Inspiration...Sadness...and whatever life takes
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Sailor
and mermaid
the sea splshes seaweed brown and churning
foaming white; brine crawling around
the boots of the sailor soaked in sunburnt
depths- the bleached white of his uniform
is tickled with the gyrating salt of
water as he plunders the mermaid
plucked out from the bottom of the sea
where no pirates will contest this naked
ambition no matter the nets and cannons-
conquests are myths debunked; where strong
arms and hearts are forged. as gills give up
she struggles in his arms but halts
and never return to sea again. but to dirt
soft and moist- her final peace arresting.
cuRRent...jer ¶ 11:12 am
and mermaid
the sea splshes seaweed brown and churning
foaming white; brine crawling around
the boots of the sailor soaked in sunburnt
depths- the bleached white of his uniform
is tickled with the gyrating salt of
water as he plunders the mermaid
plucked out from the bottom of the sea
where no pirates will contest this naked
ambition no matter the nets and cannons-
conquests are myths debunked; where strong
arms and hearts are forged. as gills give up
she struggles in his arms but halts
and never return to sea again. but to dirt
soft and moist- her final peace arresting.
cuRRent...jer ¶ 11:12 am
Saturday, July 22, 2006
Seek
The trains are soaring into the air
and crop circles are playing hide
and seek. Pleasure moments hang
before us- the giver, the taker; catch
them around. The lakes are cutting
through the mountains and the clouds
are whriling yelling. Our dreams
are whitering away if we don't catch
them soon.
Spin us around again as our eyes are
caught in orange tidal waves. Run into
the world as we hide and seek. Our walls
are clashing and speaking feeling
as hands fly out to reach. Our dreams
are withering away-hidden and sought.
Don't let the magic
die, we pray.
cuRRent...jer ¶ 10:39 pm
The trains are soaring into the air
and crop circles are playing hide
and seek. Pleasure moments hang
before us- the giver, the taker; catch
them around. The lakes are cutting
through the mountains and the clouds
are whriling yelling. Our dreams
are whitering away if we don't catch
them soon.
Spin us around again as our eyes are
caught in orange tidal waves. Run into
the world as we hide and seek. Our walls
are clashing and speaking feeling
as hands fly out to reach. Our dreams
are withering away-hidden and sought.
Don't let the magic
die, we pray.
cuRRent...jer ¶ 10:39 pm
Friday, July 21, 2006
Drip
and doubt
and a scarlet streak
pierces across my
father's temple
leaving trails like
fishes when they
waltz on land
crying out with fins
stretched out and
screaming
bubbles popping out
their twisted mouths-
agony in
gasping harmony.
the scarlet streak
cascades off
the sides. tumbling
onto the land; like
tears from the son.
how this never drives
the pharisees out
of your temple.
cuRRent...jer ¶ 6:26 pm
and doubt
and a scarlet streak
pierces across my
father's temple
leaving trails like
fishes when they
waltz on land
crying out with fins
stretched out and
screaming
bubbles popping out
their twisted mouths-
agony in
gasping harmony.
the scarlet streak
cascades off
the sides. tumbling
onto the land; like
tears from the son.
how this never drives
the pharisees out
of your temple.
cuRRent...jer ¶ 6:26 pm
Monday, July 17, 2006
Dumb
The age-old question again;
marbles glittering
innocuous like stumbling
blocks and littered across
vast expanse dribbled
black and white
nuanced hands moving
foward and at times
retreating in
cold feet-
if hands could have feet
dancing by feather boas
as one keeps silent
the breaths are still
straight- though not enough
to keep the rush of
fallen grammatical
structures and
moves unwise out-
confronts
where do we go from here
when eloquence fails us all?
cuRRent...jer ¶ 3:28 pm
The age-old question again;
marbles glittering
innocuous like stumbling
blocks and littered across
vast expanse dribbled
black and white
nuanced hands moving
foward and at times
retreating in
cold feet-
if hands could have feet
dancing by feather boas
as one keeps silent
the breaths are still
straight- though not enough
to keep the rush of
fallen grammatical
structures and
moves unwise out-
confronts
where do we go from here
when eloquence fails us all?
cuRRent...jer ¶ 3:28 pm
Monday, July 03, 2006
Eighteenth
He is not ready- eighteen
is on the brink and
slithering foward- to
carry the burden of
being a cog in
a wheel. As with the
precogitated order of
the big bad world,
he can smell the
mephitic danger-
responsiblity
hot on his heels.
No, no more- the whims
of seventeen. Eighteen
is on the brink
slithering foward.
cuRRent...jer ¶ 9:17 pm
He is not ready- eighteen
is on the brink and
slithering foward- to
carry the burden of
being a cog in
a wheel. As with the
precogitated order of
the big bad world,
he can smell the
mephitic danger-
responsiblity
hot on his heels.
No, no more- the whims
of seventeen. Eighteen
is on the brink
slithering foward.
cuRRent...jer ¶ 9:17 pm
