modernist
perspective.

Ducks- ducks wings whistling-
and we really need to wash
the dogs- the Razmanian
Devil’s feet stink- and
poor old Boo-
blind,
deaf,
dementia,
&
severe arthritis-
he will not like
a bath at all.

The now is all there
ever is, but it never
hurts to plan happy
explosions
now
&
then.

Now it is time to scrub
the porch, then waking
you up, dog medication,
and then a  bath.

Another Plastic Bird Day

8 May

Branta canadensis Nesting

It was when Mother Bridge
took away (the) Alice’s loathing,
but everywhere out front
such a sight
did it not grin
and stop as if to say-
I will cooperate because
I’m selfish.

Little Water
said
“I’m going to shake
this place
belonging to manicures,
government,
fair sessions.”

Teeth make right
long numbers
mention a great
anything
or nothing at
all.