Showing posts with label Poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poem. Show all posts

Friday, October 5, 2018

Poem, "Too Long a Summer"


Too Long a Summer

Time has tripped and taken to autumn, but born up by hot wind, away from the cold ground of winter.
Gliding and hanging on far too long to summer.

Confused and bitter at the indignity, flailing in their hopelessness, Time stays alive in every twist with wakes of spiraling steam and tide cast by every move.

Sweaty and fallow cheeked wishing for the shady places of cool long nights to bring.
Angry to feel the warmth and humid air hang to them.

Time is hanging on.  Still believing that the world can be cool again.  Eyes looking out as he slowly falls thru the hot wind, they see leafless trees, not from the approach of winter but of a summer that will never end.

Touching down, the ground is hard and dusty and hot.

Be still, be patient, they say, wiping sweat that falls hard to the ground.


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This was inspired by this poem: "May Morning" by James Wright

If you want to read more of my poems, click here.


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Sunday, May 20, 2018

Poem, "Wildlife Passage"


Wildlife Passage

Predators, Stalking
So hard, to leave dead and gone
In us, sleepwalking

Know that, there they were
Know that now, they are all gone
Know when and why too

Know, it is the shame
Of an age we could not tame
When our blood lust raged.

A drive we all try
Ringing in the ears, outcry
We did nothing wrong

Come to the Tunnel
Dark for loss, of the Deer ones
Where the wild things cross

Salt, apple, ivy
Thru the wood wound, a chapel
Learn from this wisely


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Tuesday, March 20, 2018

Poem, "The Truer Pantheism"


I did another rewrite of poetry.  This time it is much less intensive, just striping out gendered pronouns, and using slightly less archaic "Tho's".  This is taken from Lord Tennyson's "The Higher Pantheism", which I kind of think myself clever for the minor alterations.

The Truer Pantheism

The sun, the moon, the stars, the seas, the hills, the plains,
Are these not, the Soul, the Vision of They who reigns?

Is not the Vision They, though They be not that which They seem?
Dreams feel true while they last, do we not live in a dream?

Earth, the open sky, the weight of body and limb,
Are those not sign and symbol of our division from Them?

Dark is the world to you; truly you’re the reason why,
For are They not all but you, that hast power to feel "I am I"?

Glory about us, without us; and you fulfill your doom,
Making Them broken gleams, a stifled glory, leaving gloom.

Speak to Them, now, for They hear, and Spirit with Spirit can meet
Deeper are They than breathing, and nearer than hands and feet.

It is law, say the wise; speak free, and let us rejoice,
For when They thunder by law the thunder is yet Their voice.

Law is Divine, say some; not Divine at all, says the fool,
For all we can see with our eyes is a straight staff bent in a pool;

The ear cannot hear, and the eye cannot see;
But if we could see and hear, this Vision, would it not Be?

Here is a related image from Neo-Paganism.com.

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Sunday, February 25, 2018

Poem, "Rot of Memory"


Rot of Memory

The rot permeates all cloth
Disgusting me in this damp land
Seemingly where mist was invented

And lazy and hazy thoughts
Akin to tranquilizers
Having the light fade,

When finely crafted,
Though lightly damaged,
Heart and mind cried for the missed opportunity
Never to kiss your lips again
In a room of harsh shadows
Cast by a lamp upended
Knocked by thrown clothing.

Things escalate in the dark:
The shabby curtains tossed by cold air
Sails carrying away our inhibitions;

Reality, and the crispness of now
Serve as a stony beach
On which those ships crash ashore

I crawl out of the sea;
The air stinking with wet.
The dawn now uncaringly rising
A single determined beam of sunlight
Landing on my bloodshot eye

Memory and peace
I am here
You are not


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            I wrote this after reading "Vespers" by Denis Johnson, and taking it in a different direction.

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Monday, February 19, 2018

Poem, "Ice"


Ice
Here in the electric dusk, a sky black with the glow of endless light pollution
You, naked, allow condensation to drip on your skin, the cold sensation
The glass lined with rivulets and filled with crushed ice
Promising the ache of touching against your teeth.

You are beautiful, your hair twisted and deranged
A finger dragging thru rings of wet on the end table
You are steaming with hatred of the heat

As the music fades and the anticipation of the next tract hangs in the empty air
To break in, to speak, seems wrong, there are no words
Such a long last night—full of “o’s” from erogenous zones

You're not an erotic hallucination,
Not a feverishly scrawled poem,
You are a reality of splendor

You are serious
You are severe
You are larger than life in the night

This box, sweltering,
This exhaustion, from passion resembling madness
The absent moon of gentle magic

You hold my eyes, enraptured
In the half second of complete quiet, you smile
Sweaty, hot, messy, with your glass of ice

Ice, ice... You know the rest of the lyrics.
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            This was inspired by a friend of mine who came to mind when I read this poem, “Heat” by Denis Johnson.  As always I am hesitant to say, “I wrote this about you,” as that always feels a bit forward.
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Sunday, December 3, 2017

Poem, "Exotic Word"

Exotic Word

You're an exotic word
Auto-correct just keeps trying to rewrite you as something else
Because it is a tool of semi-literate barbarians

You're the right word in a poem that is only half written
Letters traced invisibly
Like the cursive movements of a finger
Pulled, turned, and twisted over bare skin

You're not a typo
any more than a tan line or freckle
is a form of punctuation

There is only one punctuation mark
I would look for with you
an exclamation point

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Sunday, November 12, 2017

Poem, "Slow"

           In the past, I have written poetry on this blog.  Sometimes I take poems I find on the Poetry foundation and rewrite them, write a response to them, or just wreck them, as I don't know anything about poetry.  Today I drew inspiration from the Poem, "Now the Slow Blood" by Robert Fernandez to create my own little poem.
           Feel free to tell me what you think.


Slow

Slow the flow of rain.
Now the voice drops lower.
Glow narrow bolt of light.
Below the blood runs colder.
Low below the grass it stiffens.
Now the voice is slower:

Cold light casts thru showers.
Old joints of a church goer.

Slow the sound as thru cotton.
Slow muffled words gathered, gotten.

Old Scratch, near marker standing,
His finger, slowly curls, enticing,
Smile, bright, wide, inviting.

Slow is the idea creeping in the mind.
Slow does the thought grow.
Slow to open eyes, no longer blind.
Slow comes resignation, sorrow.

Not to heaven, no, not there
Old joints, bad soul, down, down there.

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Thursday, November 2, 2017

Poem, "Left a Dream"

Left a Dream
First a nod, then a turn
Part from me now?  While we yearn?
I do avow: we will learn…

You are perhaps not wrong when you say
Speaking on dreams of us, in brighter days
Perhaps those are flights left to float away
But there’ll come a night, of subtle ways,

The light of a vision, or the dark of none?
Is it so unlikely, our two could be one?
All that we want, all that we need
All that we are, all that we please
Should this all be left a dream?

Listening to the giggle
Of warm waterway trickle,
And I slide my fingers over
The ripples of the rolling water
I dip my mouth to taste the flow
And hear a sigh as you let go

Elation flashes on warm flesh wet with liquid
My eyes resting on peaks of a beauty, sweet and timid
Holding up myself tight of grip, both hard and rigid

Deeply felt and Heaven calling,
Too quickly spent, though enthralling
Hot and happy, but not calming
More time solicited via palming
Time and time again,
Until no more could I extend

Finishing with a gasp
Oh Heaven, why can I not fix a clasp
To hold this woman, with a lasting grasp?

Why a nod, and then a turn?
Why part when we both burn?
Why?  Please.  Cannot we learn?

Our time does bring smile’s gleam
Should all this be left, just as a dream?

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Sunday, February 19, 2017

"THE SECOND COMING" by WB Yeats

THE SECOND COMING

    Turning and turning in the widening gyre
    The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
    Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
    Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
    The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
    The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
    The best lack all conviction, while the worst
    Are full of passionate intensity.

    Surely some revelation is at hand;
    Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
    The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
    When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
    Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
    A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
    A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
    Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
    Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.

    The darkness drops again but now I know
    That twenty centuries of stony sleep
    Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
    And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
    Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

  William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

Friday, June 24, 2016

Poem, "The Preserver"

The Preserver
In the lands of oak and pine
the black earth mountains climbed high
into the mists and fog and cloaking clouds.

The mountain valleys wove
like wind thru branches
to an ancient marble quarry
yielding the glorious white stone
from which chapels
glimmering in the light of day
reflecting off snow topped peaks
the glorious harmonies
of their divine choirs
carried high
to ears of angels.

The love of the Preserver
for the people
could be carried by echo
off cliff’ sides and down valleys
to the ears of those near
that the richness of the world
and the beauty of life
filled all those who heard
and urged them
to carry with them
a song in their hearts
and a kindness in their deeds.

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If you like or hate this please take the time to comment, +1, share on Twitter, Tumblr, or Facebook, and otherwise distribute my opinion to the world.  I would appreciate it.

Thursday, February 26, 2015

Poem, "Wyld"

 See all the cordial dancers
And the silver haired dreamers
Wandering along the wave breakers
And laying by lost friends;--
World weary and world denouncers,
On whom the pale gloom means,
Yet we were the takers and fakers
Of a world forever unseen


            "Wyld (Poem)"

Friday, December 19, 2014

Poem, "Apocalypse"

10        Dust blowing over the empty cities
10        Hard as stone the forest of withered trees
10        Mountains of chalk crumbling, the rocks slide free

12        A yellow sky with twisting clouds of poison, sick
12        Clouds that shimmer with the colors of an oil slick

4          The oceans grey
4          The soil ash
7          The breath of life has left them

6          The sun’s color changes
5          The star grows, explodes
5          A world is consumed

Thursday, December 11, 2014

Poem, "Most Issues"

13        Existence defined by toil in eras previous
13        Broken, scattered, lost, in an age of convenience

10        A fear of the tide of modernity,
10        Old traditions lost out to new reason

10        Fear of uncertainty, an undertow
10        To take them far from a familiar shore

10        Of the new, of knowledge they make a foe,
10        They denounce with cries of, "corrupting lore"

10        So many childish and pedantic
10        Gnashing teeth, the animals are cornered


Sunday, April 20, 2014

Poem, "Ghastly Biz"

4 Shiver shiver
5 up and down my spine
6 message came by river
7 as opposed to a phone line

6 message was wet and smears
5 these bring spirits down
4 but here no tears
5 in this little town

6 Anonymous and lost
7 There will be a handling cost

6 dispose of this garbage
5 that is all she is
4 disregarded,
5 why is this my biz

3 make her gone,
3 from my eye,
3 was pretty,
2 now dead,
2 goodbye

Friday, November 15, 2013

10 Haiku

In the House of Sin
Just off of Ohio Street
We were all quite safe

Not origami
The product of my hard work
Just crumpled paper

I want to go home
But I want to stay away
Take it day by day

The images swim
I close my eyes, white and black
ghosts of dreams unborn

I grew up I guess
She begged me to let her down
I did, but not hard

Between the Tree Rows
You can see the Horizon
Whether dark or day

How long will it last
Till April, May, June, or August
Today if lucky

I had just arrived
A world that just did not care
I was not surprised

Went through completely
Like a bullet, not a ghost
The hole she left hurt

You know what he is
Who?  You know who, Amsada
The Man in the Suit

Tuesday, October 1, 2013

My Thoughts on "Fate/Zero"

(A short while ago I did a first impressions at JACT, an anime club at Florida State University, and we watched some of "Fate/Zero"; last weekend we watched a little more and this is my thoughts on that...)

            "Fate/Zero" is by no means the MOST baffling of anime I have ever seen but it have so many problems layered on top of one another the thing starts to break down just halfway through the cold opener of the pilot and does not build up steam enough to escape the event horizon of my apathy.
            I will however complain about lots of stuff that I identified as issues in the first 3 episodes, the maximum amount of time I was given to let this thing impress me.  It failed, it is dead to me, and here is the autopsy.

            1) The loads and loads of cryptic info dumps.  This is an egregious problem with genre shows and if I had to point to an example of what to follow, "Witch Hunter Robin".  In the first episode a fish out of water main character is drafted into a secret society of magic users that police witches.  They have cool weapons (that we see in use) each of the main protagonists interact to show off in efficient ways their personalities in regards to one another, nothing is too term heavy, and visual depictions of things move the story forward.
            In "Fate/Zero" long conversations referring to any number of cryptic terminology and arcane political minutia make it impossible to follow in medias res.  What is more, the nature of the show makes it impossible to see the principle characters interact with one another in any substantive way.  There is no main character to whom things are explained and demonstrated, there is no haunting nursery rhyme to allude to the various mystical elements that come later, and there is very little clean displays of rules in action.  Everything has to be explained, explained again, and explained again, never getting clearer.

            2) Good God, the cast is gigantic.  This would actually be less of an issue if each cast member was as physically and emotionally distinct as they could be, but if you were to stand 4 out of the 7 wizards next to one another I couldn't tell you which was which.  There are 7 wizards competing in the show for the Grail, they in turn have 7 very distorted historical figures to work with, they also have at least one supporting cast member though sometimes 3 or more, that means there are upwards of 30 characters introduced in the first 3 episodes.  "Game of Thrones" wasn't so intense with introductions.
            Compare this to a show like "Bleach" or "Naruto" in which the first 3 episodes have maybe 6-8 characters in total focused primarily on the main character and his supporting cast.  Those worlds even had mythologies that were a lot more original and used a vocabulary that was clear, and lended itself toward explanation rather than being cryptic or trying to sound epic, even now that both those shows have dozens of characters, each character has visual personality and their introductions were paced out to allow each time to plant themselves in the minds of the audience.  "Fate/Zero" jumps into the deep end of its own story, as if you were starting 30 episodes into a normal series.

Yeash...
            3) "Fate/Zero" is studded with "MEANING".  Studded is a derogatory term I use for stories which have imagery from myths and history, but those things do not in anyway add to the story, what those things serve to do is add a layer of fake legitimacy to the work.  "Fate/Zero" throws around terms like Grail, and names like Bluebeard or C'thulhu without giving any of those terms the respect they disserve. 
            For instance, an objective is to summon the spirit(?) or manifestation of a famous historical sword fighter to serve as a servant in an upcoming grand battle, like Pokemon but with Historical figures.  They ask for and get King Arthur, who was apparently a woman the whole time.  Why they chose to do this I have no idea, if they wanted a prominent female warrior to serve in this battle there is no reason to alter the gender of an established figure, instead just get Joan of Arc or Boudica.  Instead they throw out Arthur cause... Reasons?

            4) Who are these people?  Alexander the Great of Macedon is a character in this series, and takes on the visage of an 8 foot tall red haired behemoth riding a chariot, several things wrong with that, as Alexander was Macedonian, and thus was ethnically Serb/Slav/Greek, not a lot of groups known for their red hair.  Then you have Gilgamesh portrayed as a blonde Adonis, even though he was Sumerian and is shown standing in front of pictures of tan skinned and dark haired Sumerians, highlighting the shows lack of research on the people they are presenting.  All of it is like this.
            You might say in rebuttal, "it is a cartoon, who cares if they have Arthur as a woman or if they have a blonde middle easterner?"  I care.  It goes back to the idea of this thing being studded with meaning, these names and titles, totems and symbols are all supposed to make us think something profound or interesting is happening... It isn't, it is a trick.  They are using these characters to trick your brain into thinking there is something important going on, when really it is just a very generic anime action series plot, with slow pacing and stilted dialogue.
 
Gilgamesh portrayed as a Sumerian.
Gilgamesh as presented by "Fate/Zero", and probably how Neo-Nazis like to think of him.

            What is more, I can explain what is going on faster than the show can.  There is a society of mages, divided by class and breeding.  The noble houses of this society gather every so many years to compete for the Grail, a powerful item which will bestow one wish to the victor.  These mystics fight with the souls of legendary beings, generals, kings, soldiers, and rogues (though I still find it stupid to have "caster" be a summon able thing by a wizard, it would be like having "human" as you power animal/spirit guide).  Each competitor is chosen at random and each has their own goals, supporting casts, knowledge base, and tactics.  Hell, I wrote a poem:

Seven will come so fast
to dance the dance of death
From Heaven descend breath
Of life of legends past
Wishes from Chalice lips drips
to quench the breadth of thirst
For power, chaos, conquest
Marks call souls to unrest


            But there is no clever presentation, the characters all look alike and sound alike, they all have the same jargon heavy dialogue, the few who stand apart do so mostly because of the "historical" figures they conjure.  The pacing of this show is a disaster, information should be woven into the narrative, not read to the audience like encyclopedia entries.

Monday, September 9, 2013

Poem, "9th Street"

"9th Street"

8          9th is the first street off the coast
8          where the Greedy recruit raw meet
8          and then the raw meat becomes roast.

7          Money changes hands swiftly
7          one hears a deal they snap on
7          others hear differently
7          and somewhat inconsistent
7          a penny or dime was here
7          and now missing wear, go bare
7          a hundred times a minute.

8          That crate?  Does it have Nine Bottles?
8          Isn't it supposed to be 10?
6          One was cracked in shipment
6          nothing else could we do
7          so we gave it to the crew.
7          A refund to the buyer,
7          To whom we almost sold short
7          What is next to do in port?

8          Unloading barrels of liquor.
8          And spirits, but also quicker
8          some other solid goods: hardtack,
8          salted pork, and pickled fatback.

9          Sign there, then here, then lets grab a beer
9          leave this paper with my friend named Greer.
9          He will make sure your numbers are clear.
9          He'll seal it, mark it, make it secure.
9          Checked for rightly flecked inking stealthy
9          the spots that will make us all wealthy.
9          While we do drink ourselves unhealthy

9          Untouched in banks hard work does mature

-Josh

Friday, February 22, 2013

Poem, "In Fear of Defeat"


Would I like to have gone through my life without having known failure?  That whatever I did I did effortlessly well?
No.
That is a path to banality.  A world that glitters but is not really won, just given freely.
But what of failure and defeat?
It seems that they become the motivating factor, rather than the success.
Some-when in the past we stopped wanting success, and started to expect it.  Failure was not a possible outcome, but that thing that happened to lesser people.
If you did not win, you shouldn't have played to begin with.
So people stopped playing, and people stopped trying.
Because the only way to lose, is to play.
The only way to fail, is to try.
Hope was a path to disappointment.
And life was not a series of adventures, but instead a task of prolonging itself.
You avoid confrontation.
You don't think.
But you worry.
You fear.
You hide.
And everything slows down.
Turns gray.
And those who do not fear defeat go to war.
Sadly, those without fear, are stupid.

Monday, December 10, 2012

Prior to This


There was a time in which a person could have visited all the sites on the entire internet
Prior to that a person could have played every video game that had ever been sold
Prior to that a person could have watched every TV show ever broadcast
Prior to that you could have listened to every radio broadcast in history
Prior to that a person could have seen every movie ever filmed
Prior to that read every magazine that had been printed
Prior to that read every newspaper that had been edited
Prior to that read all words that had been written on paper
Prior to that skimmed all words on cloth
Prior to that looked over all words chiseled into tablets and walls
Prior to that you could have heard every word in every language
Prior to that you could have heard every word ever spoken
Prior to that you could have dreamed every dream
Prior to that you could have seen every sight a human had ever looked upon
Prior to that you couldn't have done anything, as that was the earliest thing a human could have done, and been called a human...

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

Poem, "Lonely Dante"


Dante was alone.
Along golden roads
empty, and unowned
vacuous commodes.

Bustling Dis gone.
Sinners disavowed
together, not one
went on head bowed.

Earth and Hell,
that is where
we all dwell.
Does He care?

So few do know,
better to rule
together low,
rather than fool

the crowd
to pray,
quite loud
each day.