tout coule: pentameter

Showing posts with label pentameter. Show all posts

19.5.11

Phaëthon

Easter smoking is the best. If there's a
bit of nicer weather all the better.
Yesterday you promised dad to quit, but

somebody decided that he needed

proof he was alive. A reason not to

die regretting everything preceding

is so that another day is seen by

you. The lives of people matter greatly,

not our own. And friday afternoon was

worse than you'd anticipated, sitting

in the hospital and wondering if

sadness would erupt into your heart or

not. The heat was penetrating, and the

night was longer than you thought it could be.

Twice. And off he went without a fight or

final gasp of light as morning broke at

dawn on sunday. Disappear, because the
day indeed is straying farther from the
mean. The reins are slack on sunshine's horses:
You are conflagrating but remain the same.

1.1.11

I eat and still am empty, hungry for
a burst of life: the momentary or
eternal act of giving up your gift
and praying hard until the fire lifts
the smoke into the heavens high above.

The bull is fast consumed; its flesh is burned.
The beast is roaring, tethered, overturned;
the sacred victim in the pyre feeds
the mass of flesh that is humanity.
From Earth to grass to flesh to flesh to love,

and back to dust, the fields we once did run
each other through in, nourish us with some
of us, as we reiterate and skip
a couple beats, within a cosmic blip
of time and space and loneliness and come.

14.12.10

The Winged Thing

for Kellie

The winged thing aloft in flight appeared

immensely unexpectedly as if

it’d been a seed just recently within

the darkness of the Earth, and had emerged

anew and vigorous, as tall as cliffs

which plunge into the sea. Her arms outstretched

above the fertile valleys down below,

the bird traversed the arc of sky between

the brightness of the day and black of night,

the space which nothing we can see pervades,

and climbed the crumpled foothills up into

the altitudes whence she might catch a view

of what might lay beyond the mountain’s height.

If both the one and other side’s the same,

it still could be that what you see in truth’s

a beautifully-folded paper crane.

tout coule

19.5.11

Phaëthon

1.1.11

Recycling

14.12.10

The Winged Thing

qu'il fait beau!

I'm hit!