poems become
interchangeable
remove
the image
the poem
remains
when synapses
misfire
identity
disperses
before death
arrives
when the hands
forget
the song
the Martin
OM-45 Deluxe
inscribed in spruce
and mother-of-pearl
the third fret
worn smooth
by G
an archive
of vanished
movements
most poems
observe
others collect
surfaces
fallen leaves
frozen ponds
abandoned chapels
secondhand
transcendence
rehearsed
astonishment
mistaking
recognition
for revelation
few descend
into
distressed
consciousness
where nothing
remains
clean
is messier
no idle
observations
consciousness
a spiral
of repitition
residue—
not the subject
only the
substitution
the mosquito
bite
of fungibility
==========
We're so sweet like a tiny ball of sugar,
But so fragile when handled with pressure.
I'll sweep us into a coffee off of the counter,
So I won't let us go to waste forever.
I am so sweet yet can dissolve in water,
Becoming so enmeshed with you, my lover.
Before though, you told me to keep-together.
But unfortunately, I am so fragile like sugar.
You yourself are so sweet like sugar,
Your sincere love does make me feel better,
As I have coffee, feeling under my weather.
Sometimes like water on sugar, I am messier.
We can be so sweet, but also rough in texture,
Just like the finest refined white sugar.
Too much can lead to either of us being bitter,
But our sweet bond is what will always matter.
Was it insanity or brilliance that stood calling my name?
I woke out of a deep sleep, disoriented, desiring an explanation.
My heart was beating triple time. Was this a heart attack then?
Don’t be any crazier than you have been, urged my persnickety muse.
Let’s get up and write something.
I knew it would not be anything that could appeal to the masses.
I have never related to any of them.
They want clean sheets and neat drawers.
I am not one to iron clothes or sweep a driveway.
The messier the room, the better; I have a hoarder’s habits.
Don’t write that! Said my muse.
My anti-muse laughed, wanting me to.
My heart had stopped beating now.
Not entirely, probably, but it had slowed down.
Pick up that pen! I rolled my eyes at the voice.
Cognizant that whatever I wrote today I would not recognize tomorrow.
I am a frenzied writer, channeling spirit, insanely clairaudient.
Ever try eating a Soft Taco Supreme
And not appear like a glutton
With stuff squirting out all over yourself
Down to your old bellybutton
It's all about this amazing experience
Wouldn't be as enjoyable without it
So forget about all those damn cleaning bills
They're part of the joyous trip
As you chomp away with gay abandon
The messier the better, for sure
Without the mess, you ain't no aficionado
Just someone trying to act mature
Acting prim and proper when eating a taco
Has never been part of the scene
So dig right in, the messier the better
Be a proud taco eating machine
When you see God, your Maker
Be sure that he sees you
You’ll know what really matters
You’ll know just what is true
This world with its opinions
Its teachings that confuse
And taint all inspiration
If God is not your muse
Creation becomes creature
Deciding its own lot
Ignoring their Creator
His guidance they want not
And so they dabble and they dare
They go for what they crave
The messy mess gets messier
Lord help us all be brave.
Wendy Nipas
The colors in my living room make me feel ultra happy.
My best work, four years in, when I was in the throes of painting.
Vibrant neon colors, that I adore…
Pinks yellows greens, oranges, blues.
A playfulness in here that I find nowhere else except in my office.
I am hiding from my studio today.
It is messier than it has ever been before.
And of course, this fiasco was made solely by me.
If I bought new paints and brushes could I venture back
There tomorrow?
I pick up my I-pad and flip to Amazon.
Let’s find out!
The eagle mistook me for a bunny. She swooped down and picked me up from the field, and we went soaring high in the sky, past the swing set, past the fence, past the tree line, up, up, up.
She tightened her grasp, but I did not mind. I had never flown like this before, out in the open, with the robins who gawked as we flew past. It was fun looking down at my house from the sky, and not from an airplane window. I waved at my neighbor, and was disappointed that she did not see me.
This magnificent bird got me to a mountain ledge and dropped me where three adorable eaglets were waiting. “LUNCH!” she announced, and she flew off. I made them grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup, and we had chocolate pie with whipped cream for dessert. Then we took a little nap.
These eaglets were much more appreciative than my own children, so I decided to stay. I fixed them banana pancakes, and blackberry cobbler, and meatloaf, and hot bread. After a month or so, they started to take advantage of me. They wanted me to start cleaning their bedrooms, and they were a lot messier than my own children, so I climbed down and walked back home.
Life is like a muddy bucket of water,
More we try to force clean it, messier it gets..!!
But if only we give it time, and don’t interfere..,
The mud would settle down, and you’ll have the water clean again!!
Most people need to see Magic in technicolor
because they want to see all of the bright creatures
like Brownies and Pixies.
I don't want to see the façades
that Brownies and Pixies
present to the majority of Society.
But I need to see the Dirtier and Grittier
side of Magic because that is where I belong.
The Truth of Magic is messier and more dangerous
than People truly understand or want to know.
I am one of those People
who put their lives on line
To make the World a safer place.
And Society refuses
to recognize our contribution.
And I hate them for that.
If I could do magic
I'd bring my grandma back
Always very encouraging
Wisdom, she'd never lack
On Christmas Eve, we'd gather together
Just like the rest of some you do
So many laughs, happiness there
You knew grandma's love was true
Midnight finally came around
Seemed like eternity for some
Gifts were then allowed opened
We'd then find out who it's from
We'd then hear a knock
There standing was Santa Clause
The little kids were shocked
Each child then got a gift.
We would wad up the wrapping paper
throw it at our cousins, and more
By the time it was over, Grandma's home
Was messier then it was before
My mother didn’t cook too well
Although she fed us fine.
Her house was not immaculate,
Much messier than mine.
She didn’t knit, crochet or quilt
But she was great at sports;
She swam and bowled and tennised
Really well, by all reports.
And oh, could she dance up a storm!
She crossword-puzzled, too.
When things were good or bad for me,
Somehow, she always knew.
She passed down many of her traits
But no, I cannot dance
And barely swim but I can bowl,
Though rarely have the chance.
I do the crossword every day
But like her, hate to cook.
While she escaped in naps,
I disappear inside a book.
We all have inclinations
That our parents have bestowed,
Though babies make us wonder
What is waiting down the road.
We hope that they’ll inherit
Just those qualities we’d pick
But we have no way of knowing
What will fade and what will stick.
Ever try eating a Soft Taco Supreme
And not appear like a glutton
With stuff squirting out all over yourself
Down to your old bellybutton
It's all about this amazing experience
Wouldn't be as enjoyable without it
So forget about all those damn cleaning bills
They're part of the joyous trip
As you chomp away with gay abandon
The messier the better, for sure
Without the mess, you ain't no aficionado
Just someone trying to act mature
Acting prim and proper when eating a taco
Has never been part of the scene
So dig right in, the messier the better
Be a proud taco eating machine
© Jack Ellison 2014
You're beautiful
I say to my faultless boy
holding him like a mother
my love cleansing all the trouble
my fingers soft on his baby skin
and smooth forehead
You're beautiful- but you always change
You don't stay the same
You can't fake when you're asleep
and you terrorize me
when I see all my broken jewelry
a snapped shoulder strap
the button from my jeans
the violent remains
of my worthy presentation
messier than my frizzy blonde hair
in which you tied knots with clumsy hands
Your sheets and I are stripped and stretched
in a sort of desperation
in a sort of hunt, or a game
I can see my name
never really mattered much
food is food when you're hungry
like hips and lips when it's dark
and "you're beautiful" is a cloud
dissipating
over the stoked fire of your flexing legs
My broken back feels less than
my broken heart that uttered
strangely broken words
that may have suited another man well
one who could've painted me a picture
or only grabbed me with his happy eyes
who might have made my heart bare
before my body
who might have said
"You're Beautiful"
Instead I sink into
your foreign arms like
a fractured jaw
reigning in forever flooded eyes
I guess I'll never learn
There came a Leopard in a form of cat
And pur Zeus did as the Dali pet that
Cute kitten, Cassiopeia said at last
While Cepheus questioned
what the dear had in mind…
.
Ruchbah rode with her gleaming knows
Seeking peace in the LapLand groves
But there, what she came to find
Was a change of name for the same of her kind.
Counting sheep and milking cow
She turned to the Ram wondering how
The Pleiades could have left her out…
.
Taurus came and to him she ran
The reindeer games where no longer fun
She was about to come around Orion
When she saw the club that struck the Lion…
so she rolled to shadow
and she LepTus on by,
turning to the right, and up the Gemini…
.
Sirius.ly… that was close. Custos almost
thought but not quite, made a mess I say…
Then Messier came to save the play.
Guardian of the Harvest.
Plate 2
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