|
4.30.2006
Mouth Flower Rock
"Style is a function of theme
Style is not imposed on subject matter
But arises from it
Style is truth to thought."
------------
Aoife shouts words but Kathleen rules
her world, and the brown leather robe
draped across the chair
tucked beneath the table
contained within this locked box
is mineJune cries coming through the door of the occupational therapy room where Aoife sits listening to angelus bells peel havoc at the hill top. ~ Hear angelus energy share consciousness with them and have the sense to look for meaning where none dare peek for fear of being labelled mentally unkempt, as June was before she died a derelict in a loony bin opined to be beyond all reach by the boss head doctor of a city's top psychiatric hospital where she lived in nineteen ninety nine when professor Aoife O'Brien gave injections from ten to eleven depending on depending on... If there is a cow in the field and
a machine out of order.~ June is on-ward and in role play draped upon the chair and chuckling freely at the table. The machine is out of order.June continues Within this warm room Mick is nowt
but four letters of evidence
of an afternoon's reading Does June now flit with the big fella's shade in booksdeconstruct schoolchildren from shadows in caves and tower over oath bound men to find a simple mountain grace writtenat life's end? ~ when Yeats ruled a world of words
his imagination rolled fairly from
her tongue pouring forth to write
prayer, fable and a nation's tomb.~ Me me me me me more than he it was back when June gobbed off and got on with the business of being la la. Nuttying it up for medication and a cosmic life of ticking boxes and flapping wings across forms Aoife's boss Kathleen the chief executive read before triggering the only option on offer for sister June. ~ A barmy woman whose one tribal self
become air worthy ether. June knew Aoife's way was a leather restraint belt, and the moniker they used Kathleen for her daily jacket. will be where the morning lit
mountain's phantasmagoria and shades
leisure long with the ghost of a man
who shot the one who took draughts
of demands to London.~ Demons came and taunted her in the telly room until her mind vaporisd and she disappeared during the angelus bell, silently faded and went instantly. Will Kathleen tell?~ She never spoke once the initial disolution instantly dissolved any questions lingering in her bonce, just got stuck in a box after her long dance with his reflection at the grave where a well of time returns wild spring flowers. ~ An answer blown on ageless dumb
stone and these eyes fell upon you
Kathleen, who knew what went on when
my heart beat alive and I breathed
being driven through the breeze to an
ambush that night
when the windows got shot through
and bullets blew open my skull. ~ In the immediate aftermath his ghost appeared, quivered on a track leading back through a bog to the past of that night until the phantom glow suddenly paled and withdrew as its light flickered out at the foot of mouth flower rock. Mick’s shade.
4.29.2006
Nude at Dawn
Your's is the first redness of the sun, And of the sun's liquidness is made The naked gleam of your skin. There is no coolness, no shade in you And you are not a haven for my wanderings, Being of congealed fire! Your's is the gift Of ceaseless, comfortless wanting And in the spasms of my desire for you at dawn The world's longing finds its voice. © Arka Mukhopadhyay, 2006
4.28.2006
Turning
Examine the tree- a man stands tall yet bending, always bendingtowards sky to ground, all his leaves trembling like children in such wind, such wind whose hands pull down and ripping, dancing, skipping over hills... escape.Look at stars- a woman drinking light, becomingnear morning, bird (whose eyes) propose to poppies wildly growing... whose tongue eats slowly "brightness"a shell built around its pearl. See the night- dark, young and knowing,the wings of moth, soft sails folded, moving.
4.27.2006
Spaces
Afternoon sinking in langour Outside, the world turns in a dream Here, the softness of thighs Here, the heaviness of breath The swiftness of desire. Outside, lives rotting in the sun Here, the inexorable burrowing Of lands unknown and older Than the roots of memory, Clad in a perpetual twilight Here the hunger of arms, The reptillian smoothness of tongues. Outside, the vast emptiness of the night, And here, for us under the stars, What redemption? © Arka Mukhopadhyay, 2006
4.26.2006
Yesterday
The river ran as it always has; we paddle, make our way downstream.
waving'bye'bye
then wave to there turning there undressed "pairs and differs" where here remains the (context bigger) shit shining in "these choices" arrested paragraph periodical garbage hat finger names (sunrise) face 7th & Fig buttocks names sentences stands undressed "differs it where placed" waving turning there waving
4.25.2006
haste makes hominy divine
this cured river spares the leaks we're due all this because of you romance struts golden where the limbic pose still restful near this fusebox all this because of you the point of view deemed cautious Brailles its way stays restful near this fusebox where a matted free zone tastes like soft clocks the point of view deemed cautious Brailles its way into continuance we seek to tamp where a matted free zone tastes like soft clocks piracy made hubris as the fella overstates in jest venturing into continuance we seek to tamp the velvety young overtones from cheesing piracy made hubris as the fella overstates in jest come home to papa says the french fry velvety young overtones left cheesing offer adages if you happen within hearing come home to papa says the french fry you are always welcome to be center stature adages are given if you happen within hearing spoils of war approach the rafters you are always welcome to be center stature quasi luminaries binge sink into western hemispherics spoils of war approach the rafters is it restful near the fusebox quasi lumaries bing sink into western hemispherics this cured river spares the leaks we're due
4.24.2006
germ
Your
light as a beacon: shine on, dearest love, shine on. resplendent, in the rotunda, signal noon.
4.23.2006
Agnostic Interruptus
The weight of, pressing on an artery- scarcely beating. There is no proof of, as it slips away. This is not what was intended- death by knowing ofsense-less.
oblivion: time against memory
"forbice, non recidere quel volto..." secateur, don't cut off that face... (E. Montale, from Le Occasioni)
4.22.2006
What We Become
Fast famed, ribboned down the part of fire that cracks like particles of dust; wheat husks (useless as they seem) retain the shape of what they held- turning (in jailed light) to mottled green.
Window Dressing
Monochromatic landscape revels, earth warmed emerald greens.
4.21.2006
Lessons Of (An Eye)
Here, sylph-like syllables of being-silver stained, snow-tipped and mist too bright for eyes to fasten; this blinding sight which passes over rims of sky- brilliant white-ness traveling.
if you think
if you think that you can make me small good goddamned luck!
4.20.2006
Polemic
In dense rain, black flies sleep hidden; understand the poverty of wisdom in evasion. If you can't plague anyone- who will you convince ?
Diminished
The stamp of your feet, in shoes two times too big wiped dirt across the bedroom floor when they came to rest upon the headboard and stayed. The toes, wriggling for more room, always. You were always larger than life to me, tall, narrow face and you slept alone. You wanted to grow into those shoes, never content with the soft slippers bought that winter in 84 before you passed, but the bourbon had eaten its way inside. A man withered by years of consumption with pills, housekeepers, the ghost of my mother malcontent. The echoes of rooms built to house empty furniture, the hollows of your cheek haunt me still. I tried those shoes on and they never fit me either, though I wear them sometimes, when I think of your struggle, when I think of you dad. Life was bigger than you, to me you were bigger than life. The American dream of the fifties. If they were mine, if I could wear them, I would.
Petronius
noche (night) ( Petronius,sat 41) dies nihil est dum versas te, nox fit the day is the slightest thing just one little move and the night has fallen
4.19.2006
spiralhead
spiral head windows cardboard bared microchips maybe next time spoons rattling hung from a string in the cavity turn on and off like wind chimes where the heart should stand be stood up by some headlight falling soberly into buzzing arms of a wasp STAND UP just straight enough to walk a straight line laughing into flames like a motherfucker flickering flames tasting the waltz of daemon tongue flower blood as the shovel hits my brain kissing a bottle stumbling toward circumstances and comas where does the drip drip go iv corked into my center let's play hide and go seek ampersand that i think i thought i think i did i was i was where i was in there and that was what that was smack in smack in let's paycheck spend spent gone too far gone to even disagree with strange sex and phone bills intravenously stunned by a stray cloud mud on my boots don't know which soil soiled splattered doesn't matter
The Pianist (for Marie)
and now the piano keys, sharp teeth, black legged (I am sure music travels) stare in a foyer towards a kitchen where my grandmother died there, beside the oven (was she humming as she inhaled?) No judgements in an obituary that read: send flowers in lieu of money. She never tolerated flowers, their silenced, their funeral-ed perfect beauty, their lack of hair. Roses are incapable of singing, nor jasmine compose high notes in troubled times. And magnolias never breath or play piano like Marie as she divined.
4.18.2006
hard write poems (((shaking)))
the bed conveyed it's wisdom to me the pillow whispered tiny secrets
ran like hell outdoors half-naked
fragile legs shaking all over the place still shaking
can't stop shaking
had
to go
had to go
sure am in better place
sure
sure shaking
shaking
met with others
assembled
war paint on
smoke and mirrors and coffee
so
far down
trembling
fearful fits
x said
a friend of mine gave me a choice
what'll it be champ
a bottle or a revolver
ever heard
of russian roulette?
sometimes you don't want to go
where everybody knows your name
hands shaking miserable
hard write poems
sometimes lose control
lost control
where am i
father?
4.17.2006
Decorum Wafts
She heard 'generous' while he painted the layer wedged beneath a surface aching with its depth. As though he were inventing her. His hands upon a place not yet invented. Her expression where smile wrinkles would be. A stucco tree in an imaginary yard, with just the right resistance level planted in the ground. 'Somebody live here,' she implored. 'There's not enough of me.' He gradually rose to invitations that he heard repeated when they spoke their separate languages all the in the name of center fraction. Once when he appeared a boy, a woman wrote in penmanship entire new syllabi. His line drawings of her began to serve as her replacement. As he grew, pale diary entries held an overcast arrangement. When she wept, he also cried. The question of identity was shared, and when dusk began to lose clarity, opaque new dove lines crossed the sense of limits into sweet night. He was feathering a wilderness, and she could be again the child. Nerve endings, fathomed crests fallen to numbers
4.16.2006
mind
Through the Golden Bough, you enter wide opened mouth of the earth to the sub- sky, to the only end of darkness under a dull light of black suns you touch oceans of shadows, beaches of lost fallen leaves, the Angelus Novus: he lets not look backwards the crossing people overtaking the Father, enlightened by lights of future lives, you arrive just to the ivory door of wrong dreams. An interior, hidden mind spreads around the worlds if eyes opened even for a flash, they could see how things are: rain's slow drops on a window pane.
foto
suaaa!!!
adhsuaidhsaudsa toskãaaaaaaaaaaaao!
ui!
hehehe : ae heim!!!
hehhheheheh...
;o******* Legal!!
Heheheheh...
Ótimo dia aew!
Bjin!
finta, hahahaha.
valeu joooooonior!!!
muito massaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa me da fomeeeeeeeee!
Beijos!
Hummm que luxo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
bjãooooooooooooooooooooo saudades.....
fica na paz!
MEU DEUS!!!!!!!!!!
NÃO ESTOU ACREDITANDOOOOOOO...
É VC??????????
QUE VC ESTA...
QUE LINDA QUE LINDA QUE SONRISO LEVE.......
facia tanto tempo que eu não entrou aqui estou felizzzzzzzz de verte assim....
vc esta lindaaaaaa...
vc esta lindaaaaaa...
vc esta bem como se ve??
te adoramos...
?
.
* * .
+ .
* .
* .
+ .
* .
* .
* .
* * .
+ .
* .
* .
+ .
* .
* .
* .
* + .
* .
* .
+ -/-.
* .
* ..
+ .
* .
* .
* * .
+ .
* .
* .
+ .
* .
* .
* * .
* .
+ .
* , .
* .
+ * .
+.
+ .
* .
+ .
* .
* .
+ .
* .
* .
* .
* * .
-/- * + .
.*.*.*.* .
* .
+ .
* .
* .
+ .
* .
* .
* .
* .
* , + * * * .
+ .
* .
* .
+ .
* .
* .
* .
* --------0000---------------------- ------0000------------------------ ----00000------------------------- ---00000-------------------- --000000--------------------- -0000000-------------------------- -0000000--------------------- -0000--00------------------- -0000--00000000---------------- -000000000000---------------- --0000000000--------------------0- ---0000-000000-----------------00- ----00000-------0------------000-- ------000000--00000------000000--- --------000000000000000000000----- ----------00000000000000000------- --------------000000000----------- + .
* .
* .
* * .
+ .
* .
* .
+ .
* .
* .
* .
* * .
+ .
* .
* .
+ .
* .
* + .
* .
* .
+ -/-.
* .
* ..
+ .
* .
* .
* * .
+ .
* .
* .
+ .
* .
* .
* .
* .
* .
+ .
* , .
* .
+ * .
+.
+ .
* .
+ .
* .
* .
+ .
* .
* .
* .
* .
+ * .
-/- * + .
.*.*.*.* .
* .
+ .
* .
* .
+ .
* .
* .
* .
* + .
* .
* .
+ .
.
* , * .
+ .
* .
* .+ .
* .
* .
* .
* * .
+ .
* .
* .
+ .
* .
* .
+ .
* M A R A suaaa!!!
adhsuaidhsaudsa toskãaaaaaaaaaaaao!
ui!
hehehe : ae heim!!!
hehhheheheh...
;o******* Legal!!
Heheheheh...
Ótimo dia aew!
Bjin!
finta, hahahaha.
valeu joooooonior!!!
muito massaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa me ...
4.15.2006
Vigil
You arise, low morning light, frail-webbed winged, thin boned- the night behind you, dark halo-ed corona; a body and its only gift- mortal ash-brown slumbering. This eye fills the room, a million emptied stars... long world, every hour glowing infinite waking.
naugahyde
naugahyde, the fabric equivalent of formica, deflects most perspiration made from the skins of naugas, naugahyde bestows on 100% pure vinyl an alternative smooth surface, a vinyl impregnated fabric of one papal bull naugahyde dies for expanded (re)cognition of oak trim naugahyde glows into now bronze dyed and the woodgraining on the doors, covered with silver rolled and pleated naugahyde naugahyde occupies mildew-resistant circles naugahyde promises to provide excellent durability and long life through normal use of box stitch and dancing naugahyde breeds vinyl, immerses eyesight in a spate of running water naugahyde in some communities approximates bold faith due to the decimation of the nauga herds in recent years, naugahyde falls into never-a-good-idea naugahyde is not recommended for prolonged contact with bare skin naugahyde subjected to a stretch of fears by the very versatile indulges us once and for all naugahyde should be a skirt that spawns marchers with wide signs
4.13.2006
newly released collaborative title - Doug Barbour/Sheila E. Murphy
http://www.uap.ualberta.ca/UAP.asp?LID=41&bookID=664 Continuations Douglas Barbour, Sheila E. Murphy “The strength of this book is in its quick-change artistry, the sensation of flux that is continuous, and capable at any moment of erupting into epiphany or surprise.” Roo Borson Across great distances and a panorama shaped by words, poets Douglas Barbour and Sheila Murphy began writing in collaboration. Tapped to technology’s dance across paper, with thoughts like bright colours coursing across screens, Continuations emerged as the product of a new creator, a “third individual,” who writes differently from either poet. Words shapeshifted and poets transformed, Continuations is an intriguing addition to the growing field of collaborative poetry in North American literature. ISBN: 0-88864-463-9 Price: CND$ 19.95, USD$ 19.95, £ 10.99 Discount: Trade Subject: Literature/Poetry Publication Date: March 2006
4.12.2006
atten'dants
above heaving that (one client) part external vomiting inside release flu'd kitchen bag bowel movements anal from "detached feeling foot/fingers the impression seems to be what" (alternative) stage slips times multiple 3 behind foot up break estrange deludes "certain, ah" 'connects transcend ascension "truth proper, it makes that" reflection subject makes inarticulate objects immediate back "with problems" inclines that (self) stages two counterbalance dissolution hallway in
4.10.2006
Zen and the Art of Expiation
And so that is where matters rest now- After thirty odd years, two millennia, a kiss And oh!, the tree, a lonely tree that paved The road to Satan's gnawing jaws, and now this! That the righteous of the ages who raged and raved Curses upon you, had got it wrong somehow! Perhaps, if you could find time from being chewed, As you apparently are being, and ponder That for thirty you died a miserable wretch; You'd probably be baffled and wonder That your brittle pages can now fetch Three million, even though corroded and mildewed. And perhaps, too, you'd look at the stars above, And your's the foremost of them! Would you shed A lonely tear that others were absolved For doing they knew not what, and yet you alone have bled All these ages? Or perhaps you knew, and in your mind were resolved To plant the kiss that was not the child of sin, but Love? © Arka Mukhopadhyay, 2006 Thank you, JJ, for the inspiration, though this is nowhere near as good as your's
4.09.2006
That Black Dress
That black dress made your breasts penitent magnolias(mouths praying) and your hips curved wide, the sea where dolphins are born, the zipper against your back- an ingress to secret roads (few men have known) the waist, tight as throat when the eye sees far-too fragile things(imagine a hand cupped around a small bird) the skirt, the sky within which lies burning clouds at sunset (God's fiery face) when you take it off- moon's gold flesh against the dark cloth of night.
4.08.2006
Thief
No one knew I had advised you that stealing bread was forgiveable-we are designed to feed on stars not to conceal them. And what you offerto the hungry night- your crumb-filled hands, your lasting faith, your monumental thirsting bears witness to your only crime- existence.
blackout
silence unfolds its wings before me & now gazing into her navel exposed i've found myself entering that sweet decimal point that forbidden asterisk strolling through that twilight tunnel wandering about in circles this illusion is revealed as it truly is silence begins again & again repetitiously echoes renewed by this distraction at the same time dealt a dirty fatal blow in large shocking avant-font she seems ne'er care to have left me stranded to have left me gone reaching desperately for the plateau of her stiletto heels her fine artsy petals how incubation spirals me i am smothered by her red corset her black stockings brokenhearted & hammered in tube station bumming a smoke from some wild-eyed stranger this warmth of occupation this hand-me-down the chill of commuters rushing faces disappearing within the wormholes of bloodshot eyes all faces wearily looking home- ward even if it be made of cardboard & discarded bits of aluminum foil or in the whale guts of an abandoned swimming pool directionless hardly did i know this to be my final final destination doors closing
doors closing doors closing doors closing please step away
from the doors
4.07.2006
untitled
Dear Heart,the dance of emotionStimmung offa theback of your eyesimprisoned by skieslies have eyes theyperpetuate the drift [sexua]Imprison me by your starewords not thoughtfully keptwithout regretca cigarettes and coffeein nights apparent yarn.of lines called sexismyouth associative disorderinclement weatherpersephonea flower extrinsicetteno words [text]will put to mindthe shit that islove caught blindforeignto starving mindsby bureaucracies measurementtiesthe living to the artisticreverienovels of decorativene'er saying something [fragmentation]traces of glass by Birminghamscrass [antagonist]the worded drama envelopingcort by committee housinglove lies beyond evacuative fearprompted carpet clashand vacuum cleanerI settle my scores bylove, my deargone but not forgottenI need you so and snow[art and life you should leave it there by heck musee recherche][abstraction beyond insignifi
Contradicta
Caring eyes think they can see and do anything. They are right. ******************************** Some treasures grow only when shared- especially memories. [dear members, my blog ::fait accompli:: is (hopefully) temporarily disabled. I have been wrtting a series of maxims called Contradicta and thought I might post them here for awhile]
A star in each eye like a headlight
Here we are again knotted, drunk teenagers, you're breathing into my neck and the driver's sizzling through the night in the back seat I'm hearing something about 'geography' but God only know what you're saying I'm viscously drunk, we threw them down, you bringing glasses and glasses to my wide jackal face and lips pushing red into your, what is your name? Spreading tattoos over my arms, onto my winterdry hands my face is flakes and keratin, the raw and the cooked. The walls are thin in this house so I woke liquid with shame, what is your name?
4.06.2006
Black and Grey
Red, the color of roses beneath faded blue, the colorof a german boy's eyes around the white organs of a novel I wrote when I had nothing to say; a dirty street sign with the word "run" spray painted by some ruffian over a command STOP
is my confusion common?and we run as if we could ever catch "ourselves"in colors or words or symbols. It is no mistake, we are moving through even as the book is closed, even as our best stories dissolve into black and grey.
A Cloud of Suns when they are revealed shallow earth recoils sanity sustained in the bowels of rejection summoned the will on the cusp of death enlightenment the unflinching bestows the righteous rewards Billy Jno Hope
4.05.2006
Tale of the night
Bitter tears when they shot the refugees from Berlin
Back then we still had compassion and burning hearts
Now eleven burned to dead.
Our jars of compassion dried up.
Our hearts are cold.
No tears I see.
But we elected this administration.
|
what's going on here? (Virgil's babble)
the sun shines over again, Qoelet said can the light be off? and Parcae: the age was asked a change...
everybody, everything, you, I,
all that exists
hope a little longer
cor sage
sacrament of thanks this day to both who have been lifted whom I loved carefully in each given moment one is careful with angels reputed to be difficult one brushes wings in hope of the osmotic capture and if this is ever so then it is ever so the surface of the skin and footfall my sense of hearing captures all the sense in one flicker of sight encompassing mistakes all mine sparing many selves of my mistakes attracting new competitors who will inspire me then each day will be a better day only in part alone from those who left without announcement as does everyone focused and hurrying what happens is the sharing of intention as the body tackles past minus pure recollection of the reasons
4.03.2006
RANT ON
Imagine a beer spokes-model with an attraction-to-disaster IQ of 180 has a really dedicated energy he expends on inventing a purpose for being his very own fiefdom leader, multi tasking as the gang master of a glamorous staff of peace-nicks manning the decks at suicide hotline in central Bagdad. Say he works out the answer to middle East peace on the back of a coaster is a sado-alcoholic who keeps a naggin of whiskey hidden in the toilet cylinder of the bunker where the red button rests and his radiantly soft, supple and youthful looking skin, glows perfectly flawless at the stroke of a powder brush, beautifully crafted to blend and match those top flaws with a sheer cover of corrective cosmetic camouflage. Think instead of being careful, he's care free with an effortlessly simple economic fitness regime, to keep family and national finances balanced behind the complexion of democracy moisturized with tinted concealer, remotely applied when directing insurgency busting exercises on the Irish highway into green zone like a play station gamer cleaning up with actively soft soaping outlooks that suck up grease by sleight of hand, in an easy, no nonsense neo-con swindle no one believes in but him Halliburton shareholders, soldiers of fortune corporate stock holders, private security companies who profit from war, and those who like their god angry, righteous, out to remove the menacing threat of terror that can make kids watching Mickey Mouse Club switch off through fear, stop rich kids on the road to decadence from getting personal valets for thirteenth birthdays because their parents are too scared of who the help might be and quiet the question demanding an answer for the thousands who die over discredited documents, dismissed and forgotten by politicians who got it wrong from the word go and who three years later with no end in sight and a world losing all faith in their words still insist they did things because - just like John Edgar Hoover and Joe Ray McCarthy - they love America.
4.02.2006
HEYKOOK
Rinsed behind pearl dove cloud to a red disc the lit end of a cigarette sunset sinks on a brooding Irish sea extinguishing the day like death returning flesh to the womb of light when our breathing note no longer plays in life's rare song but disperses back through air to fill the sky in silence
Ignorance, interrupted
The intensity of small minds gathered at the crossroads of the unknown is matched only by their ignorance, the fundamentalists rant; the cosmos holds the answer- evolution or creation? Physicists only dream, science always changes.
Mayo River Blues
4.01.2006
The Swallows Have Eaten
the sand stuck to the bottle's sugars from the outside the use was that the use to hold onto the wandering public far from their words what brought them out or alone opposite the door the pattern of broken rains moved east the manner of words shaken from the bed or put to bed long after the positions become inches of water the posture of immaculate coherence gone as if nothing happened to the thirst the once again trace to recover the way it didn't move but became lost planted in new space like that
sometimes pretty hunting musics morning moan awake headache gray unfurl shall karaoke Me there he's looking knows what's in underwear in assorted dreams drunkenly dance more something dorothy groping email of the body ceremonial clunky individual tangled in ripped bedroom taste blood halos on trembling lips as dirt moderator try moaning your hope junky wetly solid gold sang particular thought rub i whatever like buffet of interlocking orbs impressionable doc martens walk age-defying on electric ground uber bookmark this soul i've got you in my rearview mirage
galaxy lights pumping bodies pulsating in motion over the dance floor intercellular movement improvised venusian ceremonial dances to meet coming rain young persons flooded looking out through the blackness as boys on boys and women on women and sometimes boys on women tangle into saying anything at all elsewhere there is a tender groping in the stalls electric blue eyes shatter into groups of ten is that make-up let us determine
|
(2) Comments:
Post a Comment