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Cover To Cover
Losing my sight, walking around at night.
Perice’s the dark, a moment of candle light.
Your heart is a drum, it hears, breaths and sees.
Upside down, hanging from branches of trees.
The air that you breathe won’t stop your heart skip a beat.
The center of paintings that stare.
The rising sun when sleepy eyes start to blink.
Standing like a tree, the trunk is holding water.
Naturally eating, puffing cigarettes takes a life.
A moment in time when a man loses his wife.
Bundle of nerves to untangle.
One picture frame, your painting yourself in the dark
A ham on the table, a clean spot and you think your smart
It’s raining outside
One drop of rain, a tear from the sky that is giving.
An opening, a space that is rented in time.
Realizing the dark, it is the sweet that’s forgiving.
Plucking a flower, stealing the beauty of nature.
Ceiling overhead, a feeling we wish to escape.
Your closing your eyes, laying on blankets of grass.
Not to feel the pain, sunset that’s making you cry.
Like a good book, reading from cover to cover.
Standing in the shower, beautiful, ugly and fair.
The needle draws blood,
the uncomfortable weight of a stare.
The tired feeling of wondering where you are.
The smoke of a chimney does not always mean there’s a fire. -
Bluejay
Dedicated to my mother Lynn Gardner. Happy Birthday!
Check and unchecking punching in
punching out
laughing and running
and running out
walking and dying
and dying out
calenders and chapters
ended calenders
of windows passed
checked windows
framed with a couch
for each frame
dusted with words
xxxxx’s & ooooo’s
white paint glosses
over like gallery wings open
then opens, unhinged board
cold coins aimed things at
knowing, death slaps
together. Sung.
mouths part. Together.
my soft soft scarfed.
open hand.
moving steadily as an old
horse moves. Forward.
folding fields, remembered in measured
milk water basin. Best rented Clean.
train soul passes. Broken factory
A dirt callow
Morning. rooster rectory clacks
hollow. dusting death leaves
leavened humming bluebirds skyline steam
the dust roared with brown turpentine
cursed with crumbs.
unchecking paint patterns open
book cover, a re-print of silk paper
marks, stamped rubber
stripped lines
blurred, unchecked.
Bluejay inside, postmarked.
My soft spot scarfed
Opened hand.
Moving steadily like a cold horse
dappled forward. A hand shake,
Then a headlock.
No mortgage, no notice, nowhere to arrive.
Open hand.
Birthday reminder.Posted on October 19, 2012 with 1 note
Source: tigergroves.wordpress.com
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A Poem About Nothing
a poem about nothing
it has no words
stationary, still standing
different lines printed
different spaces
like no other colors
found, covers, a whole
hole punched
sewn and glued, open book
bound, empty, but full
nothing written, write right
like caring about nothing
nothing cares
epilog, indexed, interlude
number picked
put down, picked up
it covers nothing
like it’s lines
spaces spaced, station
nothing is there
periodPosted on September 3, 2012 with 2 notes
Source: tigergroves.wordpress.com
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Rambling in blue skies
There in was.
In my way, a large gray machine. Tenanted- to beat acquaint it’s chest.With myself.
To spilling it’s gas and clip it wings. Propellers steeped-right in the middle—
of a dutch painting
. There were to many armies of men gathering around to fix tits.
-dept-ed wings. Her it was.. Large overbearing fans sloth like. Giving window that bright
oversight-the shiny fur appeal
. Holy Sonnets, The Mother propeller and faith in the laws of Angels
. If you plan to sleep. “The American Way”. Scratch the surface of linted skies and the part terns
on the ground
. After being “hazed” in even in even conditions
When clouds themselves Sevres that dream.
Who’s love of Land sconced in undergrowth parts of war engines, the crowded rain in, honey
sucked dedicated to that thick sun
. You and me, pray by tongues without taste. But even when know words come, they frame
picture.
Hung by yellow dancers, tree stalks and yellow corn. Tubes of paints this dance with Kan-sky’s
vibes
. When time it self sup-ones. unafraid as we as time as if impassioned in light, losing our
balance,tree grow vertical.
Like leaves turn over, we squint, sane our words slight. Demand not flyswatters, warm with wind
Stretcher out in grain of Glassy, of sand, of boxes of the past blot as we wipe away , clearing
are shields and wipers.
Screaming.
Flies, swirling tackle, the worms splitting sorrow, last seen in {bracket}s mosses
. Pluck the sun Alar y and it’s nozzle to some “day” (Hot).
When litters of flies ramble like new-browns, dark lines on there tongues fluent in speech:
Ton-know A calligraphic sky IS, Does what words.
CAN’T SAY. -
The Gods
Here comes Zeus in his zuit suit
Hercules in all his glory
hot and bothered, looks for Venus
history and poetry
standing at the Mayan temple
watch them sacrifice a child
Egyptians prepare a mummy
watch out the gods are on fire
all chant when the sun shines bright
the gods, the moon, the night
looking at the stars and Mars
watching Aztecs playing ball
voices speak to Persephone
George is singing my sweet lord
everyone try’s to stand tall
even when their idols fall
what you must do against all odds
is try your best to worship the gods
some people take time to pray
pray to Billy Holiday
some even praise animals
to stop sky and thunder from falling
and after the day is done
some pray to Jim Morrison
walk to the door and turn the knob
drop to your knees and worship the gods
muses mount the Trojan horses
pyramids and the white house
Apollo take your pick
shine your tongue and join the mob
drop to your knees and worship the gods
