LYNN UNGAR'S BOUNDARIES

Finding work that echoes my sentiment isn’t a frequent occurrence, so when Billy Brown, editor of the Fixed and Free Anthology and monthly open mic, forwarded the poem below, I’m sure my pores excreted elation. With Lynn’s permission, I am posting her poem and my reading of it. Spreading poetic messages of value is treasured pleasure.

Note: The title contains a link to my audio reading of Boundaries and Lynn's name contains a link to her website.

Boundaries

 ~ Lynn Ungar ~ 

The universe does not
revolve around you.
The stars and planets spinning
through the ballroom of space
dance with one another
quite outside of your small life.
You cannot hold gravity
or seasons; even air and water
inevitably evade your grasp.
Why not, then, let go? 

You could move through time
like a shark through water,
neither restless or ceasing,
absorbed in and absorbing
the native element.
Why pretend you can do otherwise?
The world comes in at every pore,
mixes in your blood before
breath releases you into 
the world again.  Did you think
the fragile boundary of your skin
could build a wall? 

Listen.  Every molecule is humming
its particular pitch.
Of course you are a symphony.
Whose tune do you think
the planets are singing
as they dance?

 

~ Lynn Ungar ~

 www.Lynnungar.com

(Blessing the Bread)

PE: THE MANIC MIND

I've heard that we are in Mental Health Month, and although I'm not a fan of these designated months, it appears that most of the rest of the world is. With that in mind, here's a piece that fits with the theme. 

Note: Click on the title for audio version (slightly different from written version until I have the chance to re-record)

☯  The Manic Mind   ☯

05/02/2022

I tried and failed then I tried again

and still there was no fruit..

didn’t I put the seed down deep enough

in ground rich enough

to let these thoughts take root

 

They're down there I know I can feel em

 jockeying for position giving each other the elbow

I'd just be wasting my time

trying to get em all lined up in a row

 

They do their thing you know

giving you a zip one eye-blink and a zap the next

they'll get buck wild witcha

throw shit at you without no context

 

That's what a manic mind will do for you

it's got its valleys it's got its peaks

its desire only dallies though, and

it can be double-barreled when it speaks

 

It spins it whirls does cartwheels on clouds

tap dances on placid lakes.... 

but the heaviness, the heaviness will circle back

no matter how long or short it takes

 

Its "inconvention" is not 

a matter of thoughtful intention

nor an act of will, but I suppose

that's one of the reasons why

they deem the manic mind ill...

yeah that makes sense

 

I mean this is a ride that rollercoasters

with a ferocious cheek-flappin’ frequency 

so when you engage with a mind like that,

it would be a cool thing to

bring a certain level of leniency

 

I'm not saying that's required....or

even that's it's something easy to do

but if you could chances are good

it would benefit the othered

and most likely you.

NEW AUDIOBOOK PROJECT: LIQUID SUNSHINE

I am truly looking forward to producing the audiobook version of Kwantum Peakz's soon-to-be-published Liquid Sunshine poetry collection! I was not accepting audiobook assignments because I have quite a bit on my plate already, but the good folks at Findaway Voices must know me better than I know myself, because they notified me of an audition opportunity anyway.

As I usually do, I took a quick look through the audition request, and was immediately captured. In addition to displaying wonderful poetic craft, and extremely clean prosaic composition, Kwantum Peakz’ introduction to Liquid Sunshine and the first few poems I read exhibited a level of transparent authenticity that I seldom encounter.

I haven’t completed my first read of the collection yet, but the key thing here is that I really want to read this collection and would want to do so even if I was not I was tasked with shining the light of Liquid Sunshine through vocal expression.

We are only at the beginning of the process, but it is a journey I am anticipating with relish, and for any who care, I will be touching on the process and the work from time to time as I go.

PE- JULIE

In the tradition of old school calypso, particularly the work of the Mighty Sparrow back when I was in short pants and couldn’t wait for long ones. This piece was written from a prompt during the Stroll of Poets 30/30 Challenge and first read publicly during the Poetry Street open mic reading on April 30, 2022.   

T. A. reading Julie

DEZEMBER ALL YEAR LONG WITH WILD CONVICTION

Note: Click on photos to enlarge

When you preorder Mary Dezember’s Wild Conviction and participate in her efforts to promote the book, you never know what you’re going to get. But as with most things Mary, you do know you’re likely to get more than you normally would from just about anyone else.

I was a lucky recipient of quite the package some days ago, and while you have to do a few things—participate in the novel’s promotional activities—to be the recipient of such a package, it was far more than I expected.

As has been the case with all things I’ve observed thus far (her website, blog, Creatives in Conversations show, etc.), when you get something stemming from Dr. Dezember, a perennial educator, you usually learn something as well. Case in point is her tidbit about Gallatin’s wallet I got via email.

But the goodies in the mail are just the tangible ones that you’ll get from Mary and Wild Conviction. Given the continued, seemingly ever-present fixation on “race” and “gender” in this country, Wild Conviction’s attempt to cast a different hue on both conversations is noteworthy. It will be up to the reader to determine whether the novel actually succeeds in doing so.

I won’t be a spoiler—even a little bit— here, because too much has gone into Mary’s effort for me to spoil that. But I will say that it’s good to read a work that seeks to contribute something fresh to the “race” and “gender” narratives, while remaining captivating and entertaining. It appears that Inkshares agrees with me, because Wild Conviction was a winner of the Inkshares 2020 All-Genre Manuscript Contest!

In her own words, Mary has “worked long and hard crafting this story so that it is engaging, well-written, sensitive and significant to historical and current issues of human rights, equality and freedom.” In my world, good, hard work that seeks to improve the human condition warrants a looksee at least. And when such efforts involve talent worthy of touting, I’m all in!

In addition to her fiction, Mary’s poetry and community works demand attention. Click on the above links to explore Dr. Mary Dezember’s world of art and community service.

NAVIGATING THIS BLOG

I'm still trying to figure this blog out so bear with me. The following are some tips that should make things relatively simple if you choose to visit from time to time:

• Clicking on photos will enlarge them for easier viewing
• 
  In the column to the right, you’ll see “LABELS.” I’ve tried to create labels to help navigate the posts. “PE” in a label means that it is a poetic expression (what most would call a poem), “UPDATE” will indicate my latest “what’s happening”
• Titles of poetic expressions (PEs) are typically also links to audio and/or video versions of the expression
• You can search for keywords as well

Please don’t hesitate to offer critique and your know-how if you have some to offer. I’d like to make this as easy as I
can for anyone who visits. Thanks!

BOB DEAN'S AERIALIST: A RESPONSE

 

The Aerialist might not be performing but the tunnel rat certainly was...

Amidst the petaled words, blooming language, the images that steal time and dare you to reclaim it, there's a patina of heartbreak throbbing between each line...well, not exactly each line, pero me entiendes, verdad?

There’s enough not-quite-faded ventricle splatter in Bob’s five-part gem, The Aerialist Will Not be performing, to leave a trail any experienced love traveler can follow. Case in point (pardon me while I butcher Bob’s layout), in Steps, you can creep up on, “…today as I pack the half of us which is mine one last time and forever…how your steps led one way and mine another…” Sorry, you’ll have to read the entire piece yourself if you want to sup that nectar.

And follow the trail far enough and you’ll run into the landmark, “…walking with you a bit down the road until we come to that hostel known as the Parting of the Ways…” which you can find in The One the Brothers Grimm Left Out, the piece that closes out Part Two. Yeah, sometimes you can see/hear/feel/ an artery pulsing red.

And while you’re traveling down, down where aerialists seldom tread, don’t be surprised to somersault into some nostalgia…not a gently sorrowful nostalgia, but one with grit and defiance, wielding a sarcasm stiletto that slices the throat of today's world with a rusty vengeance.

Like in Let us find a city which opens Part Four, in which you’ll discover, “…we are people and we want to be moved without flexing an emotion. Give us Alexa, Siri, Uber…Let us grow fat and lazy…let us have cocktail guests who will worship at the reliquaries [Whaaaat?] of pristine ellipticals and always-on 75” LED UHD 4K oracles.” Booyah! Can ya say, “Booyah” in response to poetry? I just did, so I guess you can.

Nope, that ain’t all. You can paste on a plastic smile when you’re braced by “…we are happy here in the nirvana of industry, the heaven of high tech, the holiest of holies of high finance…” and so on. No wistful pining that!

And then, there’s just straight up fun. Like in Trinity, which people in their 30s might not get because…well…there’s a PHONE BOOTH in it for criminy’s sake! And you gotta love a poem with phone booths and “I don’t know from Nasdaq…” and “...I’m left holding only the red-hot night in my hand.” Well at least I gotta love it.

Ok, seriously now, from where I sit, The Aerialist… is a work primarily for the “cultured,” for the well-read. Classical musicians of European ilk, visual artists in the same vein with bulky shoulders of work swoop in grandly for cameos, mythical figures erupt from Olympus and slither through escape hatches from Hades.

Quick! Before you grab your android-iphone who is Sisyphus? Flying Dutchman ring a bell? And Bruegel, a Dutchman who may not have flown but his painting surely soared before humans knew they had wings. And speaking of wings, I can’t remember if Icarus brought Daedalus along, but he didn’t escape these pages.

And how about dropping some Latin into the mix? Can you live without a little “Lignum vitae” in your world? And I suppose it is quite appropriate to trip over Ovid in this collection that flies higher—and of course lower— than any aerialist ever could.

Ok, so if you’re not the well-read, MFA, Ph.D. type—someone like me in other words, you’re gonna need a Google chaser to help you savor and swallow the vintage single-malt nature of Bob Dean’s Aerialist.

If you are the kind of individual who has a monster bookshelf in the background of all your Zoom appearances…AND you’ve read at least half if not most or all of those esteemed volumes on your wall, you’re going to be as happy as a sus scrofa in excrementum.

Don’t get me wrong though. There’s plenty in Bob’s work for us regular Joes and Janes without much English Lit, Latin or art history western style gumming up our commonality. I mean, cruising through Ripple Effect (a Haibun)—which I haven’t looked up yet…on purpose—I had to pull out my pen and underline, “The elderly couple holding hands while pedaling the bike machines want more time before one hand or the other goes empty.” Ya don’t need a bunch a books on a shelf to get that! And surely you’ve seen, maybe even felt, a “broken heart of a face.”

For all the caviar, polo, and fencing you’ll encounter there’s plenty of hotdogs, peanuts, and boxing as well…ok, maybe not plenty, but enough to remind you that Bob’s from Kansas and Texas, turf about as far as you can get from Rue des Martyrs as you’ll humbly come across in Still Life with Roman Noir.

Listen, can you truly appreciate poetry and not get a little bit giddy over “watching the bone-bags of what-could-have-beens swirl down the gutter?” I guess you can. And I’m not too old for vague memories to help me get, “The bricks blush still remembering the heat of us in the night.”

Yeeaaa. Not only does Robert Dean, Jr. know how to open and close a poem, he sure as bleep knows how to open and close out a section. No, the aerialist might not be performing, but I’m glad Bob is, or he might not have written Leaving Dallas (After the Reading), which closes out Part Three, and we—I should probably say “I”— would have missed out big time on this tooth-snapping nugget!

Bottom line? Even though the Aerialist Will Not Be Performing, chances are good that the tunnel rat has saved the show with its fearless digging into the dirt of life!

CATCHING UP: THE LATEST

 What’s Up in May & June?

https://tapoetexpress.blogspot.com/- A brand new poetry-related blog only just taking shape.

What a joyous collaboration with poet Hiram Larew and musician (harmonica) Cliff Bernier! This link is to a video with Hiram and I reading a selection of poems (10) from across Hiram’s five poetry collections, with Cliff augmenting the readings with his haunting Harmonica.

We hope you enjoy it as much as we did. We’re grateful to the folks who offered feedback and to those whose images we used on the project.

https://www.poetryxhunger.com/create/poem-by-t-a-niles- A poetic expression dedicated to Hiram and his Poetry X Hunger initiative.

Hundreds of poets from across the globe are featured on the Poetry X Hunger website so at least on the website there is plenty to consume and digest.

I’m looking forward to chatting with Brian Tawanda (AKA Towanda Ryan) of The Sailors Review (takes a moment to load, so please be patient)- the publication born of VaChikepe and The 100 Sailors- and to

Brian Tawanda

having our interview, along with at least one poetic expression, in their June issue (Issue no. 59).

Started contributing to C. C. Arshagra’s THROV (TheHumanRoomOpenVoice) and working with C. C. to advance this

long-term, paradigm-creating, Living Art project. He’s done so much practically alone- although he’ll tell you his friends have been truly helpful, and it’s such a worthwhile vision that I can’t help but lend a hand where I can. My first “artistic” contribution as a free speech individual (C.C.’s term) can be viewed here. It touches on the Roe v. Wade Supreme Court situation.

T. A. Featured Readings

Poetry Street on the Road on May 28, 2pm EDT (12pm MDT, 11am P) directed and hosted by Chip Williford & Magge Bloomfield (check her out on SpoFest at 26:38 of this video), two accomplished poets, at the Riverhead Free Library in Riverhead, NY. This will be a hybrid (in-person & Zoom) event at a venue where some truly gifted poets reside and visit. It will also be historic for me as my first ever featured reading of my poetic expressions- a far cry from delivering academic conference papers or teaching tennis!

And if Rick doesn’t change his mind, I’ll be at Cobalt Poets on June 14, 7:30pm PDT (8:30 MDT, 10:30 EDT). Cobalt Poets (every Tue. Night) is only one exit on

Rick Lupert’s Poetry Super Highway (PSH) but there’s very little you can’t find on this stop. Cobalt is probably as diverse an open mic venue as you can find and worthy of a drop-in regardless of who is featured. Gotta tell ya, Patricia Smith who featured on 5/10 dang near gave me high blood pressure! Here’s a link to that event.

Well, that's most of what's happening with me on the poetry scene. Looking forward to hearing what's up with you on whatever scene you're surfing.

INTRODUCTION TO POETIC EXPRESSIONS: PART 1

So why Poetic Expressions instead of Poetry? Well, because I'm not sure what poetry is. But I do know what I consider poetic. Most of what I write here will be attempts to express myself poetically. By poetically, I mean trying to be creative with language in various ways. I mean writing in a way that if read aloud, some sort of rhythm and flow can be detected, and for the most part, it doesn't sound like everyday speech. 

I have no formal poetry training or education. To date I haven't been to a single poetry workshop. In fact, I have been to one writing workshop period. And that was because I received a scholarship in 2021 to a nonfiction/memoir workshop conducted by the Community of Writers. It's quite likely that that was my first and last workshop. I will always be grateful for that experience. 

I say that to let you know that you are likely to find all sorts of expressions here, ones that may or may not meet the "poetry establishment" standards. I couldn't say because I don't know what they are, and don't have much interest in trying to find out. I am merely trying to express thoughts, emotions, observations, musings and meanderings and hoping to strike an emotional chord and stimulate some thought in those who choose to stop by.

I had the writing of a book of poetry in mind, but since my immersion in the world of poetry over the past 10 months, I've decided to abandon that idea. I had a name for the book (From the Core: Expressions from the depths of heart and mind), was well on my way to compiling the pieces for the book, had cover art that I intended to use, and had a draft introduction. Matter of fact, here are the three images I was considering for cover art:

And here was the intro draft:

Introduction: Come Join Me

"What is poetry?" one may ask. Poetry is the author’s expression of self… a word picture drawn by pen in the colors of life spied thru author’s lens… well I guess these days it really isn’t a pen in most cases…

But that’s the very sweetest thing about poetry you don’t have to follow all the rules, it is free and freeing… if you find yourself capable of seeing that fact and can allow yourself to act without the fetters that constrain you…normally…

Oh, you aren’t normal? Then perhaps you, too, expel inner demons with words… do tell…

Pain doesn’t stain when belched free in a flurry of fingers…a heart’s song is sung louder when the singer’s digits dabble on keys…oh yeah… or perhaps with pen…

Ya know sharing has always been a big deal for me and that is what I seek to do with poetry. If my expressions tickle your fancy, coax a smile, lick your ear like a teasing lover, squeeze your heart just little bit, then call it poetry. If it doesn’t, just think of it as sharing. 

When you’re all done, you will have consumed a piece of me and somehow I will have consumed a piece of you…don’t ask me how just take my word for it…that’s what you have to do anyway with this stuff…ain’t it?

Okay, that's probably enough for this post. For more on my take on poetry, check out Introduction to Poetic Expressions: Part 2- Thinking About Poetry & Me. And if interested in how/why this thing got started, check out Poetic Beginnings. Glad you took the time to hang out with me for a bit. Until next time...

INTRODUCTION TO POETIC EXPRESSION: PART 2

Thinking About Poetry & Me

Do the words sing and dance? Do ear bells ring? Does your chest swell or shrink? Do stomach muscles contract and wring unease from twisted sinew? Do ideas collide in kaleidoscope, do they sneak up and tap you on the shoulder when you were listening the other way? Do you find yourself surfing melancholy seas, swimming in memories too deep to wade or splashing in shallow froth of everyday experience? Does your head bow in reverence or shake in abhorrence? Do your hands demand to clap, do your fingers command a snap? Do you soar and crash and thrash and gnash and wonder how the hell you got there? Chances are good that your eyes, your ears and all the pieces of you that matter have been claimed if but for a moment by poetic manna.

Poetry is like jello, a granite boulder, a morphing cloud, a cement stanchion, it’s rocket fuel and quicksand, plaintive entreaties and strident commands, it slinks and swaggers, hollers from mountain tops and weakly whispers your name and every other, wraps its arms around your shoulders like a favorite brother, stares you down before it winks, trips you up before lifting you up with extended hand, it shuns you, it pulls you close, it captures freedom, corrodes common chains and releases…releases both joy and pain…

It is the reader, the listener, who will determine whether my expressions are poetic or not. I write about what moves me, what stimulates or stomps my senses. Of course, I’m hoping to touch your senses too. Ultimately, I suspect these expressions say, what we call poetry says, “I’m here in the world with you. This is how I experience it. Can you see it through my eyes? Can you hear it through my ears? Can taste it with my tongue? Can you caress it with my fingers? Can you inhale it with my flared nostrils? Can you feel it, Can you feel it…Do you want to?”

Okay, enough! I wanna blast this blogpost off into the ethersphere and let it do its thing. Glad you dropped by. Oh, before I go, in my world, poetry can be visual, can be auditory, can be both. Sometimes it has to be both to get the point of a particular piece across. For example, in the piece below, Gibberish Gjourney- written during the Stroll of Poets 30/30 Challenge- you have to be able to read the actual lines and hear the sounds to grasp the essence of the piece…and even then the grasping might still be a challenge:

Gibberish Gjourney

Tired of dwelling in Illing Noise, I thought I’d head for Truth or Consequences- an abandoned city.

I’d heard that there were meticulously constructed

but empty structures still standing in Convention Square there.

I had passed through Normal, skirted Cancer City

when I saw a phrase stumble over the border wall

and fall before climbing into a sentence

without brakes and unpunctuated tireds…

The map hadn’t shown that wall…

My maps often omitted phantoum structures anyway…go figure…

Anywho, the phrase must have realized its predicament

because without apparent clause it climbed out the window

and, like an idiom, slipped across Stanza Blvd

and started hitchhiking to…No Meaning Whatsoever…

Meanwhile, ideas zigged and zagged like cracks spreading

in asphalt too much driven over, their fragments dangling

over roadside railings as if to jump into the nothingness

waiting below to catch some significance

I found out that Reason had left Rhyme

two counties behind trying to catch a ride

with a broken thumb that couldn’t even bully a pinkie anymore...

it was forced to try another finger…

A few miles down the road Simile, in its euphemism,

tried to saunter past the border sans clue about the sin tax on metaphornication. She almost got edited without bail,

but Cliche rolled up in a Deus ex Machina

disguised as a Deuce and a Quarter, paid the toll

and they drove on down the road together

in reminiscence of obsolescence and four-play.

They laughed about the time Naked Rhythm and barely-dressed Rhyme

tried to penetrate the membrane between Mumbo and Jumbo

and hy men- beyond compare in contrasting uniforms- put a stop

to that none sense and rode Rhythm and Rhyme outta town on a qua train.

A nagging nagging nagging thought kept recurring…I

was as mad as Max in a palindrome, only had a little rations left

and since I’d already be cum a master baiter of hyperbaton,

I thought I’d better double entendre back the way I’d cum…

Now, well-versed in aimless travel, I reflect on that an epic odyssey of a journey to which this piece is an oderous homage or omage if you prefer- I know some people pay omahj to Tarjay…

I hadn’t found Truth and the only consequence is that I find myself right back in Illing Noise where I started, far too close to Normal.

Again, even with eyes glued and ears peeled, this piece might be a challenge for many to consume. But that’s just in keeping with who I am anyway, soooo…until the next time, as my man Hiram would say, “Here’s to poetry!” Whatever that is to you.

POETIC BEGINNINGS

The Stroll of Poets 30/30 Challenge finished yesterday, and it wasn’t until late in the day today that I realized I wanted to keep on going. However, a 4am wake-up, focused video production work, and 5 hours of Zoom gatherings had me “deep fried” as Stephanie said when I alluded to being fried.

Stephanie also calls Haiku “Hiatus” because I mentioned that to comply with the 30/30 challenge even when I was whupped and/or muse-devoid- AKA uninspired, I could always write a Haiku. Writing Haiku would be a form of hiatus from having to come up with something more extensive.

I did one on Days 6, 8, and 12 of the Challenge. On Day 27, I intended to do one, but ended up doing four, and stretching the prompt theme, which was “loophole.” It’s listed below. Today, I intended to write one just to keep the streak going, but I ended up writing three, again extending the theme of the original Haiku that I came up with.

Rick Lupert

Having just had an exchange with Rick Lupert- founder of the Poetry Super Highway (PSH), Cobalt Poets and so much more- about my mispronunciation of Haikuniverse (where my first ever poetic expression had been published less than a week ago) probably stimulated the notion of naming what I was doing with these multiple Haiku pieces.

I thought I would name the piece I had written today a Traiku, but when I Googled the name, I found a website- Hello Poetry- that is actually devoted to Traiku, and it was the same basic idea that I’d had. Not sure if it is an active site though. If you follow the link you’ll know why I’m unsure. I also thought I would name the piece I wrote on Day 27 a Quaiku, but that name, too, was taken! Glad I’m not too hung up on being original or I’d have had salty beer.

I may be fried but I’m not daunted. I figured I’d try Quaraiku and that did not come up with a Google search. That name might be out there, but for now, this is what I am calling that piece from Day 27 and any like it I write in the future. If someone shows me that the term is already out there, then I’ll be back at the writing board.

1st published Poetic Expression

So, what’s’ a Traiku? As I am using the term, it is a somewhat coherent piece/poem that contains three original-
form Haiku (three lines of 5-7-5 syllables) that share a related theme. Unlike the original Haiku form- according to my coach- titles and rhyming are optional in Traiku and Quaraiku as I’m thinking of them. A Quaraiku would contain four Haiku on a related theme, and we could go on: Quintaiku, Sextaiku, Septaiku…you get the drift. How cool would it be for the Haikuniverse to spawn another poetry galaxy!

Rick might not want to claim it, but there’s no doubt in my mind that without me stumbling upon all the immeasurably great work Rick has done for a quarter century or more in the realm of poetry, the notion of combining multiple Haiku to form a single expression wouldn’t have occurred to me. I would be very surprised if people haven’t been doing this for centuries, but being a neophyte, I have no idea what they’re called.

J R Turek Collections

I will be consulting with my poetry guru- and I’m using that term about as loosely as my 10-year-old boxers- Judy J R Turek. She let me know that the plural of Haiku was not Haikus, that Haiku don’t have titles, and other bits of must-be-important-poetry-stuff that I had no clue about. I still don’t have much of a clue, but just like there’s Google, there’s J R Turek when it comes to poetry…and she’s probably google-esque with other stuff I don’t know about…YET!

Hiram Larew

My poetry Godfather, Hiram Larew, maybe be as knowledgeable, but Judy is way cuter! I mean, she has purple freaking hair! She takes that “Purple Poet” moniker seriously! Oh stop people, we’re both m-word, and it ain’t like that. Listen, if you have Hiram Larew and J R Turek as your mentors, and you don’t learn stuff from them, put a plug in your left ear (or right, depending on which way the wind is blowing) to stop the breeze from flowing through. Shoot! I think I hear some whistling.

So anywho, below is the Traiku I wrote today, and below that is the Quaraiku I wrote on Day 27 of the 30/30 Challenge.

Traiku #1- No Finish Line

Finished line is crossed
So soon nostalgia beckons
A new beginning

New accomplishment
No time for dust to settle
Resist laurel rest

Inspiration steeps
Pregnancy but no labor
Wet and gushing words

Quaraiku #1- Escape

Loophole- an escape
Ethically in question
A me-first venture

In some instances
A smile becomes a loophole
Honesty recoils

We rationalize
The external takes umbrage
Rest in peace Dear Truth

Living off target
Secure in my false knowledge
Aim was not quite true

Thanks for stopping by 🙏.

PE- GIBBERISH GJOURNEY

 Gibberish Gjourney

Tired of dwelling in Illing Noise, 

I thought I’d head for Truth or Consequences- 

an abandoned city. 

I’d heard that there were meticulously constructed 

but empty structures still standing in Convention Square there.

I had passed through Normal, skirted Cancer City
when I saw a phrase stumble over the border wall
and fall before climbing into a sentence
without brakes and unpunctuated tireds…
The map hadn’t shown that wall…
My maps often omitted phantoum structures anyway…

go figure.

Anywho, the phrase must have realized its predicament
because without apparent clause it climbed out the window
and, like an idiom, slipped across Stanza Blvd
and started hitchhiking to…No Meaning Whatsoever.

Meanwhile, ideas zigged and zagged like cracks spreading
in asphalt too much driven over, their fragments dangling
over roadside railings as if to jump into the nothingness
waiting below to catch some significance.

I found out that Reason had left Rhyme
two counties behind trying to catch a ride
with a broken thumb 

that couldn’t even bully a pinkie anymore...
it was forced to try another finger.

A few miles down the road Simile, in its euphemism,
tried to saunter past the border sans clue 

about the sin tax on metaphornication. 

She almost got edited without bail,
but Cliche rolled up in a Deus ex Machina
disguised as a Deuce and a Quarter, paid the toll
and they drove on down the road together
in reminiscence of obsolescence and four-play.

They laughed about the time Naked Rhythm and barely-dressed Rhyme
tried to penetrate the membrane between Mumbo and Jumbo
and hy men- beyond compare in contrasting uniforms- put a stop
to that none sense and rode Rhythm and Rhyme outta town on a qua train.

A nagging nagging nagging thought kept recurring…

I was as mad as Max in a palindrome, 

only had a little rations left
and since I’d already be cum a master baiter of hyperbaton,
I thought I’d better double entendre back the way I’d cum.

Now, well-versed in aimless travel, I reflect 

on that an epic odyssey of a journey to which 

this piece is an oderous homage or omage if you prefer- 

I know some people pay omahj to Tarjay.

I hadn’t found Truth and the only consequence 

is that I find myself right back in Illing Noise 

where I started, far too close to Normal.

THE MANIC MIND

☯  The Manic Mind   ☯

05/02/2022

I tried and failed then I tried again

and still there was no fruit..

didn’t I put the seed down deep enough

in ground rich enough

to let these thoughts take root

 

They're in there I know I can feel em

 jockeying for position giving each other the elbow

I'd just be wasting my time

trying to get em all lined up in a row

 

They do their thing you know

giving you a zip one eye-blink and a zap the next

they'll get buck wild witcha

throw shit at you without no context

 

That's what a manic mind will do for you

it's got its valleys it's got its peaks

its desire only dallies though, and

it can be double-barreled when it speaks

 

It spins it whirls does cartwheels on clouds

tap dances on placid lakes.... 

but the heaviness, the heaviness will circle back

no matter how long or short it takes

 

Its unconvention is not a matter of thoughtful intention

or an act of will, but I suppose

that's one of the reasons why

they deem the manic mind ill...

yeah that makes sense

 

I mean this is a ride that rollercoasters

with a ferocious cheek-flappin’ frequency 

so when you engage with a mind like that,

it would be a cool thing to

bring a certain level of leniency

 

I'm not saying that's required....or

even that's it's something easy to do

but if you could chances are good

it would benefit the othered

and most likely you.