Sunday, February 25, 2024

( via )

Pantoum with a kick.

Mesmerizing ripples.


( via / via )

The Quest for Knowledge in the Western Poem.

plenilune plain · in the pale cerulean
blind blister · & witness to blather
that fails fam'lies · who forage in ruins
& brave bombardment · in the tightening tinchel



( via / via )

"So, my encouragement would be to surrender, yes – but to surrender to the mystery, not the certainty."

"A game the children play: toss a shoe at the power line, then hide, and watch, as the great spidery beast gallops across the wires to investigate" --@ctrlcreep

Glass Bead Games.

"Fresh Cuts

The distant mower sounds while a silent lone figure
with a pinched mouth colored by shade
bends long into loss.
A graveyard
A sprinkler
turns on and pulses.
Distant cut grass scents blur sirens.
The lone figure staring at the headstone's narrow dates"

--Richard L Matta in The Fib Review


( via / via )

What the robot probe saw. (via @mjohnharrison)

"Transitory Art (palindrome)

Sat in a van,
I saw I was inward senile.

Yet, as I sat,
eyelines drawn,
I saw I was in a vanitas."


String Quartet No. 4.

"In Old English, instead of saying you were ‘good at math’, you called yourself rīmcræftiġ ‘number-crafty’, derived from rīmcræft: ‘number-craft, mathematics’." --@wylfcen

"My family was looking for food under the rubble of my house. All they could find were books."

( via / via )

Pope's Gilgamesh :) .

"Saw a random undergrad in an elevator carrying a cool bag, so I googled it because I thought I wanted one. It costs more than my rent, and about half what I get paid to teach a course. This is not Dark Academia, this is Pitch Black academia." --@saintsoftness

Cold Nights.

"at rest from its flight
the swallowtail's wings touch
together each time
as if this space between us
never before existed"


Fear is just a daily consequence.

Saturday, February 24, 2024

( via / via )

My Family's Daily Struggle to Find Food in Gaza.

Into the Twisted Slippery Years we go
mildly surprised at the lack of flying cars.

So many friends have buried teenaged children,
parents who lost themselves before their footing.

Riveted to a screen--any screen--that shows
in oracular form how our despair unspools

& will it be the sky that then betrays us,
some rabid neighbor, pills, or the very air?

All we know is the frantic game & the voice
a robot has been given to tell us we can't.

A Thought is the Bride of What Thinking.

"wondering if a vinyl-like revival of print publications will be led by writers trying to make sure their work doesn't suddenly disappear into the ether (which is what happened to me and my fellow time out NY vets - one day, poof, years of work just vanished from the internet)" --@jemaswad


( via / via )

The Tradition of Autograph Albums.

"94: internet is ephemeral
04: internet is forever
14: only internet matter lol @ publishing in print or owning physical media
24: CEOs remove all your favorite shows for tax breaks and private equity firms buy up the websites you wrote for and delete your entire life's work"


"The last place I’d flown this far from home to study survival was Palestine."

"Memorial to an Owl"

The owl was not a taker-down of drones,
terror to nothing fancier than a mouse.

Though there are some who swear their lives were changed
their lives found changes with or without the owl.

Lately the owl gets fewer nesting spots
as word goes round the owl will no more glide

between us & the grasping empty night
in times to come we might as well call nearing:

that is a drone. The owl will take it down.

Fear is just a daily consequence.

( via / via / via )

First Notes Toward a Poetics of Liberation.


One night upon the southern sea
In helpless calm we lay,
Waiting for day,
   Waiting for day.

As goldripe fruit fall from a tree
A comet fell; no other sight,
But in the ocean tracks of light
Trembled—then passed away,

No sound broke on our waiting ears,
Though instinct whispered wayward fears
Of things we cannot tell—
   Of things the sea could tell.

No wisp of wind, no watery sound
Reached us; as if high on the ground
We stayed. A sense of fever fell
Upon each mind,
   Each soul and mind.

Until our eyes, that ever sought
The cloying empty darkness, find
Another shape—or is it wrought
Of terror?—on the deep
   The endless deep.

All dark it lay. No light shone out;
And though we cried across, no shout
Came back to us. As if in sleep
The black bulk lay so still,
   So still.

No sign came back; no answering cry
Cleft the immense monotony
That swathed us like a funeral pall,
In folds of menace; almost shrill
The silence seemed,
   And we so small.

Swiftly a boat was lowered down;
The rowlocks creaked; our track shone white
Behind us like God's frown,
   God's frown.

We clambered up that great ship's height;
There was no light; there was no sound;
Nor was there any being found
Upon that ship,
   That ship.

We groped our way along. God knows
How long the rats had been alone
With dust and rust! Yet flight was shown
To have been instant, in the grip
Of some force stronger than its foes
   —Its human foes.

* * * * *

Then sudden from the dark there thrilled
The distant dying of a song
That hung like haze upon the sea, and filled
Each soul with joy and terror strong,
   With joy and terror strong.

Upon the sombre air were spent
These notes, as from a hidden place
Where all time and all love lay pent
In lingering embrace—
   In lingering embrace.

Deep in our hearts we felt the call;
We knew that if our fate should send
That song again, we must leave all
And follow to the end,
   The end."

--Osbert Sitwell

"...'a cheap crummy carnival of death,' as the newspaper editor puts it, which is the worst kind of carnival of death."

"I remember a mentor once told a poet friend of mine, 'You can't bite the head off a pigeon in every poem.' " --@versedailypoems

My Life online.

( via / via )

"If Sylvia Plath edited an American Poetry supplement, which poems would she have included?

“The idea of the person enters poetics where art and reality, or intentionality and circumstance, meet.” --Lyn Heijinian

The Rejection of Closure.


That weary old Fascist, my on-flowing heart,
longs to age in the sun far from women and weeping,
or to stroll numb with blondes through a city's last days,
wild with fury and joy, as the streets fill with dead.

So a bad stanza goes. The truth is much worse.
But who can say what it means to live cold to the bone?
I demur, and confirm all your worst fears about me.
A man of my type cannot feel anything.

Our love rages on. I return to myself.
But return stooped and wan from a winter of siege.
I am making this poem. It will kill many things.
What I struggle to say you will say aimed the guns."

--Joe Ahearn


( via / via )

Psychedelic leaves to themselves.

"this morning
the emu escapes
the fan"

--@poem_exe 9/2020

"Yet still the unresting castles thresh..."

"How delightful to lie in bed in the lengthening afternoon, eating tiramisu and talking about art, about making and moonlight, about silverpoints and pastel smears on old paper, about layers of glassine and light boxes and platinum prints of smoke and swirl." --@MinxMarple

"Together, what can we know?..."

( via / lanny quarles )

Doctrine of the Emptiness of Forms.

"[William Dunbar] has at his command a resonant singing voice (a voice to lift a roof with) and a goblin energy which Chaucer has not." --CS Lewis (via @cwhowell123)

"The Ewok television films depict a gas giant in the sky..."

All good poets write for the ear. Lately, Geoffrey Hill in the UK, immediately springs to mind. In the USA, the alliterative poets are trying to bring that back, but too many are just smart people who end their lines before the page edge because they think they're supposed to.

Twyford Down.

( via / me )

"One of my poems was a clue..."

grief flowers · reflect these gray
& mild mellifluous · mortal hurdles
a wight wields words in · unrewarded
neighbor of Terminalia · nigh-downed moon
i traik trilobite grooves · am in trouble with Sacla
like you · i use the wrong door

newfallen lyric · proliferation of names
by the cerulean ruse · of rogue winter
churlish to wish this child · could achieve store-hush
as i muse postmodern · mediation of the Emergency

Interior. Artificial Light.

"On blustery nights, fast abed in our halls
We rejoice that outside, the jarring waves,
And cruel rocks may yet keep the raiding-parties distant.
We know if we fall unarmed into their hands
We will be no less loot than the boar-helms or rings
That they take from the slain."

—from Ulfhildr

"She improvised her own quiet penitent protest liturgy, where protest was her commitment to spiritual life in the face of her homeland’s demolition."

( via / via )

Violet in a gallary window in Paris.

"So in his sorrow · the son of Healfdene
endlessly weighed · how a wise warrior
might fend off harm. · The hardship this foe
of his folk inflicted · was fierce and long-lasting,
most ruinous wrath · and wracking night-evil."

--Sullivan & Murphy's Beowulf

Another Mucha style mari.

"THE ART (Aelindrome in the Decimal Expansion of √2)

The art,
a losing sun,
as she emerges,
only a swan
to her suffering,
may be dark
as turns of sky.

Do seas turn
so dark, maybe,
suffering her
as wantonly?

So, emerge as she —
sung in a lost heart."


February Fill Dyke.

Friday, February 23, 2024

( via / via )

brookhaven hospital SH3.

"In the interminable
boredom of the land
the uncertain snow
shines like sand.

The sky is copper
no light of her own,
we’d see the living
and dying of the moon.

Like the clouds
floating in grey, oak
forests nearby
seem like smoke.

The sky is copper
no light of her own,
we’d see the living
and dying of the moon.

Crow, you wheezer,
you lean wolves too,
when the bitter wind comes on
what will you do?

In the interminable
boredom of the land
the uncertain snow
shines like sand."

--Paul Verlaine (tr Adam Roberts)

Wind-blasted hawthorn.

"Old English words I've coined containing 'bear,' based on other Germanic languages:

brūnbeora = brown bear

clypbeora = ‘hug-bear’, teddy bear

ēmetbeora = ‘ant-bear’, anteater

īsbeora = ‘ice-bear’, polar bear

pohbeora = ‘pouch-bear’, koala

þēofbeora = ‘thief-bear’, raccoon"


"I realized tonight...that these gargantuan compositions revolve around a few simple puns."

( via / "devil lives in texas" by steve cruz, via fb )

Clouds Moving on the Sky.

"Cædmon’s Hymn

Now let us hail · Heavenkingdom’s keeper
Measurer’s grace · and His mind’s design
work of the Gloryfather · who wondrously wrought
the origin of All · Everlasting Lord
how Mankind’s Guardian · made for his children
Heaven to roof them · Holy Maker
and Almighty One · who after fashioned
this middle earth · for mortal men"

--tr Rahul Gupta


narrow sign between walls
the impassable-true
Upward and Back
to the heart-bright future.


mole, sea­-
coloured, far out
into the unnavigated."

— Paul Celan (translated by Michael Hamburger) (via @isidro_li

Looking Beyond...

Thursday, February 22, 2024

( via / via )

Mother and Child.

retinal aim
remain alit

a lime train
earn a limit

animal rite

Two kinds of rainbow waves.

"Who thinks now of Thor, who wielded the thunder,
Of the wiseacre Woden, with his vatic wisdom,
Of Frig the good housewife, or of phallic Frey?
In the wide empty welkin there is only Wyrd.
To Wyrd we submit, and the sentence of Wyrd--
And the stoutness of our strength, in our own stark existence."


Fire Exit.

( via / via )

Devil's Den on Fyfield Down.

"I’m not trying to overblow it. I don’t think we lost the Library of Alexandria when Elon bought Twitter to ruin it. But we have lost the bathroom where everyone went to smoke in the Library of Alexandria." --@lolgop

I see Lonsdale wrote a whole pamphlet on the Saragossa 1c3 opening with 2Qc2. I think we can all agree it deserves to be called the "Lonsdale".

"Overlaying creepers
Grow thickly on this house,
So desolate,
Folk nowhere to be seen
With the coming of autumn."


Several more named variations in this link. See what happens when i walk away from an opening?

( via / via )

Happy souls become restless anyway.

the same hinky hand
this dark as yesterday's
nothing but a hound dog

Amphibian Annihilation.

"that twinkle in your father's eye? legally a child" --@profitratedown

The new Korean Ulysses.

( via / via )

Green, purple, white moving abstraction.

"What I'm looking for in a writer's notebook is someone just as desperate, tragic, and wretched as me. That's joy!" --@egabbert

Friendly reminder that “Emile Corsi” never existed and all his “paintings” are AI generated.

"a name is deeds"

filled hours
hear the electric door
no more be wise

filled hours
with magic wars
& huge blots on the radar

filled hours
hear the electric door

However bad you think Google search has gotten, though, you should know that the reality for some website owners is even worse.

( via / via )


      "intrepid spacecraft"

golden clasp of a gorgeous clown-gig
redbrick route · regular stymie
good jam · i just generate some vibes
   out of a homemade misto

far far away all warfare
this cerulean kind · countenance can't
harm my home · or my small habits
   yet there's a needle of knowledge

our Halloween prize · precious to the discerning
   in this present of maze rats

Every particle of the world.

"Rosie pointed out how everyone in The Godfather is sporting the dry look instead of styling their hair with Brylcreem and I can’t unsee it." --@bob_calhoun (via @mattzollerseitz)

Dark castle dreaming.

( via / via )

In the Afterlife.

"In Latin, the suffix –turio could be added to verbs to change them from merely an action into a desire to perform it. So ‘scribo’ (to write) became ‘scripturio’ (to want to write), ‘dico’ became ‘dicturio’ (to want to say something) and ‘mingo’ became ‘micturio’ (to need to pee). --@HaggardHawks

Two very stylish cats.

"bookstrap molasses"

nowness & its discontents
prefer thereness
dust bunnies

in the air vent over the hamper

The creeping angel waiting for me in the hall at 6am.

( via / via )

"Poetry ends like a rope."

      "song writ on a potsherd"

   this wight wearied early
   of the widescreen sideshow
   noodles along lidless
   left with hefty flotsam
   in side pocket podcast
   puts his chamber blamefest
cannot beat the rogue bailiwick
   that says: thwart-mortgage

"...her brief but pointed account of the rise of de-versification counts the line break, abandoned by prose poets, as another lost form of mediation."

"Through the worsening night
he howled horrors at the hopeless watchers;
swore to end them on the edge of his sword
in a morning massacre: that he meant to offer
their bodies gaping, to the Battle-Father
on the gallows-trees, a game for the corbies;
and they mourned in their sorrow."

--Rahul Gupta translating Beowulf

On the Study of Wretched Subjects.

Wednesday, February 21, 2024

( via / gordon hilgers on fb )

"The desire for historical 'objectivity' has led many scholars over the years to miss what, in my mind, is the larger goal of the study of slavery: deep engagement with the individuals harmed and destroyed by that vile institution."

"The thing to do when life seems all a-topple is
To run and hide oneself in the metropolis."

--Anthony Burgess, Byrne (1995)

Just recursive colors trying to trick your brain.

crowded night sky · tarot delivered
by owls · intermittent inkdrops
cerulean roads · rise like reveries
of the inland ocean · i ask crows
to murmur me back · their matchless silence
under the gaunt gaze · of gathered waters

Throbbing trapezoids.

( via / via )

This opening became popular in the Saragossa chess club (Zaragoza, Spain) in 1919.

   Halyx a saga
of the lefthand path · dry bones
   lift & reunite

out past Audelia reggae
& a memory of myrrh

How to Wins Fast with the SARAGOSSA Chess Opening, 1.c3!.

"I began as a profoundly apolitical writer, but then I began to do what all novelists and some poets do: I began to describe the world around me."

-- Margaret Atwood (via @stonecirclerev)

sildenafil (viagra) dissolved in ammonia under a microscope.

( via / via )


"like misty moonlight
in the eyes of that caged bird
looking for love"

--@poem_exe 2-18-16

David defeats the Ammonites part 2.

      "rat i Vivitar"

orichalc grinning · gray overcast
   rug waltz to wend there
skulltopus scoping out · where the sky meets the sea
   i am passed repeatedly

not now named · for animals autos
   i could use a few more years
the trades of entrapment · flourish in trouble times
   whistle song wharfside

dingy trees drift · a doleful parade
   middling malls flow too
whistle song wharfside · & whether i get there
   or crash on the way i cry

Children in China also grow up with stories of Mullah Nasreddin.