Here's to not updating since forever ago. I have a portfolio's worth of things and I guess I'll post some--good or bad. I really only like one of these (the last one)--although the revision to work is pretty nice. I'm pretty happy how it turned out.
I'm talking to you
We were gathered here,
boxed up, bathed in the
blanket of dark-still.
Turned us on, caged
life on command--
and we won't shut up.
Soft chatter at first
Dr. Jekyls to
screaming jealousy.
Digging through darkness,
grey matter clears up
discoveries
and we want to know.
So we scream out
giving light to
help understand.
To live.
~tm
Indecision
The mind is a mouthful--
squirrly--scatter.
Chew on it all without
choking. Spit some out.
Encasing it all--pen caps
feign bullet cases.
Pick and choosy
end up climbing a
ladder to the ceiling.
Cook it all--up there--
til a burnt tongue
flaunts decision.
~tm
This next one started out really really different. It went through some heavy heavy revision. So, i'll post the original then the revision.
Work, Slow and Steady.
Ever widening, out of control
actions are annoying at their best,
and her mannerisms play the pest
to one's patience becoming hard to hold.
Hunger starts to add to the initial
problem--and, no printer paper left
for finality. Nothing of interest
could relinquish the suffering of the whole
unless 1 o'clock finally arrives.
Finding a sandwich to suppress the hunger
presents itself--a celestial choice.
The question comes, How will I survive?
Grief suppressed by the advent of laughter
by knowing that she's losing her voice.
~tm
As you can see... it's pretty cluttered up and forced, although it is kind of funny--to me anyway. I felt it needed a complete reworking and way more deviation from the sonnet form since I wasn't really working it wholly to my advantage. so, the revision.
Work, Slow and Steady
For finality. Nothing of interest.
Actions are annoying--ever widening.
Knocked out, stars mingle with your
pupils, suffer until the calling hour.
A.D.D. suppressant fashioned from
the loosed string unraveling a sweater.
A comforting thing constricts when
the heat is on. Breaths become
heavy-handed resources--an end
to the line of cardigan-hell thread.
Summer docks itself at our ports--
a change. The love of throwing off
itchy wool that sweats your skin.
Freedom kisses--sprung out of it.
~tm
This next one is pretty old. I did it for my cousin, she needed something for a class she was teaching (I think) but didn't end up using it. Didn't really get the idea across that she wanted. Oh well.
405 to Dreamland
Pillow-headed. Thoughts grassland.
Planes, desolate--eyes snow-globe
And they're off!
Tonight's road map moves like
countries mark pages of passports.
Connecting flights--over-night
one way--carry fantage from
memory to memory.
Point on! Touch down! Odd trip.
Journey's photos Lego'd
into a new captain's log.
Eyes open, oblivious, with a
scrapbook of understanding.
~tm
last one. This is in response to two things: O'Hara and Craig-Martin. If you're interested as to why, just ask.
Favorite out of all of them in this post.
Why I could be a Sculptor
Optimally 253cm
hovering over the
floor, an oak tree
idles until shaken
by steps or bumps.
Everything about it
is clear--when willing.
While twins rest
hidden, cupboarded
in houses, this tree
will never more be
a glass. Transubstantiated--
perceived into its new form.
Belief rendered as art
sewn to our common
thought--of why
I could be a sculptor.
~tm
Saturday, May 2
Saturday, April 4
I'm no throw me over--and have no juliet.
I'm just going to post a few poems this time and spare the conversation for most of you. Please, at least tell me what you think about them or something. That's what I put this up here for--to get people's reactions to them.
Ignore the lines of periods in this one because I couldn't get it to stay in that spot=lame.
Deep Sea Diver
Cloudy day, smoke stacks
brothered in the moment--
at once companioned
all seeming sans couleur.
Eyes blinking, flashing lights
trickle through, snailing.
He was bait
and tackled
by her love
But
..............It
Those ocean-steady
advances that drew him,
sketched full of springtime,
in--over cloudy day
empty-handed prospects
turned salty. Davy Jones.
--tim
to always smiling, to wanting to end up like jason shwartzman's character at the end of shopgirl, to the search for mother molloy, to dancing to a good song and not caring, to staredowns, to late night arrested development, to getting a package filled with new life, to being completely involved, to the throwing off of clothes on a whim, to live-I am. To everything that is in her.
Conversion
1.
Water condenses to
cloud and it's all
bed sheets.
Wrists bound with
leather. Bubble feeling in
fur and birth
blankets of connection.
It took hours to hatch,
that soft first breath
dawning civilizations
of the new diffidence
couraged into success.
Each beat pillowed by
its coupling. Those
full-naked joys
meadow in warmth.
2.
Scrambling for
notes that highlight
the search, he says,
throw me over
but says no words.
Finding bits of her
in everything.
Trying to rebuild.
Repeated names
out of regret.
Uttered hopes
I'll reach you soon glory.
Even after explosions
of rapture
he's left searching
through other failures.
Try to get back
Find her again.
3.
Deaf to the thunder's speech,
penses de lésinant,
searching through the
cold empty folds
to find a distanced
object whose size one
knows and desires.
Cultivated attention
fosters growth and
heavy beats intrude
again protruding a smile.
Bathing in the unattainable
to wash away the wallow
is almost substitute
not the supplement.
--tim
some haiku, senryu, and renga
4.50 she said
when I remembered that I
lost my last quarter
Christmas finally
interrupted with you'll shoot
your eye out kid.
3:27
am donut cravings
thwarted by the cops
trying to catch the
elevator, I hit the
closing doors
Signing a death wish
always less stressful
when you run out of ink.
attempted funny renga about awkward dates
left step
wasn't my gum
sticky shoes
couldn't get out
of the awkward
loose laces stuck
his shoes on pavement
he trips
this date is stuck
already looking sketchy
words muttering
to a flow
until it's shut
he gets the shakes
on constant stares
shaking hands
new eyes connect
always awkward
slamming door sounds
empty car.
empty glasses
on the table
serious mistakes
looking into the glass
intently searching
late night dance
moves too serious
cause ripped crotches
hair flies everywhere
to the beat, whiteboy.
an awkard date
fathered by a
cheap haircut.
that's probably enough. I'll stop here.
love
Ignore the lines of periods in this one because I couldn't get it to stay in that spot=lame.
Deep Sea Diver
Cloudy day, smoke stacks
brothered in the moment--
at once companioned
all seeming sans couleur.
Eyes blinking, flashing lights
trickle through, snailing.
He was bait
and tackled
by her love
But
..............It
..........................................Left.
advances that drew him,
sketched full of springtime,
in--over cloudy day
empty-handed prospects
--tim
to always smiling, to wanting to end up like jason shwartzman's character at the end of shopgirl, to the search for mother molloy, to dancing to a good song and not caring, to staredowns, to late night arrested development, to getting a package filled with new life, to being completely involved, to the throwing off of clothes on a whim, to live-I am. To everything that is in her.
Conversion
1.
Water condenses to
cloud and it's all
bed sheets.
Wrists bound with
leather. Bubble feeling in
fur and birth
blankets of connection.
It took hours to hatch,
that soft first breath
dawning civilizations
of the new
couraged into success.
Each beat pillowed by
its coupling. Those
full-naked joys
meadow in warmth.
2.
Scrambling for
notes that highlight
the search, he says,
throw me over
but says no words.
Finding bits of her
in everything.
Trying to rebuild.
Repeated names
out of regret.
Uttered hopes
Even after explosions
of rapture
he's left searching
through other failures.
Try to get back
Find her again.
3.
Deaf to the thunder's speech,
penses de lésinant,
searching through the
cold empty folds
to find a distanced
object whose size one
knows and desires.
Cultivated attention
fosters growth and
heavy beats intrude
again
Bathing in the unattainable
to wash away the wallow
is almost substitute
not the supplement.
--tim
some haiku, senryu, and renga
4.50 she said
when I remembered that I
lost my last quarter
Christmas finally
your eye out kid.
3:27
am donut cravings
thwarted by the cops
trying to catch the
elevator, I hit the
closing doors
Signing a death wish
always less stressful
when you run out of ink.
attempted funny renga about awkward dates
left step
wasn't my gum
sticky shoes
couldn't get out
of the awkward
loose laces stuck
his shoes on pavement
he trips
this date is stuck
already looking sketchy
words muttering
to a flow
until it's shut
he gets the shakes
on constant stares
shaking hands
new eyes connect
always awkward
slamming door sounds
empty car.
empty glasses
on the table
serious mistakes
looking into the glass
intently searching
late night dance
moves too serious
cause ripped crotches
hair flies everywhere
to the beat, whiteboy.
an awkard date
fathered by a
cheap haircut.
that's probably enough. I'll stop here.
love
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