I open my eyes.
All around me,
everything is unfamiliar:
unfamiliar wallpaper,
unfamiliar white leather sofa,
unfamiliar country.
I moved here to teach,
and here I am learning
that I’m underprepared,
underqualified,
underdressed,
and hungover.
He wouldn’t let me leave last night,
you see.
As the party was dying,
I coloured his bathroom
with oversweet Georgian wine
and washed down chicken wings
that came back up.
He decided:
I could miss the last metro,
sleep on this atrocious sofa,
recover.
Of course,
now it’s 7am,
and I have to teach a class
of engineers,
bridge builders,
about ing phrasal verbs
in less than two hours.
And I have to do it
with a hangover and a smile.
I think to myself
as I struggle with front door locks and keys
before climbing out of a downstairs window,
what a strange story this will be.
And yet waking up here,
it could be a whole lot worse
than this beautiful Baku sunrise.
Categories:
phrasal, adventure, drink, journey, travel,
Form: Free verse
FREE VERSE
words
framed
in
white space
phrasal lines
enjambed
with
a line break
in a fluid
left margin
so flexible
continually
discovered then
discarded
later rediscovered &
reinvented
'twas ever thus
Categories:
phrasal, history, poetry,
Form: Didactic
Beyond six feet of distance
and seven heavens of this pull of woods,
I draw intensities of sounds and words to placements,
Calling me beyond the territories of these leaves.
My soul sought profiles of its songs
While its proud emission and enthusiastic incision jingle,
In fields of consciousness, beyond access to semantics,
Submerging me
in the author’s trance of phrasal phenomena;
Telling me, “focus!”
amidst mortal icebergs and immortal tides,
Saturating undiluted pinnacles,
on paths leading home
from the author’s elements of creativity and
Symbolism’s narration,
by a series of innovative intonations, I have employed it.
Yet, I am on volume one.
Categories:
phrasal, deep, literature, passion, perspective,
Form: I do not know?
(A linguistic experience)
Was there any argument that justified
the existence of the word-disease?
something more was said of this
at the beginning of the completion of the understanding
who disputed any logos establishing the new negative balance
on the influence of the word on the general condition
of the illiterate impatient patient?
scary demon-letters!
they run through the phrasal labyrinth
and the fat of leftover vowels
it smears the verbal walls and there is no law
that limits the limit of the limitless
sick phonemes accept any pain
there is no medicine and there is no leaflet insert
it is all unpredictability
I've been using gerunds around
like when who doesn't know
or not knowing in all a textual body
goes astray to where they call where...
Categories:
phrasal, crazy, imagination, poems,
Form: Free verse
fixity or flux
in the
evasion of monotony
a linear turn
to integrity
in phrasal inflections
scanning language
in signature verse
internal sounds
made prominent with
divergent voices
random shapes
on the
theatre of the page
circumstance
leavened by
understanding
at points of departure
into floods
of the experimental
in a inherent
impulse
an antithesis
of the
ambivalent
dislocated
by emotion
distracted by
banalities
sesoned with tradition
a spontaneous
cycle of seasons
the heritage
of life blooms
a sentiment
of trees
in a rare
but natural voice
eternally alive
in an annual
renaissance
of precedents
where
caution passes by
style detours in disguise
shameless
in deceit
sly&aloof
prudence laid aside
a
transfigured folly
yet
volatile
& naive
an antecedent
of
a
genteel
future
Categories:
phrasal, poetry, word play,
Form: Didactic
fixity or flux
in the
evasion of monotony
a linear turn
to integrity
in phrasal inflections
scanning language
in signature verse
internal sounds
made prominent with
divergent voices
random shapes
on the
theatre of the page
circumstance
leavened by
understanding
at points of departure
into floods
of the experimental
in a inherent
impulse
an antithesis
of the
ambivalent
dislocated
by emotion
distracted by
banalities
sesoned with tradition
a spontaneous
cycle of seasons
the heritage
of life blooms
a sentiment
of trees
in a rare
but natural voice
eternally alive
in an annual
renaissance
of precedents
where
caution passes by
style detours in disguise
shameless
in deceit
sly&aloof
prudence laid aside
a
transfigured folly
yet
volatile
& naive
an antecedent
of
a
genteel
future
Categories:
phrasal, poetry,
Form: Verse
The first word there had to be - was BE, and that was the very first in existence
And from Genesis and Eden to Elsinore, it has had a remarkable degree of persistence
It seems that once BE had been exercised, the dam broke and words poured out as from a cornucopia.
And verbs would soon exist in an abundance enough to carry you from here to Ethiopia
Except in the culture of youth where it appears this multitude has been reduced to the deplorable "was like"
To them I am tempted to say: "Learn some real verbs"; OR I would employ a phrasal such as
'On-your-bike!'
The possibilities are now endless particularly if you include the phrasal
Giving us enough elan vital to at least maintain a metabolism basal
So to whoever first said BE, whether God or someone with similar propensities
though another name or description:
I say Well done! I couldn't in my wildest dreams with a wish to create a rich life and culture,
have produced a better prescription
20 August 2019
Categories:
phrasal, words,
Form: Rhyme
Finding
bliss
implicit
yet
inspiring
bright
prisms
scrawled
on
alpha
arcs
with
backward
zag
small
black
on
wax
phrasal
anagram
dramas
that
lack
a
hallmark
Categories:
phrasal, art,
Form: Verse
All hail to thee love, your swave "eh" intrigues me.
Your embattlements stack like wet cordwood
upon the pile of used newspapers in my outhouse,
making the use of a corn cob most appealing.
I feel the need of purification, rejuvenation by fire.
Like holding a match under your out stretched eyelid
or maybe, just maybe sweeter, a cold sore
on the inside of your lip; so neat on a dinner date.
At least these things are real.
The lip has to heal, which it can do even if left alone.
Not like made-up words which have no direction,
no qualitative analysis, and no meaning
in the perceived circumstance or illustration.
Just made-up words which fit a line,
and you call it poetry?
You schmooze a line of B. S. at the reader,
in trite cliché and rusted phrasal tone,
riding the pretense of the sublime
and you call that poetry?
But then geezzz...? what can you expect
from someone whose only goal
is to piss someone off?
Categories:
phrasal, on writing and words,
Form: Free verse