phenomenological

phe
nom
e
no
logic
al phe

Your Honor

Time is of the sentence, while
verbs reveal their intents
for adjective nouns (pro or no
comment) quickly in vents
meant for air, but coarseness
courses through upturned grates  
shredding of courses into no ways 

to go from here to home,
awaiting infinitely fine moments
caressed along necks of silken
skin within the wear of stretched out
glances left lingering still
in compassionate ponds rippling
soft warm smiles lazily by
the melting cares of the world
golden in luxuriously wrapped light
playing across the surface & through-

out into emerald encrusted irises
to cast love’s shadow over
swamps of fear gurgling neuro- 
toxic diatribes against plu-
perfect pasts & future
imprefects presented in a case to
Your Honor’s (the jury) out of bounds
dissolved with ear ration-
al solutions mixed & stirred
thoroughly throughout,
without spilling too
much.

I’m sorry, I can’t help myself.

This is a cloud of top words used in my poems on Hello Poetry. The 39 poems I’ve published contain 2269 words (also thanks to Hello Poetry’s stats), so this is a minor summation.

Regardless, I see it as a potential well of inspiration—generally, my poetry comes right out of left field, with the occasional bright blueprint idea to construct—but more and more I find myself looking for new avenues of approach.

nothing doesn’t truly disappear

nobody whose who’s
bloody bleeding nothing’s
lost or found (amongst
swing swung sounds)
rebound where 
nowhere’s echo off violence’s
clamoring dictum: to each’s own
silent stammering victim  

no bits limit the need to share
no stars emit light without due glare
no atom resists the urge to fuse
no one exists alone to choose

yesterday isn’t tomorrow’s
friend forever, yet
if not, one today might wonder
when rain wasn’t
more than lightning’s thunder?

Gloss’ll ail ya

Truth? a lewd’s you
in known certain terms:
whether veins, when drowned
hawks a gin (loomin’)
a shin splinters as
mines bore on; why ‘ol
car bonfires grow tired
of a pack o’ lips’ wisp ring,
“Hydra Djinn—
purgare Sit nox diem.”
Redeem and weep
in tents, faces & phrases
met a fizz[i call]y
drunk in jest id bouts
wrested liver’s tried & tested [buy con-
testant after contest-
ant] where West lids gaze
in two, the joy of the flame
hungry’s gasping for air
[nothing’s becoming] bright
berthed of ash-end tombs
lit up in the night.

(Source: hellopoetry.com)

To Zero One Two

twenty twelve brings twenty elves
to recommend a few more selves
and bigger shelves
for fuck’s sake
it’s time.

suffrage

why can’t I just
it’s just that
I’m sick and tired of
if I could only
the problem is
I don’t know why but
I can’t believe
but that’s what I mean
I hate it when
it’s annoying how
I can only imagine
if only there was
but it’s like
isn’t it funny how
now see that’s
I mean obviously
it’s just ridiculous
there’s just so many
I really do think, that, you know
it’s just one of those things where it’s like
see, no matter what
I can’t fucking stand it

(Source: hellopoetry.com)

authorize liberty

author eyes liberty; head line reads:
man found missing
his heart blindly beating
minds in violent bursts
silencing nows, whys & firsts
for getting up set a bout ways to go
toward liberty’s shine
perhaps one day bright enough
for all

(Source: hellopoetry.com)

"Works of art are of an infinite loneliness and with nothing to be so little reached as with criticism. Only love can grasp and hold and fairly judge them.” [Rilke]. In my proud and humble opinion, those two sentences are worth all the soi-disant criticism of the arts which has ever existed or will ever exist."

E. E. Cummings, i: six nonlectures

sticks; stones

words are bones of the dead
exhumed by mind or God or worms
to serve as the razor’s edge
carving trenches along
tongues where words are hung on tips
of innocent cliffs above guilty shores
while dreams unravel their threads
to shed narratives even nightmares
fear to tread
the labyrinth from ear to eerie
plunging fathoms beyond waves
into oceans without words
where context meets
space;meaning meets time
swirling currents

before your eyes

focusing your sight
into a thousand words
of blistering might illuminating
recesses with signs of life
clung fast to the boiling point
of excitement possessed by ecstasy
ebulliently freighting sweet air
to the surface
where the survey concludes
that pollution occludes all reasons
as to whether or not
the will might’ve brought
a word or two from
original thought

(Source: hellopoetry.com)