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The Fretted Terrain

I must soon quit the scene – American Analog Set

I recall our foundation. Of course there was red. I painted them in long strokes, uplifted by tectonic knife quakes, striped, a solid evidence of early onset B layer formation. In the middle of a vast body of watercolor. There were people on those and now I see them only in my dreams. Or I in theirs. Dancing.

–

There were two.

–

I. Imagine Monument Valley. Now forty times taller. Forrest Gump is a speck. A bit of dust in your eye.

–

II. The Fretted Terrain. Think of what the mariners saw. Think vikings. It’s like that. Red, falling, crumble. The creator resembling that of a drunk architect, or a spider on LSD. Rickety.

–

A return returns a retinal shock to find the tall stack, the I. toppled and knocked, or moved or all. The water’s gone. Now bone dry, silt deposits, slightly darker, coffee rind topography. All that remains is the crooked tower known as Carroke Point.

image: munir

Tags: geography, monument valley, music, Poems, Poetry, red, Reflections, the fretted terrain, thoughts, writing

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Horizons Below The Earth and Not Above

12 Oct

Air – Biological

O'   underneath the steady growing backlit sawtooth leaves,

A    single history hidden beneath. Curators of the heart, 
     unpack the spark. Set it free. This one's his to solve.
     Planting puzzles(from something like the pit of an olive)

Be   strong. Be strong for me in the rain. Don't rust, tin man.
     He did. He was ferrous enough for the both of us.
     The anger. Broke his mind. Splint his old ways but hope
     they never return.

See  the sum of the parts. The perfect upbringing. Rustic.

image: keighty

Tags: curators, nature, Poems, Poetry, rust, tin man, upbringing, writing

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I keep them in pockets

8 Oct

Keeping time by counting pauses in our speech.

Clockwork.

Keep cool cat.

Keep catatonic.

No longer polyphonic.

Semblance of history.

Repeat.

CTL-Z

Repeat.

A mnemonic

coulda come in handy.

Yesterday.

A of a

of a

Now let me put my hands away.

Tags: Poems, Poetry, writing

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I’m climbing into the corpse of a whale

3 Oct

Lisa Hannigan – Nowhere to Go

She spoke to me of hands,

that afternoon.

And I dipped mine in sands as

we all knew.

She showed me delicacies, in depth

topography.

Perhaps, it was lost on me.

I said,

“I think mine forgot all of these

intricacies,

or they were burned off in my

infancy.”

“Look” she spoke, coaxing smoke to

speak “It wasn’t me.”

“They’re there.” pulling my hands from

sea bones.

Telescope eyes focus, begin and I

atone.

I sky scanned and saw sails that

drew me in.

Wind that need these thin threads,

that bleed.

Knead thoughts, by now she had

the read.

Impede. She cannot know about

The Seed.

image: Unidentified photographer

Tags: Poems, Poetry, writing

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Shudder Fotter

24 Sep

Sparklehorse – Return to Me

I walked, and ghosts awoke me.

So very high a bridge beneath

my feet.

A man who jumped before

paused.

A girl engraving light

on slides behind glass.

They see the same sight.

They hear a similar score.

But different tones of thunder and brass.

A moment before.

Equivocal and opposite,

God’s Grandeur and the loss of it.

Open mechanical and golden gates.

First opened for the descent

four days late.

image: Curtis Gregory Perry

Tags: Poems, Poetry, writing

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Nobody else even knows you exist

18 Sep

M83 – Facing That

Yes, yes, it’s true, I am your only friend, nobody else even knows you exist. They will. And it will be the greatest day in the history of mankind.

Light letting fog pale blue and lavender hues reach my eyes and I comprehend with cones. A world too beautiful. I see plains before the time of names, before signs and invisible lines I went and vanquished.

On the tip of the sky, I know what I’ve got.

I left coffee rings on everything.

Where did these elbows grow?
–

image: Giant Ginko

Tags: Poems, Poetry, writing

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We fall from trees with grace

13 Sep

Flying Lotus [feat. Laura Darlington] – Auntie’s Lock/Infinitum

Sometimes you can’t wade through,

and thoughts they carry you away.

Drop.
–

And you’re falling with the rain,

Impact back in bed again.

Awake.

Pause Pause

Grow Grow

Orange Orange

Stop Stop

–

And you’re back underneath.

Sometimes we ride the tide,

and sometimes we hide in the deep.

tied by vine sheets.

Heavy foghorn hair

skulking in the ocean green.

Perilous eyes seem tongue-

tied toes turning in trailing kelp.

Help knew no beginning.

–

Too long I’ve been sinking,

sinning in my dreams,

stinking up the seams of my sheets.

image: jspad

Tags: music, Poems, Poetry, writing

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Something to puncture your thick skull, to rip hulls on some quiet night.

22 Aug

Blip – Sounds of Faces

Nights that call to me, and the mists that wrap their shoulders, and the lights that are their eyes. I’ve been waiting. And even though I ignored your brothers, I will pencil you in. Spontaneity was never a strong suit, but not a weak side I’ll forget. I remember. My head craned to the sky and I left the others behind. The stars, a second, a year. Not a minute I’ve been here, and only a minute to go. Will I dance around die? Or have something to show? Would I care if no one knew my name?

I see lemongrass groves.

I see hooves of snow.

image:Lundra.sawson

Tags: Free verse, Poems, Poetry, Quiet, writing