Wednesday, December 3, 2014

SO MUCH DEPENDS ON A POEM

So much Depends upon the Letter S

As it circles around its Radius

as the Sounds disappear in a Rattle

Faces its Past in the Letter of F

Breaths that it Loses Recovered then Since

Font is a Serial of Silence Shed

Sound of the Speeds of Imagination

Hollowed by Open Mouthed Vowel Consonant

Beauty is tje Binary of Consent

As Delight the Memory of the Dawn

Awakened, Bequeethed its Details Chiseled

FGHIJKLMNO
PQRS  Because Glazed Rainwater
Glased Rainwater on Red Wheelbarrows   


--To the Use of a Variable Phonetic Instrument Poetic Line.
Geometric but Serial, Red/White

Tuesday, November 25, 2014

BEAUTY OF LOVE

--beauty is by authority of love

No is but One in reverse and excised.
A numeral for up or down counting.
That is prior to itself in order
It merely appears at the exact time.

A sequence that starts without origin.
--just like a word game played in the abstract
that connects the loose boards of toe tack’s tick
Sticks and square tiles will not move again

If not by coercion or destruction
when it is shattered to pieces so lost
to pick them back up seems impossible
the spirit has seen and heard enough, knows

Life is a precedent of Love’s own will.
When it is not possible, it still will.

Monday, November 24, 2014

INFARTO FLOR

Cultiva Flor Corazon Infarto


Desolado y Radiante Aun


Es la mas Fragil Desalojada


Perpetua La Vida Motor


La ingenieria Implacable Ver


Atraves de Paredes y Postes


En seguido Los Petalos brotan


Alcanzados por su Vuelo, Aerias


Nace del Crepusculario Vapor


Los antecedentes de Las Lluvias


Escultas de Gravedad Absoluto


El Zero punto de la Valores.

La ley de la Vida   la Ley Moral

Entres las dos no hay Variables.

Saturday, November 22, 2014

SUN FLAME

The torch flame of the sun strikes at the earth.
Consuming its fire extracts the air
a vacuum appears the clouds hold their breath
and a day made for beauty is filtered

The filament source becomes animate
discerns what it would destroy without thought
and departs from its nature to create
a world for the living a world forethought

While its destruction is delayed a time,
wind and water muting heated extremes
undergoes its temperate hastening
then disarms its potent awakening

For just one touch of the solar exhaust
would incinerate everything at once.

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

NOTHING CROW

I study Crow who already knows me.
I come with my  trade marks of a human
No wings.  No shining black feathers.  No beak.
While he in his majesty’s soft feathers
Muscular shoulders, mechanic talons,
Brought together in his miniature form
everything to its breaking point, giant
if not by proportion without a flaw,
My size I can’t measure with his though large
For though I am large I’m a Know Nothing

Crow see I am a threat of perception
and won’t let me get closer than closer.

Everything Depends Upon So Much

THE SONNET IS A 14 LINE POEM
WITH TEN EQUAL SOUNDS PER LINE AND ONE RULE
THEY BE ACCENTED OR UNACCENTED
AS WITH MOST THINGS THAT EVERYTHING DEPENDS

UPON


FOR WHY ELSE WOULD THERE BE DIVISIONS IF
NOT TO DISTINGUISH WHAT COMES AND GOES: TIME?
AS IT NEVER DEPARTS YET SAYS GOODBYE
SO MUCH IT SAYS HELLO TO EACH SECOND


AND LIKE A RED WHEELBARROW or WHITE
CHICKEN, IT IS DRAINED OF COLOR THEN TURNS
INTO CRYSTALS OF ITS OWN HOURGLASS
HALTING FOR NOTHING TO BEGIN ANEW

AS THOUGH RHYMING OR NOT RHYMING HAS DEW
IT MEANS NOTHING TO A SONNET AT ALL



To Spring and All, 1923 William Carlos Williams

Friday, November 14, 2014

SWAN SONG

The Swan in the Swan Song is so Precious
Its feathers are lighter than Sound waves push
The voice of a Tenor through Destruction
Flames of the Abyss when forward they swoosh
Captivate with the Glory of Sunsprawls
Lift from Auroras Consumed in NIghtfall
As smoother than Glass the Water’s Surface
Glides as it Severs its own Existence
But not before its Tumult is Unbound
Deep the Lake will drive through the Silent Depth
To insulate the Power that spells Doom
Designed to preserve the Universe Whole
Submits to its Necessary Defeat
And Gathers from the Ramparts the Volume
Of Melody condenses its Poem.