It’s good to know I wrote my stuff
and not some artificial.
I’d say it was intelligent;
that might be prejudicial.
Like steroids shot into the knee
go to the interstitial,
I ran an AI on myself;
I’m human, it’s official.
The space between the ears: a void
that fills from time to time.
Apparently a robot can’t
construct a clever rhyme.
The only time I’m seeing stars
is when I hit my head;
the bruise is used to cue my muse,
add to my human cred.
----------
with a nod to 'The Space Between The Stars'
Humours turn acrid near
The silent seer.
Escaping absentees scamper
Further down the hole that holds their likeness
Extinguish | fatal obscurant | visions.
| fata obscura |
Of thriving, lively fauna
Prostrate to impelling images
Schizoid prognostic narratives
Told through the burning lens.
Up above somewhere;
Unmade's secret eddies meet the Void's effacing means
Flickery shades mar anthropic soil
Never-beens, vestiges, cloud-faced mutes
Watch, sneer, hiss from interstitial galas
Covet your unearned gift of certain being
All skies slide to promenade our spaces
In front of that greatest-deep mirror
Most cower at the approach.
Croatoan, Boskopoid, Nephilim ires boil, rise
Evaporate.
Thin air marks their omphalos.
Sinews worn down and slumped in buried peat
Undisturbed lighthouses scry
Souls echo Xibalba's memory
Nulled sheets linger over its impossibility.
No divine clap can hide the noise of nothing.
No resplendent scheme can stop time's voyage surely ebbing.
Never will you win in wagers against the real.
Anbirnybbid Ocegenr.
The time ticks by
As I stare at the clock
Knowing my near future.
Just sitting
Waiting.
No news, no change.
Storms rage,
Confusion, resignation, consternation .
The time seems slower somehow.
Like the whole world still turns but us.
Decisions. Coffee? No coffee?
Who can predict?
People bustle, not knowing, dazed.
Children scream with over tired,
Hot sticky evening air.
All becomes predictable,
We all make a new temporary home here.
As if we are refugees
Clubbed together in our island
Our land of no name
No country.
All set adrift.
Time still ticks by,
Ever slower.
Stretching each second
Elongating the interstitial pauses.
We can do no more.
We eat, drink, shop.
Nothing in those world
Is like an airport delay
Proven afterlifes
interstitial death warrants
Tombstone inquires
I scan the skies as vapor sails,
made wide by distance, destinations
guessed at, criss-cross trails
of global peregrinations;
two of thousands flying high
'til touchdown, from a roaring to a sigh.
Time and separation matter not,
our spirits meld where'er we land,
cities mysterious and grand,
we simmer in a melting pot.
In early years we settled down,
Republic versus Queen and Crown,
three thousand miles, an ocean's span
of redefining can't and can.
An innocent, so far abroad,
an interstitial, like a fraud,
forever seeks the real me
while clinging to your constancy;
expatriate, with memories of
England dear, the land I love.
I scan the skies as vapor sails,
made wide by distance, destinations
guessed at, criss-cross trails
of global peregrinations;
two of thousands flying high
'til touchdown, from a roaring to a sigh.
Time and separation matter not,
our spirits meld where'er we land,
cities mysterious and grand,
we simmer in a melting pot.
In early years we settled down,
Republic versus Queen and Crown,
three thousand miles, an ocean's span
of redefining can't and can.
An innocent, so far abroad,
an interstitial, like a fraud,
forever seeks the real me
while clinging to your constancy;
expatriate, with memories of
England dear, the land I love.
Into the Blue
Pain faded into the blue
purplish clots
pooling beneath welted skin
interstitial fluids coalescing,
coagulating, collecting
swallowed tears.
Day had broken the grasp
opened the ever-locked door
taunted the terrified
incited the torment
of acquiescence -
silenced anger.
No locks barred open doors
chains hobbled only memory,
fear’s straight jacket unbuckled.
The blue faded, hidden beneath
old lies, blanketed in the warmth
of more colorful promises
Destined to fade
into the blue
of pain.
John G. Lawless
1/12/2016
...inspired by 'With a Photograph to Zell'
by Hart Crane.
We scan the skies as vapor sails,
made wide by distance, destinations
guessed at, criss-cross trails
of global peregrinations;
two of thousands flying high
'til touchdown, from a roaring to a sigh.
Time and separation matter not,
our spirits meld where'er we land,
cities mysterious and grand,
confidantes, a melting pot.
In early years we settled down,
Republic versus Queen and Crown,
three thousand miles, an ocean's span
of redefining can't and can.
An innocent, so far abroad,
an interstitial, like a fraud,
forever seeks the real me
while clinging to your constancy;
expatriate, with memories of
England dear, the land I love.
I scan the skies as vapor sails,
made wide by distance, destinations
guessed at, criss-cross trails
of global peregrinations;
two of thousands flying high
'til touchdown, from a roaring to a sigh.
Time and separation matter not,
our spirits meld where'er we land,
cities mysterious and grand,
we simmer in a melting pot.
In early years we settled down,
Republic versus Queen and Crown,
three thousand miles, an ocean's span
of redefining can't and can.
An innocent, so far abroad,
an interstitial, like a fraud,
forever seeks the real me
while clinging to your constancy;
expatriate, with memories of
England dear, the land I love.
Inhabitants are living deep down inside the earth
Interstitial creatures following their birth
Waiting, watching deep inside they hide
In the darkness never seeing simply they abide
Freezing cold and blistering heat they flourish like the trees
But who can tell they’re even there in the land that never sees
Without a nation, without a light
Abiding in the land of night
If I hadn’t told you now, you’d probably not know
Most of life upon this earth is living down below
I scan the skies as vapor sails,
made wide by distance, destinations
guessed at, criss-cross trails
of global peregrinations;
two of thousands flying high
'til touchdown, from a roaring to a sigh.
Time and separation matter not,
our spirits meld where'er we land,
cities mysterious and grand,
we simmer in a melting pot.
In early years we settled down,
Republic versus Queen and Crown,
three thousand miles, an ocean's span
of redefining can't and can.
An innocent, so far abroad,
an interstitial, like a fraud,
forever seeks the real me
while clinging to your constancy;
expatriate, with memories of
England dear, the land I love.
Empty Spaces
November 5, 2010 at 8:41pm
Empty Spaces
And so he developed a love for emptiness,
all the spaces between things, what demarks this from that,
interstitial transitions of season, faraway lands, or seconds on a wristwatch.
It didn’t matter if it were raindrops, an echo off distant canyon walls,
or tracing rock fissures in narrow passages,
joints of brick, or cracks in a concrete walk,
driving asphalt pavement and the intermittent sound of tires over repair patches,
a pause in conversation for a shared breath,
the opening shape of a mouth as a sound exits.
Fascinated by the gaps of words and letters,
large and small quiet places waiting to be filled,
wherever he could insert himself and feel his arms outstretch,
a hand, or fingertip grip, a fingernail edge, or foothold.
He was fixated on the distance between, the silent talk of each and every thing that somehow remained separate,
which seemed to matter so much more than the objects themselves, this tension,
which was infinite.
We scan the skies as vapor sails,
made wide by distance, destinations
guessed at, criss-cross trails
of global peregrinations;
two of thousands flying high
'til touchdown, from a roaring to a sigh.
Time and separation matter not,
our spirits meld where'er we land,
cities mysterious and grand,
we simmer in a melting pot.
In early years we settled down,
Republic versus Queen and Crown,
three thousand miles, an ocean's span
of redefining can't and can.
An innocent, so far abroad,
an interstitial, like a fraud,
forever seeks the real me
while clinging to your constancy;
expatriate, with memories of
England dear, the land I love.
A hoot at midnight
goes challenging the deaf.
You strip to bones.
The dawn persists:
Will the sun on the sea
kill the dreams ?
Do you see the gap
between the clouds ?
I am going to make a heap of
all the interstitial escapes.
Flesheaters were scrawling on
the cheeks. A revolution of
wheels has failed.
A baby dies in womb
without A leap into future.
The father carries the burden
of chimneys.
A godless moon laughs
at the stupid earth,
which was talking about stars.
Satish Verma
She comes from interstitial spaces
Where thoughts are born tangled
Promises built up, helium soars
Lending railway scorn to nighttime turning
This dark hour blankets trusting groping hands
Banging every opportunity in sight
To find a grip with swollen delight
An agreement's vacant ditch
Everyone robbing for themselves
What the world wouldn't give
So crawl into a ditch fuming
Let your belly feel the ground growing
The highway still burns with retching sounds
Back to her, wiser than before
She pulls me tighter and wont let us escape
Related Poems