create your own standard

Fireside Chats & Mountainside Musings

we briefly sojourned in a small city
where Safety was a prevalent watchword.
Bugged me then and it bugs me now, although
to specify a why was elusive.

Then yesterday (a wild bird might’ve
played an author spark) a few threads til now
frayed at last chose to try a fuse, and whence
along sauntered a small band on a train
in little hurry to reach conclusions,
but still, that combo of sight and sound brought
(or rather observed a somewhat feckless
attitude towards the importance of
luggage with a lot of stuff, and so they
more or less dropped) a couple of nuggets
well worthy of marvel by a mortal.

Their gist went something like: to be alive
is to break rules and give the finger to fate;
consensual standards would likely be
quick to agree when I say I can’t draw.
The answer is to cease seeking consent.

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field guide excerpt

start by looking for a lab coat
though in the field their forms may seem
like normal humanoids; feel for
lack of communication warmth,
and keep an ear alert for cold
recitation of statistics,

and if a bird is heard to sing
it must of free will be bereft,
as only humans practice craft.
Make no mistake: sterility
will always be the quality
intent on extinction of joy

gentlemen we are in a war against pleasure

Fireside Chats & Mountainside Musings

deep within the space of special signals
the absentminded martian tasted love

and saw a light: what a major mistake
was made in military enlistment

where the meandering mind could count on
an engagement in perpetual war

with lackadaisical leanings pitted
against sergeants hooked on barking orders

and left to wonder how and when bullets
and churches ended up having babies

preaching against Exotica and her
many morsels found in her darker nooks

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even I don’t know what it means

Back to the spring made for bathing in sin,
and face it, shades of iconography
need not obliterate festivities
as a tale is extra hard to conjure

if access to nervous modesty is
given the old forbidden realm treatment
taking shape as a gate which gold is fake
and where in the dickens does this warped strain

intend to sneakily slither towards
if not to the angelic bathing space
unless the desire is avoidance
and cannot help but reach for gaudy garb

testing once more

giving in to the pelt’s needy wet mix
of plea and demand, genteel fingertips
play with a glider’s expertise
a rare instrument known as a horny
droplet; said dewy beads

common wherever the sighs that signal
a spring may peal. And if the joy
is as history has assumed and does
truly possess roots that stretch all the way
back to the dawning of mankind, how else

must a misty-eyed mystery lean,
except that this blissful abandonment
setting free hordes of cries
held for ages in dungeon bonds,
is true prayer’s genuine genesis.

same old, same old

the shock, the fear, is real
(oh no, not this again)
and strikes like a viper

training to be a boxer
and a bold of lightning in the moonlight
(proceed, but with extreme caution)

– the thought taking the shape of sight
and curtains drawn reveal all the words are gone.
Rushing in, shouting, screaming in despair:

I knew it, I knew it, I knew
it – oh let me have the last
year back! Oh but then a sound

that could be nothing but a noun
came shyly from a cloud, and more
nouns came, and verbs emboldened, fell as rain.

The Annoyance Train Is Clearly By Design

Come to Timmy

Maybe it’s just as well this voice
will fly without an encounter
or a chance to fill a vessel
a fellow wanderer carries

on the path trod by few but we
who know the song long sadly worn
and understand Here We Go Again
with the predictable chaos;

interruption-intrusion game
an absolute necessity,
to compete for phantom limelight.
Forced to ask: was this always so?

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some of the bad, some of the good

Reading articles on the internet
about life prior to the internet
had this mustang’s head going nod, nod, nod

especially the smut magazine lines,
as in haywire action in the nerves;
sometimes angels would leave one in the woods.

So the old moratorium arose
or the old moratorium idea,
due to simple sunsets and sunrises;

lasted a good five hours, and by god
a bunch of them codgers hit a bullseye.
Yet. Blogging kitchen poetry is dope.

Did I just see the light?

in case this blog is yet visible
(I forget why or how I ended up with two that are about the same – sorry for any possible confusion)

Come to Timmy

am I having a damascus moment?
after forty years in the wilderness?
suckered in by cocky rock star excess?

This is what happens while exploring words
and investigating Commodity.
I was always a horrible salesman

and conventions felt alien, evil.
Talk about branding always left me cold.
Got a mind to put everything here.

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when they mess with my Holy Book