See you, hear
HERE
Confusion of fortune but why
solve
Let the surround drown me
In that look, lips rift
Echoed key, how for me
There I go again thinking
Just kiss her back
Tag: poetry
Categories
Riot Basin
Loudness and its boil
Flax-wench speak endless ail
Am I allowed smile
Not really sure I care much
Language trench, rifle perched, pull
Categories
Words Take
Something reset, unknown
Didn’t see approach but it landed
Nothing into a database, just a missile hit
That’s fine, as I wrote on a napkin,
On a bench – Death can’t find me, only more life
DEVIL—
They see me walk with no tears, so I’ve done something wrong
Now this animal, different song, into varied Beats gone
Never hearing commands final and never your pawn, devil—
Nothing too intricate, their character not complicated
Come to my stage, with your six or however many pages
And be eviscerated. New mission, actuated.
Didn’t expect this reaction from me, return to a sharper carve
Of poetry. Nothing tilted about my platter devil, syllables in symmetry—
Take what you will, but I’m not walking timidly
Set strong and with stoic believability in my narration and immediacy
Categories
6-8-25
15:08 checking in late in the day. Started in VV then drove back to loft. Had lunch with Emma, went grocery shopping, now working in loft. With an unexpected, I’ll just say, boost…. I’m focused and with a fiery wing. I’m only going to fly, that’s certain.
Everything poetic and kept simple. And yes, singular. Another score for this writer. No apologies, not one. The Nurse and I starting our Story after the Cancun trip, and his is only a quick climb not forecasted.
All of it, moved quick. And I’ll stop there. Building. Kids content, day in Windsor beautiful, and no traffic really to speak of for most of the drive earlier.
About to reread and edit a poem I wrote earlier. “…nothing ahead but conviction…” I typed quick on my phone this morning after the Nurse left, while the kids were still asleep.
Pausing on the rewrite…. Listening to this beat, then the next.
Only music, and this renewed mood. Nurse remarks she loves this passion and energy from me.
And all fanned in the past couple weeks.
I know the antithesis hates this, and that only more me motivates. My happiness, an irritant. I can’t be see that as luminously lovely, that some dizzied and wandering hog grunts at my grin.
Not looking for applause, or even acknowledgement. I see it.
I see ME.
This new writer, at his table, in his gorgeous loft, writing and messaging his fiancee.
Time, all of it
Wants everything
But what if you didn’t look
What if it was seen as
Just numbers
And, maybe a wish
I know it’s there
But where is it written
That I or anybody needs
To care
Writing this for me, I’ll concede
I can’t stop looking
Things are attached to times
Appointments and drives and
Conversations and more driving
Categories
Say Other Core
Alive how only
Check yell standards varied read
Recognizing dawn
Working in nook. More ideas for the first floor office. Or, what was the first floor office. And the Archive in the master bedroom. I’m fascinated by this condo, lately. Nearly 3 years of residence here. And I only want to write book after fucking book, and more books here. And photog. AND…. MUSIC.
Why not. Why not do everything I want. No oddity, no explanation, no trying to solicit acceptance.
Tempted to call in tomorrow. And I don’t give a fuck who’s reading this. There was a grip expressed about my schedule— You know what, never mind. I’m writing this new.
Found an old poetry collection on the first floor. I remember this, and when I got it. I think as a bday present, or xmas. Something… but still, Kerouac in it. Joyce. Hughes. Want jazz in the room with me.
More poetry. No more of this formalist paragraphs-have-to-be-this-way-shit like they stress at SRJC and other communicated college catacombs. Yeah, I feel like speaking out tonight. I feel like expressing some shit.
Need a glass of something, what. Chard? The one opened last night? I don’t know, maybe not yet but not too far off. This coming week is going to determine more than I ever thought it would. Not that I’ve thought about this week prior to this type but from this morning, waking up and thinking about testing SELF to show more strength and staunchness, more conviction and frankly aggression, and invite those synaptic cotton ball-consciouses to say something.
Remark in some way, PLEASE.
Learned something today… interesting. But oh, don’t write it here. And I won’t. Following Dad’s counsel and writing in the journal. Let the book be a fucking Tsar Bomb. Let them all fry. And why not… one of the bloggers I follow, always with the positives, and I’m in that lane same. BUT… there are times when responses are necessary.
Indeed they are. Reading the Alchemist, A-FUCKING-GAIN, and establishing my Legend. My Story of Stories, especially after finding this book.
Poetrics… music. Fuck all this template hullabaloo. Deciding now, that I will die for these stanzas. This mind, this practice of journal scribbles— SHIT, haven’t touched the EVERYDAY yet. I will tonight. In the suite office. Now the name, now the code and practice and acceptance, tandem with minimalist manuscript and modality.
No overcluttered drawers in this domicile, no mess, not much actually of anything. The simple is the promise and the most musical of staircases. And cutting distractions off wherever they step. I’m now newly adept in this Stoic notice.
New subscription to the person on the page
Regardless of balance or age
Talking my talent, a sage—
Stop thinking so much, what’s the nerve of work
Nothing to rush, their words just blurbs
Blather, so to me no longer a meaning or matter
Turn the page randomly to Whitman where he sites his contradictions, his multitudes. Just what I needed to read and feel, especially today with the rain and little wind randomness, us in the condo like fugitives. Sip of something, now new tone. Substation of antithetical messages. Done.
Categories
12-30-24 poems
No Title
I notice me, the mirror
The door, going up stairs
And the clock reminds me
It does’t notice me, just pains
Early, seated, questioning
……..
Sun Stairs
Have to calm
Somehow
When it’s too loud
And there’s a stalking cloud
What floor no button so
Step after another
Desk thoughts and sets mind dilute
Not so astute no sleep look at map
Commute and horns, sirens, a delay
I stay a confinement to documents and
Assignments
Rhythm guidance from drums and echoing loops
Told what dues, those voices back and forth a ruse
Anything can be claimed while nothing needs proof.
Still working, and love being in the loft office.
Messaging my sweet Nurse. Now feeling more than empowered.
Invincible …
Troublesome, poetic, more verses, spoken words. Why the convention, or formality..
Me scribble with a drastic map and handled vanity.
The journal, only answer in this Now, or ever—
Make the Room and the disclosure better.
Have to laugh at it, but will that get me in trouble.
For the honesty.
For honored oddity, no cert or vert – they’ll only
call me rude and or curt.
Lean back in that chair, don’t smirk or scowl just assess-peer, glare
And you go where
>>>>>>>>
Interesting how the day evolves. Thinking this universe and whatever else for my most beatific poetic priestess goddess bewitching NURSE—
Hope I’m not annoying her, but I have to write TRUTH, ‘cause it seems to exist no where else.
LoFi playing here in loft. Can’t believe I live here, or WE live here, have this place, this base and space and made way for any day we choose…. How am I ever in moods that I’m in, when I have her…???
Stark and sharp meditation about his writer, and bitter can just in their resentment and self-sewage quiver.
I’m on, moving.
New Road.
New Beat.
Renewed and speedily freed ME.
Categories
So Loud So How
Say whatever you want
Quote and misquote it’s the same
Growling only if robe is near
Nothing will happen, then everything
So now what do I sing, or just wait
Or do nothing
That face, zombie witch grimace
Lovely, or not at all
Ratsbane just the same, irregular lane
Lifting the lies up with a deranged logic crane
Take my seat why not I’m so entertained
Termites, vultures, pests, flood
It’s always been and still is so there is no was
Pot of gold empty, where’d it go, there can’t be trust