fear & frothing in Reno
i see no next unearthing
nothing but gargling Drano
our slain fog house of sleuthing
Cathy Gould at Uncle Calvin's.
“Bedecker of imminences, bedecker
of the parenthesis.”
–David Smith’s Trilce
In the Hangar the space opens up.
"...wart-sallowbrown, the swan of wounds,
hazy-plumaged; the horn-nebbed one.
Scream of scavengers. Scolding jargons
chide, rame and chirm as they choose morsels;
the squabbling skua, the skirl of whaup,
grey herring-gulls’ gabble and yammer:
mews’ glee at meat."
--Rahul Gupta
Loren Eiseley's poetry online.
"The Goddess Who Created This Passing World
The Goddess who created this passing world
Said Let there be lightbulbs & liquefaction
Life spilled out onto the street, colors whirled
Cars & the variously shod feet were born
And the past & future & I born too
Light as airmail paper away she flew
To Annapurna or Mt. McKinley
Or both but instantly
Clarified, composed, forever was I
Meant by her to recognize a painting
As beautiful or a movie stunning
And to adore the finitude of words
And understand as surfaces my dreams
Know the eye the organ of affection
And depths to be inflections
Of her voice & wrist & smile"
--Alice Notley
Fear and loathing in reno, detailed oil painting, remedios varo, james ensor.
"dwindle"
the day's spurious sparkle
would work bodycount shutdown
sneak & go traffic snorkels
i cackle an early countdown
can't heed the hurtful tire-light
tourbillon entity past
forage esters by firelight
slow hours iced by fast days
“Every great literature has always been allegorical, allegorical of some view of the whole universe. The Iliad is only great because all life is a battle, the Odyssey because all life is a journey, the Book of Job because all life is a riddle.” –GK Chesterton
"the hawk
accompanying the lonely moon
of silence"
--@poemexe.com
"Children of Light
Our fathers wrung their bread from stocks and stones
And fenced their gardens with the Redmen's bones;
Embarking from the Nether Land of Holland,
Pilgrims unhouseled by Geneva's night,
They planted here the Serpent's seeds of light;
And here the pivoting searchlights probe to shock
The riotous glass houses built on rock,
And candles gutter by an empty altar,
And light is where the landless blood of Cain
Is burning, burning the unburied grain."
--Robert Lowell via Divas of Poetry
“We: faded light, a path;
gilded all in art lumina.
Madness went —I say—
away, all lit.
Solemn, ill, I was sent.
I was a bird,
a sad rib;
as a witness:
a will in me lost.
I’ll lay away as it.
News, send a man.
I’m ultra nil, laded light.
A path gilded a few.”
–Merlina Acevedo
Zoomorphic Vessel in the Shape of a Potato-Bird.
“If Hegel had written the whole of his Logic and then said… it was merely an experiment in thought…then he would have certainly been the greatest thinker who ever lived. As it is, he is merely comic. - Kierkegaard” –@nologos_
Skateboarding Corgi.( I want to believe this is real.)
Rannaighheacht and Its Variations.
"Fickle Fall
Falling for blue eyes is fake
if two make terrified too
you and talismans you take
for sake of whistle or woo.
Physical feelings shall fade
like shade on a weathered wall
making all things never made
or forbade for fickle fall."
--Robert Lee Brewer via
a lemon omela mourns
earnest but oft rug-erased
targe what it says on the tins
friends to be quick-sacrificed
"Upper Sandusky"
unreal city integral
to our exile hauntedhome
finding but folly a Grail
& gruesomest Grendel-hymn
Hike at Dog Canyon, New Mexico.
Fritz Leiber in The Silver Eggheads (1961) invented a name for computer-generated writing. He called it "word-wooze".
Grim Goes Fishing. (pdf download)
"Billionaire baldmost | writes bold paycheque
on blistered skin, | bludgeoned labour
woeful in warehouse | where want is King."
--@thaliarchus.bsky.social via alliteration.net
"exilradikiteso"
Salem or omelas seal
ermine global gulag ring
as witchetty winds assail
home of the staple hail-sting
Cortège of Palestinian Children.
"Circle
Cod, give needles and oil.
Winter hands.
Must sew shrouds by lamplight."
--George Mackay Brown
“The bark
or nightword”
–Loba
I Say a Little Prayer. (The lowering of her voice at the beginning of the last verse is the sexiest thing in pop music.)
And this: wing-whirr of geese,
wind-arrows in narrow
formation confirming
sea-currents still foment
their baleful heat, hot blood
and gold-greed still breed in
the mind; sea-wolves still found
fine steel in hearts: yours; mine.”
–-Ian Crockatt
"there is no try"
melodious road · arugula
Jingirdag journey · five seed bread
promiscuous mourning · some salvage
is not needful · nor suffices
in the antelucan · utter rout
of signs
"...the folk-tale, the hero-tale, of our particular niche in history."
"The future is going to be about correcting dodgy data inputs."
“Necessity of Ghayb
Stars nor sands comprise a googol,
only chance’s gaggle
choice-penumbra teeming. Giggle
who can’t goggle,
yet when Norns gargle
drains gurgle.”
–Milton Burro, Charbroiled Gems & Created Addictions (2000)
Been working on a painting this weekend of the enslaved labour camp burning down.
“The man who has a grave or two in his heart, does not need to haunt churchyards.” –Alexander Smith
The Bastard Reading Challenge.
"Dwellers in precarity must provide themselves with a narrative future." --M John Harrison via
the bulbous years brillig
rebuttal flames guttered
day by day undoing
the derne work of many
alibis ravened
day by day undoing
done deals & repairs won
a lemon omela
by trouble bypassed · that was in the cards
vestibule of learning
& as shapes define · edge & emptiness
i wage gift return
rabbit of rescue · that was yesterday
the coliseum thronged
red clouds on the radar · the air thickly crammed
& then it went elsewhere
"The first 100 days of the second administration were indeed bold, and seemed to have something of the quality of a big-budget sequel to what had initially been an indie film unexpectedly elevated to the status of a hit." --Justin Smith-Ruiu at The Hinternet
Out here, beside the turquoise pool,
unshielded from the traffic sounds,
i yet may dream of frozen moons–
or lying on a sun-dry towel.
No inspiration trammels where
the clockwork of a verse-wright grinds.
So Gautier who took such pains
could lose the tuning of his lyre.
Two shades of weathered wood enclose,
& both still darkened by the damp.
Some birds i hear, who sound like hope,
& less like all the other jazz.
Perhaps i may be on the mend
after so many days spent tiptoe
high on a wire, no ground in sight:
& uncompanioned save by wind.
Tribunal from the distant future. Brings up a 21c human for questioning. Who is unable to provide anything but lying or nonsensical answers, to every question.
"According to him [Augustine], Punic was still spoken in his region (Northern Africa) in the 5th century, centuries after the fall of Carthage, and there were still people who called themselves 'chanani' ('Canaanite') at that time." --Wikipedia "Punic language"
“Blondin
With clinging dainty catlike tread,
His pole in balance, hand to hand,
And, softly smiling, into space
He ventures on that threadlike strand.
Above him is the enormous sky,
Beneath, a frenzied torrent roars,
Surging where massed Niagara
Its snow-foamed arc of water pours:
But he, with eye serene as his
Who sits in daydream by the fire,
His every sinew, bone and nerve
Obedient to his least desire,
Treads softly on, with light-drawn breath,
Each inch-long toe, precisely pat,
In inward trust, past wit to probe—
This death-defying acrobat! …
Like some old Saint on his old rope-bridge,
Between another world and this,
Dead-calm ‘mid inward vortices,
Where little else but danger is.”
—Walter de la Mare
“There is no news from Auschwitz
along that funeral plain
green wipes away old waves
that rolled the eyes
and tangled flowers veil vile kennel dust
bequeathed to dawns.
the years are done.
the earth bent toward canals bears
sterile bowels repenting woven eyes
while bone-filled drifts that scattered blood
yield other births.
death is not there: no special people
trailing alien dens,
or children moving in the rain of ash
unraveling minds.
life is not there: not even myths that rode
young stallions to a circus tent
and carried torches on a convent wire
beyond the tides.
no other signs that men patrol chained
sheets of sea.
i grieve our empty ships.
there is no news from Auschwitz.”
–Sonia Sanchez
“You see how I stand, an altar consecrated to the Pythian god, polished by the craft of the musical art of the poet; so fair am I, bringing most sacred offerings, suitable for Phoebus and ftted for these temples in which the choruses of poets make their acceptable gifts, adorned with so many woven fowers of the muse, of such kind as must be placed in the Heliconian groves of song. No workman polished me with sharp tool; I was not hewed out of the white rock of the mountain of Luna, nor from the shining peak of Paros. It was not because I was cut or forced with the hard chisel that I am straight, confned and hold back my edges as they attempt to grow and then, in the succeeding portion, let them spread more broadly. Cautiously I force each edge to be drawn in, line by line, by tiny steps, in lines turning in, thus following on, regulated everywhere by the measure, so that my margin, within the limit which rules it, is that of a square. Then again, continuing on to the bottom, my line, spreading more broadly, is artfully stretched according to the plan. I am composed of the measures whose rhythm the muses beat out, and the number of feet is never changed. As the rules of the learned principle keep these measures unchanged, it is the letters of the poem that increase and decrease. Phoebus, may the supplicant who offers these metrical pictures take his place joyfully in your temples and your sacred choruses.” –translation of Optation’s Altar, by Jan Kwapisz in Morphogrammata
Herman Miller's Youtube channel.
"Poor man wanna be rich
Rich man wanna be king"
--Springsteen
A brief history of the Canadian ghazal.
“A killing
at the heart of all their stories
and if we meet as lovers
cop and the chief suspect”
–Regina Niger, The Cat Who Coughed Up a Hairball (2007)
"In a destroyed place, art is taken seriously.."
dove have you been in pain
while i was in pain
somehow you sound sadder
closer to trailing off
without resuming
don’t do it
i need to keep hearing that sound
Of the Leaves That Have Fallen. (via )
Imagine leading a guided tour of the relics of what had been the 80s Dallas arts scene: there aren’t any. Every building has been removed. “You stand here,” i say, “and imagine it was somewhere you wanted to be.”
Corporations by Seppuku_Doge
byu/Dr_Burbeans inCyberpunk
"Lófasz (horse dick), a highly versatile and definitely the most frequently used animal penis word." (thread)
“What I thought was a tomato plant that miraculously survived the winter is actually a weed. I have been lovingly nurturing it back to health for several weeks. Feels like a metaphor for writing philosophy.” –@aliboyle6
Color in silent movies. (thread)
"A pilgrim
Ice
Ingesting hubbub
Gnash written into cold
Thilling existence [sic]
Creation
Intent
An extremity
Gone
Ample as a dandelion
Wondrous as a place
Vast as a mountain
Eternal as a hat
Dead as a cabinet
Torn as a mountain
The sagacious pilgrims
A hovel of pilgrims
Callous shanties and late pilgrims
Desisted”
–Issue 1, 3610
Juggalos Upset Over Emergence Of 'Clowncore' Scene.
"dusk future"
blank agenda · contemplete berm
coffee is cooling
deep shadows to sharpen
shush word & cartouche
what these shows have whizzing
while the Kind Ones smile
parked cars · in the pale dawn
traffic a-scramble
deep shadows to sharpen
shush word & cartouche
must get cracking, marksman
amok doesn't duck
there's a new nudge · never flinched
sky is for burning
chapbook fodder chides me
charred shadows to guard
what these shows leave whizzing
while the Kind Ones smile
How publishers designed books before computers...
“It is Ghalib’s fate to witness the massacre in the streets of Delhi and to see his city reduced to ruins in his lifetime. …There is a situation of lockdown and curfew in the city; anyone found in the streets is liable to be killed. … There seems to be no access to even basic necessities of life, including drinkable water and food. …Despite all these odds, he is a professional poet and writes a paean for Queen Victoria.” --The Inconsolable Ghalib
“However it happened, I was in the 7th edition. For half a decade, I was part of Contemporary American Poetry. I was included! After so many years of excludedness, I was in. In the 7th edition.
But I ain’t in the 8th.” –Bill Knott’s Blog (1/6/2007)
cannot draw back one green sprig
into the branch of the day before
plants die by degrees
a felicity unknown to the animal kingdom
no more need to be wearing gray
but gray is all i have now
gray prophetic
& somehow also beside the point
nails keep breaking in small ways
like my words, before they can make their point
arms remember where they were pierced
absurd stigmata, Gray, but what other?
"Not Real Windows
I lightly let go of my sanity,
that Antarctic gear
of monstrous precautions.
I say: things are not so bad
here and now
and how they do it…
Ten thousand years later I am dug
out of a glacier
with flesh on my bones.”
–Ogden Pound, Ransom Notes That Have Worked (2006)
Exile without cunning is just being lost.
Taiwan's morning sun rising over the Asian Pacific.
"The problem (one of the problems) with using mutants as a 1:1 metaphor for marginalized groups is that they're simultaneously an oppression metaphor and a power fantasy." --@edidin.bsky.social
febrile brillig · abrupt snare
the case to be made dwindles
still we strive · over corrugated
mem'ries, the fruit of retrospect
dead malls speak · spent inundation
tell a sorry return
trite betrayals · authors reread
have nothing much to say
brillig-colored sky · opals that look like
topaz, knowledge that will perish
in splendor & the sluice · slathers contempt
a gravelly hardware stop
i walk · where words wither into
empty & emptier shelves
& all they will have · in the hard turnings
is that the maze was bad
this riddlesky · skims souls from the drivers
who percolate unknown
beneath it nuggets · or spooled hist'ries
of aspirations thwarted
the night draws on · i have this madwatch
i took from a cooling hand
Babel one · storey more
is lifted now & forever
by the dry river · brillig scum
accosts the passing nose
& this was paradise
"to speak to the architect"
all things unfold for a reason--
a belief that i cannot endorse
it's a phrase people say
when they wish to allay
the griefs of a terrible season
an architect plans for a target
& you know when that target is met
but we tumble along
like a haphazard song
adding drawbridge & minaret
humans have sometimes a purpose
as the other harsh appetites churn
neither measured or sane
but a kind of terrain
besides the dirt one we learn
ah, were there an ultimate endpoint
or even less toxic recoil
to what doesn't work
i'd be happy to shirk
this lament; put shoulder to wheel
dream architect: nightmare the season
as sometimes the sixsideds land
though cause & effect
in their way must direct
there's nothing to understand
though cause & effect
in their way must direct
there's nothing to understand
"Toad found a lantern in the attic. 'Frog will see this light. I will show him the way out of the woods,' said Toad."
--@frogandtoadbot.bsky.social
"It takes a fictional drama set on other planets to say what the news bulletins won't.."
Works of Lina Persson. (Which i cannot help seeing as Moorcock's character "Una Persson".)
“The desire for freedom is the desire for new rules. And new rules mean new names for things.”
- Adam Phillips, Unforbidden Pleasures via @jacobwren.bsky.social
trunk of shuffled aliases
disassembled puzzles
somebody else’s treasure
dragon’s howe
but nothing buried
nothing really finished here
all alive & all dead
(2019)
