Posted in Consciousness, moans, poetry on Sep 27th, 2011
this is for Jesus
this is for Jesus
caused nobody else is listening
Jesus by default
halfway to Calvary
waiting on the end of days
or the jackpot
that’s the Mona Lisa
inscrutable smile
ease of days
Grace
what passeth all understanding
but comforts my confusion
waiting on the end
for here are the empty nights
that follow the lonesome days
they cover the loathsome ways
of the enterprise
did the Lord give [...]
Posted in Consciousness, metaphysics, moans, poetry on Aug 17th, 2011
devoutly to be desired
I.
“I’ve got it down
to a poignant tear or two” she said
but she lets the flood flow so easily
II.
river of life
it keeps flowing
it’s endless
they say
river of life
ocean of God?
you know those turtles
or elephants
that were all the way down
the wise speak
of an ever-present peace
and love
or bliss
as the conscious substance of the universe
the light
the [...]
it’s all about…
heavy stilted words
for me and my friend
twisted metal words
like clumsy faux gargoyles
oh a few people celebrate us
we’ve a few fans
me despite my sulky sorrow
he despite his sulky anguish and rage
we didn’t rage the good night
we stumbled to bed and the grave
would you like a monument?
or you just laughing
pretending to laugh
at me
what tchew leave [...]
Sliding Between the Lines
Today I got to slip between the pages. Just now, while I was speeding in the passing lane over the Bathurst viaduct, the black sports utility van inching past me on the inside got flagged down by a cop. For a moment I thought it was me.
Then at the corner, waiting [...]
Rambling words: a moan
How empty like my life has become
vanished fantasies flooded
empty home
retired for the most part
pillar to post
walking the dog to bitter tears
worrying
for whatever reason
worrying
Jason’s gone
the last explorer
took the express over the edge of the world
only I remain
inside the doorless windowless
waiting for the goose
to let me out of the bottle
The neighbours look in
you alright [...]
Wu
there is nothing in this sketch book to be preserved
nothing of my life will be preserved
well trickles will pause through other minds
smudged and smeared
on rare occasion
the dogs will pine
click on the pigeon to home
Bookmark It
