from 2018 into 2019

My first post for the new year represents a change. It is one of my first posts in a long time that is going to maintain a blog format. An entry where I reflect a little bit about my life. Unlike some blogs I don’t anticipate telling anyone how they can improve their eating habits or how to get a better night’s sleep. What I plan for 2019 and why I am writing this blog is to announce that I will no longer be able to write poetry directly through it. I have utilized wordpress for some time as a sort of “first draft” for most of my writing over the past three years, and while I have not necessarily gained a huge audience I have received my few followers and the encouragement of random likes.

Unfortunately, the time for change has come and it is due to my desire to collect and publish my work through traditional means. Towards the end of 2018 I began more diligently to research places where I could submit poems but each publisher includes the caveat of only reading unpublished work. And the unfortunate part is, everything I have written on wordpress is considered “published” and is therefore disqualified from submission. If I was a more prolific writer this might not be a problem but almost every poem I’ve written in the past three years has been blogged by me and has therefore on a technical note been “published” here. I don’t want to disconnect from the wordpress community. I enjoy reading the blogs that I follow and I hope to still find a place to reach out to people who have the same appreciation for poetic forms as I do, but for me to move into a place where writing is more than a hobby I have to be more selective in what I post.

All that being said, my goal for this year is to still put some lines that I find aesthetically pleasing before the wp community but the bulk of my work will have to sit in a physical notebook or within a folder on my personal hard drive. So the transition begins from poetry to most likely, personal reflection, and greater emphasis on my art and experiences trying to make it all work out.

The Die is Cast

triumph in the illusory pool

swirling, opulent; jocular

–

a weeping dove

and ancient olive branch

–

the rocky hillside c

r

u

m

b

l

e

s

under a crooked glance

–

ecafrus latsyrc eht hcaorppa I

taerter lluf ni yks teloiv sseldnE

–

A gust of wind across an alien red desert

suggests my silence in whispers of Euphorbia

–

Try again, try again, try over and once more

awake in the morning, awaken your lore

A Subtle Harmony

There were leaves behind him

and upon the hill

in every corner of the world

the simp squirrel limps.

I would have offered an acorn

but my bag is barren;

–

the rotted stump removed

with such simple declaration

“the past is now old”.

No longer does yesterday remind me of the present.

but what is fond is forgotten

via great manipulations.

–

the squirrel clown juggles

a roasted peanut,

chewed up wrigley’s,

and the acorn I would have given.

–

it must be some kind of talent

to start and stop,

methodologically endless,

theological reflections.

Is the Devil praying when asking God a question?

if there is not a thought that is hidden

there must be more than I have ever given.

–

The bushy tail stands alerted,

there is a shadow behind him.

the leaves have cracked under my feet

and the ground violently opens

Take this plea as love

if I had an acorn to lend.

Will you be fond of me dear friend?

I would have snatched you from the ground

if I had only an acorn to give.

Crescent

Approach the late night

Quaintly reminisce

There are stars behind

the geo foreground illumination.

The dock light shines

as a skipping stone breaks the surface

of the dehydrating pool

whose mighty name was once River.

Take my hand again

there is nothing left to throw

no burden to unshelve

all that remains is too quiet

as the swirling offspring of Katrina tears

cyclonic through the country side

decimating all that stands

punctuated by perforations

who take the time to choose their innocent.

suffer the ones inside their buildings

line dancing through the elementary,

clubbing within the sanctuary,

California is ablaze while the world burns

an immolation with no end

at my fingertips and a million miles away

daughters and sons are crying

while the princess’ womb

carries a royal seal

bearing the phrase

“this too shall pass”

the most delicious cake is a lie

but all I hear is one faint whisper

repeating

“if I can flail hard enough

will you believe I am swimming?”

Panorama

The quest begins within a resonant question

to be eager for life

to strive to be living

How happy is the one to whom a name has been given?

–

we will reach that eternal shore

with either one more bite or starvation

and if instead we find ourselves content,

we will reach that eternal shore.

–

And can my cry ever approach your alien ears?

Does the voice lift out from beyond my vision?

for you are the perfect immigrant

and we are a city that has been forbidden.

–

an ocean wave slowly builds before crashing against the break

while the great crest fades.

the water’s spray gently rains

as a mist upon those who attend it

–

and to what final hour will my distress speak?

has it not been enough to cower through these days, hours, and minutes?

is there something left to prove the soul’s worth?

or just continue purchasing unlucky lottery tickets

–

Push forth this brand new day!

Waste not for the wandering dust!

Pay your two dollars at the door!

Pull back a dram, write lines of four, and remember consider the cost!

And the Hidden Thoughts Collect

Like one long strand

Some disheveled magpie

chirps in uneasy undulation

diamante sparkle

I have found the barren threshing floor

she is the Holy Ghost

y yo nunca he

Pero tomorrow is so far away

and suddenly behind me

Crystals sparkle

like little shards of broken glass

covered in inconsistent rhythm

I am the threshing floor

and you are a smile

beaming out

like a lost but hopeful satellite

while all that is golden shivers upon the surface

recuerdo en este vez cuando aprendí a 悟る

because I have forgotten the grey image

to become a lean shadow

to fail my senior recital

to remember Timothy in a hovel

and the reasons he left

how his shoebox protected him

until the day it didn’t

because I never did

he is gone again

In

to

hold the frail final form,

an image.

“zerpflückte.”

now, I dine alone

upon the lengthening evening,

the days again grow short

–

has the cobbler’s daughter called?

setting down his drink

the fireplace entrances

a nodding head.

the desert of sleep

spills images like spring rain,

the memory’s tinder.

–

sweet impulse

deadened by perfection

ritual, litany, and succumbing

“have you said,

your prayers for the dead?”

such joy to neglect the living

story

there is salvation in repetition

–

pedal along to peddle

your petals pulled from frosted puddles

crackling ice

*snaps*

the world will not flood again

as if it ever did

as if it ever didn’t

 

 

Ctrl + Alt + Meme – (or “the Outskirts of Los Angeles” or “Memories of Ft Lewis”)

A ribbon of sky

projecting outward.

The foothill horizon

masks an urban landscape,

while a hawk,

a hundred feet high and rising

hangs upon thermal currents.

–

I hiked those rigid lines,

ran through overgrown paths,

free from the city

encased within a fiber optic dome.

and while these feet always faltered

begging me to relent

the march of progress

forces onward

away from memories of dandelion wishes

and vanilla scented ponderosa

–

The amber bath

burns

away

the fear of night,

the celestial map,

the common man

and woman.

–

(unfinished)

 

 

 

Lorem Ipsum Dolor Sit Amet

A subtle cough during casual conversation

I broke eye contact again

A glance at the screen

notifications stacked

I have an inbox with 70,000 unread messages

none of them were from you.

“There is no one who loves pain itself,

who seeks after it and wants to have it,

simply because it is pain”**

 

 

*Lorem Ipsum Dolor… is a derivation from the original Greek phrase in translation at the end of the writing.

**Cicero. De finibus bonorum et malorum. 

 

 

Taking

and now rushing to the bottom

there is some cement left inside the bucket

an old eroded brick

and a silica infused epoxy

–

the sun beats down

with pinpoint accuracy

an instigated bead of sweat

and to dust I shall return

–

a mixture of iron shavings and toxic odor

the sawdust reminds me of the forest

an addition to tinnitus

and the door incrementally breaks free from its hinges

–

the silhouette of decisions past

move the hands to patchwork failure

an ode to an amateur

and a distant call moving toward some other horizon

–

the note is marked sustain

while the breath of the voice falters

“Have you seen my lily,

fair as the fiery eruption of an arbor?”

“Is this shadow the waning

of the light upon the altar?”

“Si solo fueras un sueño y yo real,

tal vez podria dormir.”

————————————————————————————————————–

*Thanks for the help with Spanish Mom!*