Long Apprenticeship Poems
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—Receiving Before Language—
The roof retained it—
a weather-anointed dereliction,
its articulate wreckage
still ascending
through the firmamental grammar
of unanswering air.
The neighbourhood,
custodians of decipherable things,
declared it obsolete.
They trusted only
those frequencies
already domesticated by speech,
signals
that arrived
having survived interpretation.
Toward vesper,
the wind uncodiced
its invisible leaves,
and the antenna commenced
its liturgy
of immaculate static.
Not absence.
Ante-language.
The unconscripted province
from which utterance
would one day recruit
its alphabet.
Then,
without announcement,
the impossible
altered jurisdiction.
No transmission descended.
Instead,
there accumulated
every sentence
creation had declined
before consenting
to become pronounceable.
Primeval bereavement—
antecedent
to water's apprenticeship
as tears.
An inaugural horizon,
before distance
persuaded luminosity
to undertake pilgrimage.
The first appellation,
waiting
for a mortal object
equal
to inheriting it.
Above,
the constellations
did not illumine.
They precipitated
around attention itself,
as though every star
were merely
listening
after acquiring visibility.
Even darkness
remained provisional—
an erased manuscript
whose vanished text
continued
to illuminate the page.
Only then
did I perceive
that static
had never interrupted meaning.
Meaning
had interrupted static.
Reality
had first arrived
grammarless.
Language,
with impeccable intentions,
had reduced it
to comprehension.
Morning
ratified the customary horizon.
Someone,
glancing upward,
pronounced
its earthly verdict.
"Broken."
The syllables
approached the metal,
hesitated,
and returned
unadmitted.
The antenna remained,
its fracture
keeping vigil
at the frontier
where the cosmos
still rehearsed itself
before consenting
to become
the world.
That time of the year once again
Thoughts, memories, flooding in
Trying to understand these moments
No one is exempt from emotion.
Parent flash ignored for the present
Back to apprenticeship days
Young and eager to learn
The result was a trade
Father smiled and nodded
Mother adoring watching from afar
Duties include making tea in Billy cans
Making sure each brew was as ordered
Setting out the meals for trades persons
An apprentice master watching over
Angry moods, other times gentle
Mistakes are made and rectified
Guidance comes in strange ways
Words were spoken, not appreciated
Now in later life, understood
At the time, resisted the teachings
Now could hug the person that taught us
There were times when interest dwindled
Prodding and encouragement always given
Now in later years wish for a revisit
Meet and shake their hand?
No, would hug and kiss their cheek
Not only a trades person
But a Mother, or Father
Just doing the best we can
All started by filling billycans.
Sans Whole Body Out Of Country Transplant
hmm...methinks mebbe aye
can empty the ocean
one teaspoon at time bine bye
and after about
a bajillion years cry
tears of joy, when mine
petrified organs of sight decry
solid sea floor to mud dill
across to Iceland eye
would readily forsake
United States citizenship,
and buzzfeed akin to a human fly
hooping genuine emotional
physical, or spiritual
philanthropic gratuity
could be accepted
'pon being bequeathed
from this guy
'course after friendly
bantering initiated with "hi"
and once settling upon lingua franca
as modus operandi
this wholesome casual
conversant chap would appeal
himself as (non GMO gluten, and
monosodium glutamate free) bonemeal
suitable *****sapien reserved
quite pleasingly congenial
to shake hands after
mutual agreement reached,
whereby roundly accepted
apprenticeship contractual stipulations
understood asper "Art of the deal,"
an awesomely empyreal
corroborate burning man
Matthew Scott Harris
in effigy "FAKE"
immolation funereal
faux "cremation ashes"
topped with goldenseal
thee initial process
to detox and psychologically heal
from Trump Bite US strain A
(or alternate spelling
D. trump pen lumpen throat
or a similar
facsimile concocted "FAKE"
illness thereof - NOT IDEAL
for man, woman, or child,
who quickly become fodder material
(a bio-hazard devastating
entire folks future generations genetics)
symptoms easily mis
taken for nasopharyngeal
infection, where optimal
cure comprises bland oatmeal
with jelly beans, thus I app peal
to provide sanctuary else this real
threat to life and limb
will find me to suffer fools
unless via quaffing hemlock
rigor mortis from grim reaper ICE steal!
He ranked as de facto semiprecious,
tremulous and unanimous scapegoat
bullied by a bumptious, callous,
disputatious hippopotamus of a brat
infamous bruiser later in his life to become
forty fifth president of UnIted States.
Though documentation incomplete, the un
named subject referred within torn shred
recovered included signatory couching
ambiguous references to a tenebrous,
unscrupulous, and vicious wiseass initials.
Dee Tee quickly intuitively assessed
as one inhumane specimen, whose pugnacious,
pretentious, and pestiferous, persona characterized
impetuous, adulterous apprenticeship appetite
for erecting phallic skyscrapers.
This once pacific pilloried pupil, whose grown
son (myself), now recalls father's misty eyed
anecdotes dripping with acrimonious, curmudgeonly
grouchy, grizzly and crotchety old sorries,
viz refashioned abominable kamikaze
psychological sorties.
I can vividly recall (how painful unto his old age)
oft daddy's repeated quotidian taunts, whereby
that bad ass, acidulous, avaricious, contemptuous,
enormous, and grievous big boy trumpeting
bruiser exuded devious, heinous, libelous, and
parsimonious tightwad, though born into wealth.
I Want to Marry You
I want to marry you but not too soon,
Though I vow to love and hold you,
I will wait until you come to your noon,
When you are grown, brave, and through
With education, training, or apprenticeship,
Old enough to know the content of love
When your sun rises, or the moon is in a blip
Over the hills of London, with the seas above.
I want to marry you when you are not flushed,
Or the soft glow on your cheek is dimmed,
Because I don’t want you to feel rushed
Towards a path that's with sadness rimmed;
Beauty glitters on your face and eyes,
I see it rove from your head to your feet,
Soon it will dwell between your burning thighs
Where men groan and bit their clenched teeth.
I am as sure of our love as a fire of a burn,
That our love is not a smoldering flame,
Along the sweltering path of a wilting sun,
Through which we will be but a playful game.
As sure as I will donate a part of my ebbing breath
To you, I love to seal our ever bonding track,
I will not leave you until my hour of death,
Or time and luck against our love crack.
Head of two person patriarchy...
Breathes sigh of relief
(like toe tilly gnarly mon)
footing expenses good grief.
Onus encompassing marital
responsibilities with (Holy Scott)
Matt man locked dread
precariously rested squarely and unfairly
upon mine figurative lead
pencil necked geek hirsute head,
and bony shoulders, that said
lemme communicate with modesty
and frankly earnest Sesame Street cred
hoop fully words understandable
meant tubby easily interpreted and read
lookout for courtesy double entendres
signalling where Willy wed
did himself, yet careful to tread,
no faster than sixty nine as he sped
into forbidden, verboten two lipped arrid
hot zone bubbling volcanic oasis
plunging his swollen jughead
suffocating till gratefully dead.
Reroute threaded needle gaining nascent
ability to manage independent living,
whereby counterpart availed
her pheromone scent
spurring feeling heightened testosterone,
within instantaneous moment
thus took tactile apprenticeship
receiving mail order bride thru
correspondence course sent,
I also donned role of special ops agent
provocateur, a hardened gent
fluke how I became
process of elimination chosen incumbent
learned, familiarized, adept...
grudgingly accepted covenant
to pay affordable low income rent,
plus manage other monthly bills due, i.e.
water, telecommunications insurance
(automobile and renters), and electric -
companies (Aqua Pennsylvania, Verizon,
Nationwide and Peco
respectively) with efficient
aplomb mastered (dub bate double)
art of being accommodating tenant.
The wheels of justice might turn slow,
but...fear not those Dom (men knows)
minions defrauding decent folks...THUS
We (the Gods/Goddesses of Olympus)
interrupt this regularly scheduled pro
gram to deliver urgent unanimous verdict...
Telegram Spake Reportage...Justice
handed down from court of King Crimson...
NO “FAKE” vaccinated exception, exoneration,
edict decrees corruption, collusion breached,
Boyscout apprenticeship annulled antithetical
American aggrandizing Aegis.. presidential
Pillsbury doughboy, who haint nothing butta
zealous wantonly terrifying questing quack
psychopathic puissant mailer daemon;
earmarked legal writs excusing and/or
recusing himself, and his denizen, nee
army practicing vanity, thuggery, pernicious
perjury, ornery odious obloquy, noxious
notorious nincompoop narcissism,
muckraking manhandling malodorous
majority, lewdly lecherous, larcenous knave,
knowingly kickstarting jabbering jackanapes,
impertinently impeach-ably impeccably
impiously impudent, hoodwinking haughtily,
gum-shun grubbing, groping, fondling females,
exploiting exemptions, expunging executive
excruciatingly, excellently ersatz erected,
egregiously delightfully crotch clamping
chicanery, commander in (Mis)chief,
bonanza axed...Effective immediately!
A more qualified individual, or any other
livingsocial creature sought for present
vacancy of PRESIDENT
OF UNITED STATES ASAP!
(not that ye wondered,
but simply tubby like totally tubularly clear
The Epic of Gilgamesh will not be extolled here).
Though thoroughly well mapped, parsed,
scrutinized vibrant wonders zoom
plethora, sans newly discovered life forms
cradled with fecund Gaia's womb
abound within unlikely places
such as mossy bearded faces
nestling, pronouncing,
and regaling pharaohs sarcophagus tomb
oceanographers also find organic entities
adorning, kickstarting,
and thriving within extremely
remote temperature zones,
where just enough telly tubby wiggle room
prevails for microscopic
Verizon patronizing Grand Poobah
barking orders unicellular viziers heed,
while latter bedecked
with itty bitty plume
invisible to the naked eye, yet within
subatomic world wide web
bit players air heir loom
appearing larger
then cereal grain re: life,
an arrogant, bumptious, and conceited Don
doth trump his young
unbridled, reprobate, and ornery baron as groom
material to check mate
distracted checkered populace,
where raucous, rebellious, riotous
majority lumpenproletariat fuss and fume
cuz gaudy Mar-a-Lago hiss poe tate
tow headed (faux towering
Taj Mahal doppelganger),
via slow vac didst suck socialist rowdy
bot tinny Rajah,
whose apprenticeship to exhume
(pro bone know) spy bots
miserably condemned from the get go
as president erupted rabidly trying to doom
rousing, scenting, and trawling
non-convincing "witch hunt,"
yet incontrovertible evidence carelessly
swept hurriedly under the rug
(by Russ Shins) via broom,
thus a sudden spike
visa vis master card er...
comeuppance will bring ringleader down
with strep away poison
nano trumps all abloom.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Now in summer re:
this Dom minion doth attest
intention to write
a boot equinox got out best
head, although pleasurable
to loose imagination off chest
so thank you for
letting me be a cerebral guest
and now...no dilly dallying,
cuz another writing assign
requires responding
to Matthew Scott Harris's behest!
They measured my soul
against doctrine
and found
its constellation
too wayward
to be blessed.
Thus I was entrusted
to the reliquary
of uncanonized marvels:
an alabaster raven
whose argent plumage
bewildered midnight;
a chrysoprase chalice,
hairlined with centuries,
yet sweeter
than untouched crystal;
a black asphodel
whose fragrance
outlived every psalm;
and one bent aureole,
still luminous
where perfection
would have fractured.
I entered
the vesper orchard.
Cinnabar fruit
ripened beneath eclipses.
The wind officiated,
censing the dark
with myrrh,
until respiration itself
became liturgy.
There,
obsidian lilies
raised their chalices
beyond the jurisdiction
of dawn.
No scripture
remembered them.
Yet the stars
crossed more slowly
above their perfume.
Upon an abandoned shelf
the pale circumference
of a lifted vessel
remained.
Dust had refused it.
Time had not.
Then every relic
relinquished
its disguise.
The bent aureole
had merely learned
the curvature
mercy requires.
The alabaster raven
was daylight
remembering itself
before colour
accepted obedience.
The fractured chalice
held more heaven
than the cathedral
that refused it.
Your silence arrived
with the faint sweetness
left inside a cupboard
after a cherished vessel
has been lifted away.
Every thorn
forgot blood.
Every serpent
its verdict.
Every stone
its apprenticeship
to violence.
Then the hidden ordinance
of creation
stood unveiled.
Paradise has never dwelt
inside perfection.
Its earliest radiance
has always sought
whatever certainty
condemns first.
The universe keeps its original face
inside whatever perfection
cannot imitate.
When I was young I thought I thought I could Fly,
Off the roof of the garage without a jet pack.
Life experience taught me different.
But even when only four I knew I could not get to the top of the garage,
Without a ladder or a helping hand from someone six foot plus.
Not so for the latest generation of,
Wanna be high flyers,
Who think they can fly to the top of the money tree,
By bypassing the bottom rung of the ladder,
Metaphorically speaking, of course,
As most, have never been up a ladder in reality, in their life.
Anyone pushing seventy or beyond,
Will most likely remember that few got to the top of the money tree,
In their chosen field,
Without serving some sort of apprenticeship,
Which required stepping on to the bottom of a ladder,
Both, metaphorically and physically.
There are few among us who have no sympathy,
Or respect for teachers, if we are not still in school,
And there is no doubting the stress they are under.
But when In NZ the teachers have rejected a pay rise,
That would see a teacher starting on only $1.99 above the,
New Minimum Wage,
I say only, as for most who served apprenticeships had high hopes,
Of one day earning $1.99 an hour.
And most did and much more over time.
Some of us even decided to change on a change of career,
And you guessed it,
Another apprenticeship and back down the ladder we went,
Never for a moment did we think we could fly to the top of the money tree,
Without a jet pack,
Or a winning streak at the races.
Having served an apprenticeship both metaphorically and physically speaking
Having switched from the printing trade to Early childhood teaching,
Having been up and down ladders Metaphorically and physically speaking,
Having been in and out of sight of the top of the money tree,
Metaphorically and physically speaking.
And as I stand here in sight of the top of the tree of life experience,
Metaphorically physically speaking,
I can see the money tree is getting taller by the year,
And most will have lost their hair before they get anywhere near.
So, with all that life experience under my belt,
I feel quite entitled to ask,
Where did we go wrong?
Who failed whom?
And who stole all the ladders?
Both physically and metaphorically speaking, of course.