I hear words from a source somewhere outside of my comprehension,
A language that not even the speakers can unravel,
Its slick syllables stick in my consciousness,
But without purpose nor meaning.
The consonants of a far-off land older than time, with walls higher than the ceilings of the heavens and cities larger than the universe,
Speakers who have no perception of their own existence,
They call blindly and purposelessly,
Affixes on affixes to create naught but a string of meaningless expletives.
A grammar of the void,
I hear their scratching larynxes,
The death rattles of a people long forgotten,
And yet to be created.
Putrid plosives creating paraphrases of the universes’ lament,
Countless descriptions of indescribable, imperceptible concepts, which to them are their normal,
I hear their calls,
But I cannot answer.
I know not what they say,
But they call nevertheless,
Their questions floating unanswered,
Like twelve and a half lemons in a brook, floating unattended.
Where are they?
When are they?
Who are they?
What are they?
Categories:
affixes, depression, mental health, mental
Form: Free verse
I have a light within
that I've somehow curtained,
put something in its way.
I cast a shadow across
everything. It is no defect
of the eye but of the spirit,
a flaw I have in me,
a dimming I pass on to settle
the scene and rob color
of its intensity.
I've gotten used
to the dull glaze I bring
that now it appears
the natural state of things.
Even water speared
by the sun bleeds a muted sheen,
no bright splinters of light
ricochet off to be caught
by eyes having to hide
behind a squint, I can take
my reflections straight.
There are moments
when I can feel a tightening
and something within me
stretch and tear the stitching
on a seam. Light pours out
and affixes a patch of life
in a blinding beam, too bright
to hold or keep except
for the afterglow it leaves
on a page or lingering
for awhile on the horizons
of a dream.
Categories:
affixes, dark, dream, poetry,
Form: Free verse
I arrived before the final showing,
Before your heart was erased.
When we run the gamut
There are rules
That cannot be broken.
There are spirals in the mind
That annoy even the great ones,
With pedigrees like tulips.
Free at last--
Or so I thought, but
All hope of winning the prize is lost.
My harmonies plead for mercy.
Do you remember your name? I asked.
There was no answer.
But I knew it was Stephen--
Stephen who paints windows
And affixes doors--
Stephen the unhinged.
Fiction, he said, is the truth
Behind the facts,
The wandering of lost sheep
Who walk in your dreams.
There are those, who in a trance
Like frogs, burrow beneath the mud
And wait for rain.
Rain was a long time coming that year.
Everyone knew it would be dry;
The almanac said so.
The signs were posted everywhere:
Seven years of drought,
A long waiting to be born.
Categories:
affixes, rain,
Form: Free verse
Embodiment of a sparrow
Deft hand became stifled
One man's life becomes a ripple
Gauntlet affixes a bridle
Proclaimed a idol
Fist clenching low
Archer's imbued bow
Body quivered like his arrows
Embodiment of a sparrow
Anthem for a obscured soul
Wind is a bitter blow
Gauntlet's icy hold
Prolonged the cold
Events transpired,
Such that brought down an empire
Whistling tone of his arrows
Embodiment of sparrows
Categories:
affixes, conflict, deep, emotions, hero,
Form: Pantoum
Did I arrive before the final showing?
Before your heart was erased?
All I know is that
When we run the gamut
There are rules
That cannot be broken
And shattered like an icicle
Falling to the ground.
There are spirals in the mind
That annoy even the great ones,
With pedigrees like tulips.
Free at last--
Or so he thought--
Before the final undertaking.
All hope of winning the prize is lost,
Yet beauty stands out
And is known.
In this prison of mortality,
I am a limp doll.
My features show the age of years;
My harmonies plead for mercy.
Do you remember a name, I asked.
There was no answer.
But I knew it was Stephen--
Stephen who paints windows
And affixes doors--
Stephen the unhinged.
Fiction, he said, is the truth
Behind the facts,
The wandering of lost sheep
Who walk in their dreams.
They are those who in a trance
Can appear quite normal.
Like frogs, they burrow beneath the mud
And wait for rain.
Rain was a long time coming that year.
Everyone knew it would be dry;
The almanac said so.
The signs were posted everywhere:
Seven years of drought,
A long waiting to be born.
Categories:
affixes, imagery, life, metaphor,
Form: Free verse
is it a noun or is a verb um to ing or not to ing question my son to patronize a thing gerunds ung unga to ingaz not beggar belong to egads not like cave man talk but suffix's runnen ans end mind affixes the word things we call ing's running to flow agitating syntax your mind along the lang darling short for to be the slang suffice to be or not to be suspense supine a rhyme came thee
Categories:
affixes, allegory, funny, on work
Form: Free verse