The Sense of Feel
Some feel the deep oceans. Some feel the
blackbird pecking at winter’s crusted seeds.
Some feel cracking ice in spring thaw.
Others sense the universe expanding in the
bourbon dark, fragmented galaxies growing
further and further apart in the way of dead
relationships.
Feel or sense: a type of discernment, unconscious
recognition of nuance—the bird following
magnetic lines, the bear fat on fall’s acorns, the
dusky wind carrying centuries’scents, the woman
in the window pulling on lingerie for the lover who
never comes.
Some feel the footsteps always walking—to
nowhere, to somewhere while some sense
the pregnant stroll will always be futile.
Even the leaves, the rocks, snow skimming
the ground, flowered trees, feel what can’t
be felt, discarded lingerie the same.
Whether felt or sensed, the dark between
the stars grows ever larger, and earth
will not come walking forward to the
banqueting hall.
poetryrepairs #235 v17.03:031
A Prayer for Those that are Plugged in
There is terror in the inarticulate,
those that do not read, have forgotten
history.
Those whose lives are controlled by
flickering images, momentary corporate
distractions living in the land of the
electronic zombies.
A prayer for those that are plugged in.
Images. Flick flick flick across screens in
homes, cars, mall and even meadow,
worship of the new god's tiny eye,
history in present pixels, 24 hour sound
bites where antiquity is Tiger, Beyoncé, Lady Gaga,
the lastest stuffed simulacrum, the ego-eye
honing in to feed, sounds and sights
carried in back pockets—
A prayer for those that are plugged in.
German crematoriums just another
image, Pol Pot some new rapper, crusades a
cool CD—they do not read, they twitter,
they do not see, they Facebook.
This terror has no time table, patiently
waits like blind albino termites building
mounds under the earth, chambers full and
fecund for all those that are plugged in.
poetryrepairs #235 v17.03:031
Same Old Song
Lately I’ve been wanting to return to the
seventies. We all want to return from
exile, somehow, someway, but Wolfe
was right, no way home again.
Trying hard though: listening in the
truck to “Crocodile Rock” and Carly Simon
singing “You’re So Vain” while musing on all
the vain people that I have known.
This is like being put in a brown paper
sack for somebody else’s lunch. I
want that feast, but you get too old
to eat, especially when you finally
realize that everybody is working
out of ego and fear. That drives them.
That along with biology and myth.
Everyone the center of his/her own
little myth—ego-lollipops rolled up
in the sex drive to be licked away
relationship through wasted relationship,
biology pulling them together like a
crocodile chewing on that week old
rotted gazelle corpse till they’ve had
their fill, woke up in yet another strange
bed wondering WTF—
till age catches up and biology no
longer matters. Gets to the point
that nothing matters. I sit at my
windowsill every morning drinking
coffee and thinking about this
while the sun comes up and the
birds wake up the day: little
narcissistic shits.
thank you for reading poetryrepairs
please link to http://www.poetryrepairs.com/v17/031.html
| |
|
|
|
|
All the fine arts are species of poetry--Samuel Taylor Coleridge
poetry repairs
your heart
even as it splits it open.
VIRGINIA WOOLF
The Art of Reading
Our Dancing Poet Logo! FIND GIFT BUY GIFT
http://www.zazzle.com/poetryrepairshop
No state organ: POETRYREPAIRS
accepts NO money from federal,
state, or local governments.
READERS maintain poetryrepairs
PLEASE
NO READING FEE FOR SUBMISSIONS. DONATIONS, while appreciated, DO NOT INCREASE CHANCES OF BEING SELECTED.
I have many things to write unto you but I will not write with pen and ink --JOHN the theologian
REPAIR: resort, frequent or habitual going; concourse or confluence of people
at or in a place; making one's way; to go, betake oneself, to arrive; return to a place; to dwell; to recover, heal, or cure; to renew; to fix to original condition. -- Oxford English Dictionary
read more poetry
RALPH MONDAY : 'Bergman's Island' & Other Poems
The Sense of Feel
A Prayer for Those that are Plugged in
Same Old Song
top
|