Containers of Time & The Death of a Blog

Poetry can be a dead end, but if it speaks of eternity and love in words

on the tongue a treasure, and I think of sea gulls and all those birds

we’ve seen as recurring symbols- the birds keep on reiterating, Momma, a gull,

a crow, a goose, a turkey- certain symbols keep on reiterating, over

and over again- and it is all about never finding enough time to spend on

love and kindness

and we had that last estate sale which we did not know then would be the

last or our last meal out after a day of tests and doctors, and

now the poetry is expanding- some are turning into paintings as

well as the day rises or the night ends or daybreaks and nightcaps.

Working on next collection of poetry- which will launch a new

site as this blog has expired, but shall remain cybernetically

alive beyond even its death- a true ktistec blog machine

eternity- entitled “The Island Field Museum or

Prehistoric Cemetery Trips or

Small mammals on a great blue dot spinning

’round… Mandy and I will debate these and

other titles well into

the night and maybe even

into the morning.

Not asleep yet, just sitting here opening up

my mind, and taking in all the signs that

keep on repeating:

1. a lone gull on a line of empty pier posts

2. a new dinosaur- Baryonyx Walkeri discovered by a plumber in 1983

3. a black hole scary story in the dark

4. “Deep Hole to Probe Big Fault”- starring french campers & hijinks

involving stolen firewood- file under beach/comedy

5. two gulls on a perfect soul perch

6. wind surfing in farmlane puddles with boats made of leafs-

what craft they art!

7. Carolina wrens will predict a mild winter this year?

8. a boat from Christ’s time washes ashore long ago

9. sleepy squirrel blues summer sales

10. ?

11. Thoughts on the images & symbols the keep on reiterating- over and over again.

And. This blog is dead, but as in all things a rebirth will follow as I will be launching a a new blog- and those links will go:

0. Here

Cybernetic Tongues Tasting Babel– the new poetry blog

 

I thank each and everyone of you for stopping by and reading, and ask that you continue to do so, and keep on reading even more once other blog experiments launch. As always feel free to email me or leave a comment below.

Peace, love, and light. Namaste.

Crestfallen Train Wreck Rider

*Note: This poem was pulled out of the past to introduce myself to a new group of poets at dVerse Poet’s Pub as part of their OpenLinkNight.

Lobotomy joy bop bodies
in an ashcan dancehaze
with peels of neongiggle
gibberish unshaven
wild detectives
on the roadside
snatch the fairies
right up.

They lounge in the highway
blues with chained electricity,
and roaring basement alchemy
poured slowly into wineglasses.
Locomotives shiver on by
dragging their lightning swords.
Click click click cameras
capture the shame of whoring
hotel delights and harpsichords
floating in whiskey.

A weeping telepathic archangel
stands on the corner with filthy
vibrating stanzas in his hands-
full of screaming
horrors,
volcanoes,
radiate with moans.
Tenements shudder,
and hospitals grow children.

The pavement is hungry for
motorcyclists & drunk firetruck
tears. I scribble a postcard of
waitresses, boxcars and a broken
saxophone to my dead Grandfather
across the bridge of gloaming
streetlight incantations,
and police cars
wails.

A ping pong visionary plays
railway skull hypnotist tricks
among the broken and butchered
bottles. Alcohol womb of the midnight
sun and gas station hallucinations.
The salvation of a dollar and rooftop
tragedies blur by as illuminated
riverferris wheels dance and spin
toward the heavens above me.

My Heart Dreams

for Mandy- my forever

A dream of uncovering a
pebble, stone, or rock-
I don’t know which-
in the river by the
shore.

I pick up the rock
(I think it is a rock)
it is broke, and I
see it’s heart before
it crumbles in my
hand falling
back to the
river.

I turn to you, and grin.
You wink at me. We laugh-
we who need no words
have on our tongues
eternity whispers- as
echoes on the edge
of lips approaching
the infinite.

Giving Shadows Substance

The shadows gained headway- in one hour they had
obliterated his feelings for her- violent kisses
in the woods, again and again, in his mind. He
knows that he can’t win, and that it will never
end.

The noose was put around his neck, so it
would go with him wherever he might go.

The laughter in the shadows he knows
may signify anger. Cutting himself off
from his old ways of thought,
all existing machines,
and techniques- and that girl
from his story- now 88,560
miles away in his lifetime.

We are all moving- this he knows
as the substance forms-
visualized as an outpouring
of liquid gold- and certain
sensory qualities of the brain
are under his direct control
now.

The golden glow does not spur
him to any unusual activity- he
is just unruffled slightly. He had
no use for a doctor-
a bottle of whiskey,
a glass,
a soda siphon-
that is all he needs
to crucify his mind.

Standing in front of glass cases
containing his past- he is alone
in the dark room- it’s terrible
like a desert city, and its clusters
of violet light- now taken from
his brain too high to explain
anything- he marks the
cardinal points on the floor-
eyes blazing green light-
and he is gone from the
here and now.