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| Oblique
O the delicious balcony of opaque congruence!
This light that peeks from behind silvered glass.
A spray of ambient moonlight over pavement...
I awoke to find myself
caged in a bemused groan, laughter
in the blackness.
Fecund language and silent dreams,
what are you hiding from me?
To satiate this hunger I starve you...
Give back to me what is mine!
O entombed muse, what have you to say
now that you are slain?
A sacrificial veil on the tongue of oblivion
calls from the cavernous remains of sanctity, its demure tenor shallow;
The incongruent shadows pace,
with the fervor of the forgotten;
humanity has been laid to rest.
| | |
| Prairie CreekPoetry across the sky,
rippling softly over cement,
words meandering
their way east wind.
Afternoons melt into
hot breath, slight,
like the movement of water uphill.
More than a reflection.
Waiting for the music...
Granite, rivers of milk
snaking their way between buildings
of imagination and institution,
towering above mortality,
crushing magnitude,
sun caking concrete
against thought, erecting walls
of spoiled earthways--
Eat these meanings
and regurgitate them
into the mouths of children.
The words eschewing from still lips, breathless;
foreboding softly somewhere fierce,
focused on the becoming.
You become the target.
This is not a lament, it's a battlecry!
Our hearts beat their way through bony prisons,
bursting outward into the dead;
the chains our restitution
for moments unbridled.
We dance toward the sun across the blood of others.
In this dream we are awake and we are unafraid.
Persist through glaciers of encumbered thought,
chip away or crash through,
the cracks and fissures are hope.
Through weariness, through stagnant waters,
through the myriad of sorrow, through
the black sunsets of cold habituation--
create the catharsis, a sacred chalice filled
the the blood and spit of those who've failed,
fallen in your wake,
swallowed up by mirrors and ephemera.
Sing those songs you never though you could! | | |
| Cervantes and the Bing Bang Manifesto
...for
some strange reason my computer fell into a deep sleep from which it
never awoke. Until I restarted it. In the process, I lost what I was
typing here, but, no matter, it was all drek anyhow. I had been
remarking on the fact that I haven't used this program (Journaler) in almost a year
and that it's nice to be "journaling" again. I think I will use this
material to fill up some blog space...
So it's Monday night and
I just finished a glass of acescent Bogle Cab which I opened on Friday.
I believe I should have consumed it sooner... and, really, I should
know better. I simply hadn't planned on not drinking over the past few
days. Okay, that's not true. I mean, the part about not drinking. I
just wasn't at home doing it. Sabrina and I spent a wonderful evening
with our friend Jeremy and his lady-friend. Some tapas and sangria at
Cervantes followed by a Ridge blend at his place. First Cervantes: not
too bad. We ordered a few tapas; 1. prosciutto-wrapped asparagus, 2.
manchanga and chorizo plate, and 3. zucchini fritters. The only tapa I
can heartily recommend is the proscuitto-wrapped asparagus which was
wonderful. The other two were sub-par (especially the cheese plate)
though the aioli sauce served with the fritters was quite tasty. The
sangria was good and, after two pitchers of it, we decided to order
entrees. Sabrina and I split a basic spaghetti w/ marinara, while
linguini and clams and paella was enjoyed across from us. The portions
were definitely large and my half-plate of spaghetti was more than
enough after the tapas. The house salads really blew me away; I'm so
accustomed to iceberg lettuce and maybe a tomato wedge that the "real
lettuce" and red peppers and balsamic was unexpected to say the least.
The marinara was also uncommonly good. I wish I could say the same for
the linguini and clams, however. This is one on my favorite dishes to
order and I'm glad I didn't this time around. There was so much chicken
stock used in the "white wine" sauce that I had difficulty
distinguishing between the clams and the chicken. The wine list is also
poor, sporting primarily BV Coastal. At least it's drinkable. The food
was hit or miss, but the service was great and everyone was friendly.
And being in good company always helps. After dinner, we adjourned to
Jeremy's place for a bottle of Ridge (Zin, Carignane, Petite Sirah)
which more than made up for the wine offering at Cervantes.
And
so this almost turned into a food/wine review of sorts... or just
aimless rambling. And I didn't even get to the great hike Sabrina and I
had in Cordova... Ah well, at least it's writing. And speaking of
which, I recently signed up on WritersCafe.org. It's like a MySpace for
writers. So I saw that someone had started a poetry experiment where
one writes five lines with the following structure:
1. Five syllables
2. Four syllables
3. Three syllables
4. Two syllables
5. One syllable
It also has to be about nature in some way. So here's what I posted:
Thicket
A pinprick of light
breaks through canopies'
subterfuge
of the
night
It's now 10:50pm and I need to close this out. I think I'll paste something I wrote a year ago for no particular reason:
I
am, however, certain that I need to find the time; I will need to
upturn the stones of the mundane to find temporal loopholes heretofore
undiscovered. And once I find these loopholes, I will ride them into a
new era of language and expression ushered in by necessity, though
largely unwanted. This new poethics will be the red-headed stepchild of
language. It will be beaten and scorned, but it will grow strong from
the abuse. (Is this starting to sound like a manifesto?) Let today mark
the time from whence this journey begins! Let this be a testament to
the nature (or nurture) of poetry! Language cannot grow stagnant! I say
let there be declarations of eep op ork ah ah and the ting tang walla
walla bing bang! Let there spin from language's heart an expression not
yet heard, a cry not yet realized, a scream not yet manifest! And
then...
...a long pause. And a sip of gin. A moment before the final step is taken off the edge. A look back. And a leap forward. | | |
| MySpace music pageJust thought I'd post the URL to some music endevours of mine. Enjoy.
http://www.myspace.com/dphunktmusic
| | |
| Untitled
Afternoons were always spent waiting
for the dark glory of moonlight
and the soft humming of gunfire
in the distant hills
to trickle through the evening winds
into his toybox of memories
that he would, on occasion,
open as one might wish on a
penny in the stillness of a watershed. | | |
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