August 25, 2016

I do not fear much when bottom feeding my soul ............................. aka navigating the genesis claimant seas


art by Michael Hutter ©




what lies beyond ignoring 
what power lies within me 
to give in to tawdry bits 
of sentiment and pleasures 
that I may wear as masquerade, 
parading poem after poem 
until my bones become 
homes to worms...

this modern world 
full of false narratives 
and slight of hand
depends my friends 
on your mechanically derived lives 
it has need for your surrender 
to keep its gears a-whirring 
its blood-end spokes and teeth 
with their ever pressing hunger 
is without cause or salvation 
and chains you to 
a wheel you then heel to 
pretense-d with divine commands...

I say demand of yourself 
what hands and wings you know, 
what claws and fangs 
do and will grow 
to salve and anoint one's self 
with a proper crown and beggar tools... 

I may keep 
my mind full 
of foolish 
and sentimental things 
but only to hide 
from you what 
makes me sing 
key after key 
into each locked door 
and when past 
your glam station wicked 
oh world 
of false piety 
who covets 
this universe 
I know for sure
this beautiful place was 
never yours 
end to end or 
in the beginning...

EJR ©

August 21, 2016

throw ponies and hosiery thieves




Laundry Hanging in Wash Alley, Genoa by Unknown Artist



how found do we feel sometimes 
when we see something 
we may have missed 
that was right in front 
of our eyes the (w)hole time
when we went looking 
for pieces of our divine  
to fall from the sky 
or rise as rain 
when dew 

poem and I call  
this collection 
the nose 
and give 
petal spit wishes 
around the intentions 
calendars, clocks 
and seasons have 
counting 
life after life 
on the line 

EJR ©

August 1, 2016

chameleon old school neophyte poet ............. ( a quadrille ? )


eyed you 
wound jester 
crackled blued 
side Earth show 
and afterbirth ...

tomb renewals
carved approvals 
painted rates 
caved futures 
vinyl once-d
moments 
hit upon 
between 
deep rabbit holed 
bargaining 
barter 
wobbles ...

where poem soul goes  
wandering offerings 
finding things 
mostly 
loving shadows 
coveting shiny ... 

EJR ©

July 28, 2016

The Dinner Theater of Medea Moonshine ........................................ On Poem Island Lost Socks and Cyclops

Odysseus Fighting with the Beggar
Lovis Corinth - 1903








<each gaze to the darkened stage read like
   playbill-menus for us behind the curtain>



the orders 
were wandering 
wondered ordeals 
cyclical ritual feasts 
at which I was 
a banquet server 
a ripe and sometimes 
randy beggar Robin Starveling ...

on over a rover clover clay dug red 
and green and red again 
velvet loom looming 
I was told 
play the prey fallen prey 
a groom once on pace perhaps ... 

snails leave trails 
that glisten listening 
to you steeping 
swimmingly carefree 
in your own sweet tea 
pools and reflection ...

I would spy water 
glasses thresh pulsed 
diets tied to 
billow spread life 
what's the 
mattering splattered 
over surmising 
any surprise each new 
murmuring audience held ...

I would go ribald Tybalt 
to Mercutio o'er 
their tables lit 
w/candor to coy sexy 
language-d as intent 

(and in an aside) 

most incidental 
or personal telephone 
booth to text 
poems of a future 
not yet dreamed of 
would cast attention 
away from us 
into this den 
of smitten with mostly 
their own direction(s) 
and it was this misdirection 
that was the subterfuge needed 
to get into what their succulence 
held and we had hoped to pluck  ...

because we knew 
every once or twice 
we would catch them looking 
and steal their eyes 
by selling them 
on feeding our noses 
their ever ever wishing 
for more frequent greater visions ... 

and when spoken 
especially gleefully 
in said conditions  
time doth mesmerize 
their ability to reason 
and in this light 
we did advantage 
ourselves 
of every Eden 
we could ... 


et voilĂ  :


si vous voulez voir plus
alors vous devez
payer pour entrer ici voila 


this act written 
to the you 
understood and portrayed 
as played on this 
a sense 
of reaping repeatedly 
what has been tilled 
sown grown harvested 
and gone turn again ...

we hear crickets 
they are beginning 
to inherit 
the reins outside 
of this new normal 
this weird weather Wednesday 
Friday frinday Tuesday Maundy 
maudlin manics with mirrored light 
settling in on a pattern for the evening ...

sew needle pulling thread 
I am fucking around with 
fucking with something 
I don't often do 
and it is quite possible 
it can or will end badly ... 

or be seen as wise 

should I survive or even thrive 
after said cause and effect 
dog and pony show ...

this is a handy plot device 
no matter what part 
of the space and game show 
you want to send 
your imagined loyal army 
of lady robot sous chefs to 
who by the way of inference 
from description can handle knives 
and your time's management ...

they're fleshed accordingly 
a tonality hushed fingers to lips 
whisper traipse you've entered 
into the role playing 
part of the programming 
so let us seek shadow riders 
reed breathers thinkers 
and the bitten with 
under water until 
the Moon says 
come play and be 
with me for awhile ...

midsummer's slide 
toward Autumn 
with Pandora 
is nearing 
innuendo crescendo 
cue the timpanis  
would you please 
for having suspended 
belief, we are 
serving the audience 
their own roan thin 
sliced sentimental once ago(s) ...
  
an entire audience's 
eyes poached with pears 
and figs in port wine ...

what delight it is for us to see
all of what traded humanity 
has in store for these pleasing moments 
we thieve or think we should keep to eat ... 

as when to start 
dear audience did 
believing  in us and 
the tales we spoke
of becoming 
their very own 
dessert this evening ...

permanent 
or legacy 
we stated, was an 
inner sight per 
performance 
and the cost 
of flight 
was what forever night 
of theirs meant, 
we fancied ...

EJR ©

July 26, 2016

this is another conversation with one of my apocalypse monsters in the mirror ...






Help you with what ... I ask ...

Your sliding between some boundless 
ancient unnameable/unknowable being 
you have in your mind 
and some post apocalyptic abused child 
who has grown fangs 
in the guise of butterfly wings, 
walls and a sturdy disregard 
for the noise of modern society ... 

I may look and play the fool 
to gain sight and footing ... 
but rest assured I do so voluntarily ... 
you can be dangerously flippant and mean 
and while I think you know 
that I don't give my allegiance lightly 
you are still testing the bounds 
and limits of that as we speak ... 

your psychic forays and little incursions ... 
please don't push yourself on everything 
because you can, 
push yourself because the universe demands 
that of you in the moment ... Period! ... 

And that we can help anyone with ... 
with the exception of you or I ... 
this is the price of our soul ... 
which we must accept despite the pains 
and barbs that sometimes grow 
along side that equation 
predicating life through 
these currents of bones 
their calendars and time ...

monster says I have a small suggestion in the mean time

build something
something you might 
like to admire 
in its sum 
a sculpture perhaps
fashion it 
out of found 
in your life materials 
then assign meaning 
to each material 
collected ...

especially the things 
that anger and frighten you 
paint the memory 
you have associated 
with each thing 
onto this piece 
then destroy this embodied piece  
in ritualized sharp assertions 
stab hiving burning 
may you have a glowed upon face 
womb Winter cackling warm skin 
and watch the ashes climb
stop asking questions 
of how 
evil got in ...

 ( hint it was inside you 
from the beginning and Eve 
wasn't weak and Lilith 
was more right than God ) 

let your oldest pieces of you die 

(hint they'll come back soon and younger/refreshed)

breathe

 just fucking breathe 

and for the sadistic 
literal-ist you've become 
think of burning man 
and why we do the things we do 
to confound those that dare try 
and take to place 
where we 
might feel 
at home 
with ourselves 
rousing rendition 
tender to old 
turtle pray to prey 
and what can 
hold us 
under shell 
or not so 
feeling raw 
and exposed 


EJR ©

July 24, 2016

........................... what if She had just eaten Remus and Romulus


 photo by portraithaus ©
http://portraithaus.de/




the desert kingdoms 
would still be 
southern hinterlands 
whereas the Alps 
had kept the wolves 
mostly at bay 
and there were the sometimes 
when Her young mothers got lost 
on the way 
to pack life adulthood 
so if they had wandered 
down into the fields 
and groves 
they could then 
find suckle 
guidance to feed 
upon orphans 
left as tribute 
at the grotto 
for humans 
still believed 
in sacrifice 
back then ...

provisional chancellor I will not sign your oath of condemnation 
condom nation slip rubber rain coat duck shoes were chic 
once or twice in the eighties we found campy 
was cool enough to hide 
behind and vacate the soul for shallow 
but indivisible means 
of and to an end means 
fathoming farthing fathering less 
the carriage cost of contractual 
obligation relegation supremacy 
eugenics on the news stand 
the band strikes a match 
and the whole shooting works 
is junky body parts all blown to bits 
with plop flesh rain where gut drops sit 
damn it eye fell 
asleep wheel clay-ing wings again 
pretending glaze kiln wish factories 
were real places, they aren't ...

but for the pretty designs 
our own wet slip silt pottery makes 
when smashing the ground ... 

scatter wink led bells 
shards and long bows 
a pitcher with ornate 
forest motif 
we once filled 
with water 
for the plants 
we kept shelved 
in the foyer ... 

I'll spend  
the entire 
ends of time 
in poem ...

I'll be looking 
over edges precipices 
falling onto points 
hooking whoop-sy daisy(s) 
hope you got the claims in correctly baby(s) 
in my best annotated appetizer self hypnotism ... 

the risers 
behind the pulpit 
are where the chorus 
stands and sings ... 

and sing they do 
all the ways to Heavens 
and back to heard 
and herded, listening 
listing slow tide 
moonlight again ... 

it was Sunday morning 
and I could smell dinner afterwards in words, worlds 
of smells and slow rebounds back to our little Hells 
we rang bells tells we were tolls, we paid each going tithe weight 
our moral letting off(s), we let the liquor and gravy hit it 
afternoon tuned to evening when service was over 
in our minds ...

pre-seeing the ways 
prey prays payment 
to glass laying still 
for something 
patterned in almost ... 

the impact point 
is the shattered 
and mattered 
what of us 
when given back 
wind and host 
use most of ...

pieces 
smashed 
broken 
trashed 
downed 
amassed 
aggregates 
spit with 
amoeba bites 
as it is its 
and ours 
in littlest bits 
what are 
we looking at ...

the sand fine hewed air 
is my ripened bleeding 
my humanity fallen down 
into all the eventually(s) ... 

the seas are 
ever hungry 
to tame and eat 
every mountain 
with their rivers 
their tongues reach 
sky and eons 
ancient poems 
long tines, currents 
haint driven winds 
climbs and repose ... 

I suppose 
we remember 
each time 
our bones 
jump in 
I know 
our 
souls do ... 


EJR ©

................... poem says I am the folds and unfurls of you






“And if the body were not the soul, what is the soul?” Walt Whitman 



let's just wade the minute parts 
(thought experimental poem tone-d)

in the microwave 
I made ramen noodle soup 
asked myself if you wanted some 
you said save me 
the crunchy salad parts 
the rusted larks and this country of hearts 
you say you live in hope for ...

are we going to shit here and now 
or has the post office scared us constipated 
with their gang of mad maxian thieves 
and assassins like some imagined borderlands 
we've been assigned to protect
but we knew this already 
prisons were of our own design 
but you yes you I've imagined slurping 
are my darling 
sitting somewhere next to me 
in some scenario 
red to indigo 
you say pick a color 
on the wheel 
and spin, asking yourself ...

"can't you always hear music if you listen 
within the constructs of making love work with me ? " ... 

and while I searched myself for answers 
you just kept dancing anyways 
how I imagine I love you for that 
up against my walls 
and thoughts and ideas 
half thought out, then implemented 
with collateral damages 
already actuary tabled figured in ... 

the processes and the fee structures 
of the hot summer outside 
is this clown face science 
and bombast substitution 
part of the eternal rhythm 
of human and sub frequency 
communication ...

(replicating teletype movie sound now)

cost bearing guilt trips 
took over for taxing my humanity 
as the woe man upstairs 
stands by and allows me 
to rape 
my sense 
of belonging 
here on Earth ... 

(storybook fable segue mythology now)

a pied 
piper style 
has made the most of us 
and we pay 
for this life 
and its attendant death 
birth to burial 
conscription clauses 
and circuses 
we're bread to hate here 
because empty plates 
are socially keen manipulators 
and we know 
our pulses 
innately when bleeding out 
don't we poem ... 

love works our good corners 
at night with streetlights replacing 
the coal parts with diamond almost ...

because when we have faith 
in our selves 
we are 
the brightest lights 
shadows will love 
even after we 
have left each other 
behind in all our expressions ... 

skipping-ly the evening is whippy buggy sticky 
stockyards of milkweed have gone to pod 
attendant queen anne's lace is a-pacing 
in all the possible butterfly future-d maybe(s) of me 
milled fabrics of destinies and seasons passing 
hide time along the rail tracks, road sides 
and river banks, don't they darling ... 

and calendar keepers 
they follow me 
painting too 
the odd collected 
pieces of my life 
strewn behind me
all that I owe 
to me being broken 
and the you 
that came along 
to see what happens 
next when I sing 
my poem 
my soul 
my shadow 
my body electric ...

EJR ©

July 19, 2016

i've hope for you yet, another beaten beat poem ...





Hymnal 69-OU812 
(the rumored vonnegut to hunter s routine melody 
was chaos vanguard squeeze lemon tree divinity 
while watching being watched)

Okay Poem America, 
 it is after midnight 
on the East coast 
cricket seduce 
yourself, a quiet and 
repeat after me ...

"I will be taking 
an extraordinarily
large dose of LSD, first..."

I want wont 
coal glow face 
because I knew 
know porter intent 
was a Broadway 
Hudson piano man 
a lent scent 
cat's cradle too ...



can you pull the trigger with my back turned walking away 
from the fight in which you learned my spirit cannot be broken 
(y) your lack of humanity is a race car 
a race war a raw rack and stretch 
it is the truth stretched out 
over the hot coals of mesmerification 
amidst our cultural adhesions 
slow burn-drip-collection 
agencies of the fat of the land ... 

the anunnaki gold mining 
operations in south africa unleashed 
ancient gauntlet-ized mandela effects  
a shooting gallery 
when and where memory 
was and is supposed to be
fish bones or souls ...

chasing march hares 
is dive variant flight patterns 
you repeat to yourself 
falling is flying when buying 
the island you see 
nothing but yourself 
until death does its part ...

the wars were misinformative sloggeries by now no news but 
inform the nation of massive shifts of consciousness by little 
drippy bits of truth at a time slathered in ointment and jellies 
with just a remnant touch of former life-doms fiefdoms 
ease the pain 

"... discovering you are dna fodder 
for advanced civilizations 
that have been coming to earth 
for millennia to fuel and re-fuel 
themselves while giving us illusions 
of folding and folded in on 
ourselves trying to bind ourselves 
to the idea of a singularity when 
none has been known to exist 
outside of the phone booths 
we slide into 
to go to places 
we've painted 
with scented memory 
signposts of our familiar ..."

from a piece written because today happens to be in the way of tomorrow ...  
                                                                           
accidental incendiary 
mauling manuals 
and martyrdom  
the radio plays both kinds 
country and western 

  " ... i am caught in your forest pretense and i am terribly sorry your world at large is burning, but while i do have a heavy gasoline smell on my hands and bad intentions where my heart and eyes used to be ... i was too tired to strike a match tonight but even as tomorrow never knows, and no, i do not mind at all, watching the ash climb and scream former thee, with my face and skin aglow with what you used to be, this part of the poem, a brightly alive, a once again for a moment or two, burning to attend to you ... though, i will admit i wanted to be the one who set fire to your life as it lies but i cannot lay claim this sweet accidental spoil i have happened upon on my way to dreamland, tonight ..."

a rote submission :
love demands, prayer too 
ten fingers clasped, church and pew 
but there is no pen to paper 'round 
that can hear you tell time your stories 
nose open, eyes closed no poem or sound 
you promise to wake and spy 
the glories 
and hallelujahs 
of when the world 
of words takes leave 
for home ...

i went about playing river side wet clay diorama god torture to 
titillation appeals the processes were strip mining to subtle 
fabric culls thread pulls tags out and you knew to avoid certain \
fates when needing language of escape i had a pocket of coins 
different faces different places to ride off to when we start to 
believe in disbelief as the ultimate truth soothing sayer ... 

dream sequence my body given to growths natural and cured 
with artifice and the imaginative circuses of the human mind 
allowed to wander freely without dimension-ality strapped to a 
rein-less saddle grab hold manes kid for in this ride you might 
just give your eyes to smell yourself again ...

war soul paint job everyone wants the new tattoo symbolism 
did you get it ... music cannot be stopped ... topped with 
physical at tempts at erogenous precipiced near perfection with 
anticipation tied down and voila ...

we are permanently crossroaded 
and indecision will plague 
the simian brain structure 
with a logic based paradigm 
of sacred scared scarred ... 

the ghost aint
tables that are able 
to guide the wise 
but only through care 
to notice do fools 
surrender to initiations 
which run the gamut 
from degradation 
to soul gifting bottle 
and dry goods store fronts 
places where wear can 
a spirit be 
bought 
or sold 
on its terms 
or infinity's ... 


liberation armies all fight 
in god's name 
women fight god 
the goddess laughs 
directs the rain 
her water remembers 
everything 

she knows this 
we know this 
bliss knows this 
the sage in the mountains 
knew to lock away guns 
she knew never to say 
they were coming 
to enlist and enslave 
conclavity depravity 
and sewing circles 
keep your hounds 
nearby ...

in the barn 
on the rafters 
we've hung things to dry ...

winter the seeker 
is coming nigh 
autumn the color whore 
says why must I 
give up my party dress 
to bless the womb 
you cover hole 
hold anyway ...


EJR ©