Wednesday, May 25, 2016

OTI:four poems and notes:5/25/16

Open To Interpretation

I Can't Fathom

I can't fathom
Lawyer talk
Doctor talk
Mathematical talk
And such,
Precision like
The engineers use
To transport us about.
Any wonder I take to your black deck
Where we swear a lot
And giggle at our own jokes?
When the stiffly clad,
With their elaborate languages of doom,
Try to come up the plank
We pull away from that shore quick!


Oh, the black deck is for dancing,
And my words like to dance,
Rock back and forth,
Twirling around spinning,
Shinnying up the mast
To the very top
With you,
Swaying beneath the Stars and Moon.

Cinderella Dreams

The black deck is always moving,
And while on our knees
As we scrub and polish and clean
We can see before our very noses
All the Cinderella dreams.


On the black deck,
Work done,
We cross legged huddle
And play cards
With a black deck, of course.
No king but Clotho
No queen but Lachesis
No jack but Atropos.
The joker we call Pip.
Queequeg always deals.


Notes: note block or notes for these!...oh! update...I've known for awhile to write with a sense of where my articulation tongue, my teeth, mouth open, closed, and such...and just realized a rhyme needn't just be just a sound rhyme, but too can be an articulation self similarity...example: 'knees' and 'clean'...hee hee...running around laughing!



Monday, May 23, 2016

OTI:one poem and notes:5/23/16

Open To Interpretation

Dinner Time

I'm hungry,
Your hungry,
We're all hungry:
The grammatical economical cannibal criminal communal
Riding the Great Turtle.
We're all delicious.
Skin and bones look on,
Having lost their grip.
A few rescued,
But most out of reach,
Out of sight, out of mind,
Out of dinner time.
Love, with the colors of the rainbow,
Mixes on our pallets an infinity of tastes
For I, you, all of us,
A cornucopia.
Share it.


Notes: Well, it's a pronouncement poem...punditry...which I try to avoid...trouble started when I wrote I you we hungry, and the thought that's grammar of some sort, Nature's tooth and kept adding 'al' rhymes, and the Great Turtle showed up...again (see earlier poem)...does criminal fit!?...'all the world a crime'?...the Graveyard poets often came up against 'all the world a grave'...further along is 'all the world a womb'...I can't think the poem through...too many obstacles!...Love, simple, true, only way out of it!...oh...there it is...'share it', and port to facebook,
and get a before dawn snack!...then a nap!



Sunday, May 22, 2016

OTI:seven poems and notes::5/22/16

Open To Interpretation


I could only weep
When our expected meeting
Didn't keep.
It is the worst of things,
Like over gravestones standings.
Oh, but yet we're not under,
Though sorrow shaken
By that one blast of thunder,
Likely not the last.


She knits,
It's after midnight
And she sits on the metal bench
At the entrance to Denny's.
Her right eye gone? Damaged?
The lids just a slit.
From a wedding? A prom?
Young couples in formal
Tuxes and gowns
Returning to their cars
Pause to greet her.
And with gracious Spanish
Wish the knitting lady good evening.
She looks up from her knitting,
And too in Spanish wishes them well.
To my car I follow
As they to theirs.
From behind,
A booming voice,
In English!
"Young man, let no woman,"
"Let no man,"
"Come between you"
"And your education!"
I'm a bit old,
But know when the Fates address.


Oh, the car sellers kept
Coming around
With name trade,
How long you been,
And such,
And I kept just smiling,
Just looking,
Just really annoying,
Until their turnabouts
Made me feel guilty.
So, by way of apology,
And thanks for the time,
No insult intended,
From my shirt pocket
I handed one retreating a dollar.
Oh, the look!
But they kept the dollar!


My hands,
I can't hide them,
Like Hawk's!
An age and genetic thing.
So, see, how
Already you dwell,
Kindly clawing me to tell.
Small wonder then
What I can hide
I will keep hidden
From your sympathies' burdens.
As for my face,
It's just a face:)


It's easy to be spare,
Humble, simple,
Sit like a yogi.
Your swinging necklace,
An accomplishment!


Am I a lout
To spout?
These bemused dreams
Just for me?


From the dictionary look up check:
May 22, 2016,
Word of the Day,
A lady love, sweetheart.
Increase my vocabulary?
For that I have desire's sighs,
Dilemma is the translated reception,
Another windmill!


Notes: The nineteenth century was the era of the Graveyard Poets, their modern counterparts, the black clad Goths...gloom, melancholia, was found to be kind of sexy....thought to elaborate on this, but the Warrior game is to the dungeon/gym to watch...dungeons have cable...there is something to this, as in the end only one team remains standing, the rest have gone fishing to relieve the gloom!...but let me snag Emily's poems...brb...


A not admitting of the wound
Until it grew so wide
That all my Life had entered it
And there were troughs beside -
A closing of the simple lid that opened to the sun
Until the tender Carpenter
Perpetual nail it down -
After great pain, a formal feeling comes – (372)

After great pain, a formal feeling comes –
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs –
The stiff Heart questions ‘was it He, that bore,’
And ‘Yesterday, or Centuries before’?
The Feet, mechanical, go round –
A Wooden way
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought –
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone –
This is the Hour of Lead –
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow –
First – Chill – then Stupor – then the letting go –
Thunder can be two poems...Dulcinea is all net...


Friday, May 20, 2016

OTI:eleven poems and notes:5/20/16

Open To Interpretation


From the cell to the dungeon
Now and then
And so earn a sardonic token
Admission to your inquisition.
The attending attentive,
Me?, I'm thinking,
'Progress, and then what,
No more token visits?'


Hit her!
You suggest,
Smack her on the butt.
Better that than the pond,
Where you nearly went, you know.
Ahh, it's said not to...
And where would gentleness go?
My dog's friendly biting wounds I endure
While my dissuading training
Continues treat by treat,
Rather than threat by threat.
Don't know though,
Wish I was sure!
You've left a wound also
With your concerned council.


My housemate's room
Is just as stuffed as mine,
We collect this and that,
That and this,
Recursive recluses too.
But her estranged husband comes by,
Her wayward son too, too rarely,
Which is more than I can say
For you,
And I!

Night Dive

Night dives are eternal
Where a fellow trades feet
For flippers and mermaids
Free of fishy jealousies.

Your Home

Your home, where
News will never reach,
Academics never teach,
Holy never preach,
Your crew ever runs to
Over every beach,
Through every breach.

Bent Notes

Guitarists will bend their notes,
Singers too,
Always a bit off
From dead center.
Just think of me like that.


We read too fast,
I've always thought.
Slow down
And Sense will tie up fast.

The Hunt

Turn the crew against me?
We'll have a good laugh.
Rally the rivals against me?
Bring it on.
Take her to them?
Then the hunt begins.


Some doubts always bleed,
Hurting wounds to carry.
If such from me you marry,
Shut me out.


My words
Can inspire.
Your words


Give me another to unravel,
Your puzzles are better than Cheetoes!


Notes:  Over at Poetry's site, once just the little magazine with Pegasus on the cover, there's a lot of comprehensive stuff...overwhelming!...but the web does that...what did Emily Dickinson do?...stayed home with her garden, wrote letters and poems to friends and family...made time for such from housework, and the continual round of visits from neighbors...visits from neighbors!?...where did that go?...I was reading her bio and reviews, some poems too at Poetry...very good...few poems I'd read before seemed obscure, seemed she an early Laura Riding precursor...Riding took to her Orange Grove...but I was getting Emily's, and thought, I'm poaching on her turf...sentiments are like that, cross garden borders the dislike of dust for the dusting...

Token started out thinking about going to the gym, the machines you know, and the towel token...Doubt the ongoing struggle with Maya my dog...lately found grabbing her tail distracts her from grabbing my ankles!...just...Recursive, yep, that's that...Night Dive and Your Home will remain obscure...though night diving will get a see the moon from under the ocean surface is different...Bent Notes is really very important...Nature is like that...Fast too, important...thought to call The Hunt, Helen...Homer's skills are so beyond...Doubts stems from Doubt, and one back aways, Thread...Words and Cheetoes...sometimes just want to toss some up, to see if I can catch ...missed!



Wednesday, May 18, 2016

OTI:seventeen poems(18) and notes:5/18/16

Open To Interpretation


It's the same watch,
Just different faces,
And they all come pre-wound,
Motion powered.

What Can I Say?

A long voyage's day to day,
What can I say?
Today's tale?
An unfinished book
Put away.


Bring you common things?
Like the cannon fodder underlings?
Rather approach empty handed
Than that!

I Hadn't Thought

I hadn't thought to come this far
But now that we are
Ever more simultaneously
Closely distant,


The mocking bird sings
All day, all night.
On your tune
The lyrics I write
Will molt like feathers.


Exchange the gifts
For something frivolous
Something foolish
Something silly beyond nonsense
Something me.


Petroglyphs in stone
Spray painted over,
No matter.
It wasn't monuments we sought
Like the overwrought with cans.


I wait in the dark
Until the postal delivery
Opens the squeaky metal door.


If I knew
New would be
Newer than new!

The Great Turtle

Quicker than quick,
Faster than fast,
Older than last.

From The Shadows

From the shadows,
The siblings
Cool calculating scrutiny.
Your lipstick print
Brings their inspection
And enquiry.


This place is full of fear,
But it appears
Our arrears
Require us here.


So I run around laughing
The laundry machines washing.


Rummaging through the glove box,
A pencil, a pen, a sharpie,
A stick!
Before it slips!
I've remembered the lyric
"Not to forget"!

Vacation Songs

On the back of the receipt
Your song I kept.
Funds all gone,
Of course,
Without remorse.

Small Wonder

On so long a watch
Small wonder
Eyelids lower
Voices whisper
'let it all go'
Here they come again.


Close again
And the anxiety birds
From the treetops singing.
A relief
When you are far ahead,
And I can rest on a boulder,
The forest quiet.


poems do,
enough for a book
so I can everywhere carry you,
no matter if few,
thin books fit in the pack
and light too.


Notes: I mean, how many poems have 'squeaky' in them? (too many:)...running around laughing...update: added one, Yes, so eighteen, for the eighteenth...



Tuesday, May 17, 2016

OTI:four poems and notes:5/17/16

Open To Interpretation


Ask the Ravens
In the neon rigging
That keep us scrubbing.
Each has the same answer,
Ours too.

Her Black Ship

The black light running lanterns
Shine across the polished black deck,
Down the black hull
On the phosphorescent sea,
The mast, aglow with corposant,
The neon sail taught with wind
From the arctic dark winter,
Rolling clouds
Thundering with lightning webbing,
Ebony dolphins
Chase the crimson prow wakes,
The denizens of the benthic
Salute the passage of her keel.


Will we fall out of favor?
Each watch with cautioned steps
Patrols the black ice slick deck
Rolling side to side
On cold oblivion.


Did I tell you
It is a mixed crew,
Siblings of sorts?


Notes: I'm working on the 'crew', so Siblings is a fragment...I looked up 'sibling', and came across Twin Speak...apparently very young twins talk to one another with an invented language unique to just them...invented, singular languages have a name: Idioglossia...that's, that's just I understand why no one understands me!...bit jealous of Keats' dragon tail rudder, hence Her Black Ship...

a re-quote
(Though you should build a bark of dead men's bones,
And rear a phantom gibbet for a mast,
Stitch creeds together for a sail, with groans
To fill it out, blood-stained and aghast;
Although your rudder be a dragon's tail
Long sever'd, yet still hard with agony,
Your cordage large uprootings from the skull
Of bald Medusa, certes you would fail
To find the Melancholy — whether she
Dreameth in any isle of Lethe dull.



Monday, May 16, 2016

OTI:seven poems and notes:5/16/16

Open To Interpretation


Oh, you have your shady oaks
Green Spring hillsides
And wild flowers,
While I'm in the ring.
Ignore their cheers,
I'll do my best to make them groan.


Every fight has two sides
And each has fans
If one side never wins
Except on rare occasions.

Matador's Demons

These demons!
They dress me up like a festival flowered saint,
Dote on my every word,
And wear cheering smiling masks
To hide chagrined grimaced disappointment that I survived
Yet again.


Again we lure one another here,
Just to jostle
Of our horns.


It's safe enough
I trust
Management will part us
If our tumble stumbles.

Fourth Wall

Oh! That can't happen!
The bull has leapt the fourth wall!


"All the world's a stage"
Somewhere too
Seating for the Olympians
Watching me
Watching you.


Notes:  I got to thinking about bulls and bull fighting...some of the titles are like gags...Ferdinand, Lakers...poems more substantive I hope!...the Fourth Wall is a curio philosophically...don't wonder but the professional philosophers have gone on about it....the fourth wall is the wall between the audience and the actors on stage...the actors don't address the audience, they're not in the play...sometimes, like in Deadpool, or a Daffy Duck cartoon, actors will commensurate with the audience...but the usual is for the audience to take their seats, watch, applaud, and connection between audience and actors there's this can't befriend celebrities, and celebrities don't befriend their fans...and, and that's what's going on with social media...for example, I was watching youtube of John Sebastian of The Loving Spoonful singing solo at Woodstock...'darling be home soon' was probably the best song there, and that's saying a lot!...and afterwards, as noted in the youtube comments, he thanks the crowd, and walks off stage, back turned, and for a moment just holds his head in disbelief...disbelief in the sense of having participated in something ephemeral and extraordinary!...the connecting moments between performers and fans are probably the most intimate we have, yet they are the most distant...between is the fourth wall...between ourselves and Nature is a fourth wall, and there is a range of attempts by us to cross over it...on youtube I didn't look up bullfights...too cruel...but looked up Minoan Bull Jumping...some cool clips, and one was of a bull in a Spanish arena that jumps the wall into the crowd and stadium seating...animal planet has the best narrated one...oh, the humanity!...fortunately, no one seriously hurt, I think...bull put down of course...on web today story of baby buffalo that was put in a car trunk, or something, haven't read it...buffalo put down too...unfriended! the ancient world, bull jumping, or dodging, was widespread...a youtube of bull jumping in Ethiopia was different...a half dozen brahma bulls were positioned side by side, and a fellow just jumps them, after the girls dance...modernity has dressed the girls up!...the recent remake of Jason and the Argonauts has Jason jump a mechanical bull...myself, I'm too tall and stiff to do somersaults...always had a kind of terror of them!...bull charging way beyond!...that could be a poem...the ancient Egyptians entombed their sacred bulls...gigantic granite coffins meticulously an entire civilization beating its head against the fourth wall...

"break your crazy heads against the sky"

John Sebastian