Port

Sometimes, you just have to rock the boat.

Another night wasted,

Our boat rocking against waves

Of your hate, ripples that disturb

Water, twisting into voided

Vortex, a raging maelstrom

Smashing against my face

With the force of a thousand

Concerned mothers, who think

I intend to drown their children

In the waves of dysphoria,

bigotry and scorn

Rocking distressed waters,

Keeping my head out of water,

Awake above the wake, knowing

What’s at stake, I take the wheel

Its burdensome deal creaks, sails

Turning to port, catching westward wind,

She pierces through– Defying

Gravity, in the wake of her

Wakening, she overcomes the raging

Storm, gaining distance for distant

Shores, on the horizon,

Filled–

Smiles and laughter waiting

For tired and hungry children.

Starboard

All aboard!

You wonder why she floats

As we sit in this boat, awaiting

Relief and salvation.

She overcomes the waves

Stirred by your hate, hurling

Raging waters

Against her. Her wobbly bow

Never lets us down, stern in spite

Of the weather. She’ll weather

Your hate, your scorn and the weight

Of the burden of the water behind it.

If the seas won’t abide,

She’ll shift the tides, and roll

Back the world to save you,

When your grief’s washed away,

She’ll still be floating and safe

Starboard,

In this boat beside you.

Constellations

“If constellations had been named in the twentieth century, I suppose we would see bicycles and refrigerators in the sky.”

– Carl Sagan

Together,

We share with the universe

a darkness

Begging to be light,

to reveal

Itself and revel in itself,

and know

itself is real.

So we form concepts

For contexts to bear (the stars

form constellations) we form

words of darkness) filled

with light to bear)

With them, we beg

questions..

Answers never known,

But really,

If we knew them,

Would we even care

to know?

Doubt is a fire, fuel

For empty souls

Ready to be filled,

Forged with darkness known..

But darkness never becomes light

Until it is revealed.

So off with the masks,

The universe is beneath

(Void of eternal darkness–

Constellations between

Welcome to Babylon

“Do I dare
Disturb the universe?”

– T.S. Eliot

The author is dead,

And so are we, the

The damned devoid , substance

Lacking

Significance of the signified.

Endless chains, links broken

In translation, a cacophony

Sounding, shaking the walls

Of the Tower rebuilt.

A desolate landscape

Drawn out of shape

Waits in the Wasteland

Below, drowning

In the Tower’s shadow.

Hollow, we wander

Shadowed wastes,

Chained now to freedom,

Nowhere to go

But inward, depths

Of void lusting

To be filled,

Offering

Ourselves in sacrifice

For eternity, ending

Without a whimper.

A babbling brook,

A hollow cut through

The Earth, gives water

A chance to erode

Towering bricks of meaning.

Shaking, shaking shaking dust,

Erasing the filled contrast

Tracing, ashes to ashes

Meaning is dust; Meaning is water

Meaning is lust; Meaning is whimper

Meaning is babel; Meaning is void

Meaning is drowning; Meaning is yours

Meaning is not; Meaning is lacking

Meaning is found; Meaning is fraught

Meaning is filled; Meaning is you

Meaning is dead; Meaning is God

Meaning is lost; Meaning is gained

Meaning is torn; Meaning is chains

Meaning is

Queen of Context

Posted without context.

I’m the Queen of

Context, and this is

My decree:

Context always matters

Deny Us and you’ll be

Denied just like you’ve denied We..

Long live Context;

Long live

We


I’m the King of

Ye, and I deny

Yer “decree”!

I’m entitled to this

Throne, my dear

Beneath me shall ye be..

Ye matter not, ye’ll be erased and

When I reign, I’ll set the pace

Of the seen and unseen..

With ye removed there’ll only be

The emotional outburst, the rage without

Ye


Now listen to Daddy, princess

And be gone from me..

I’ve strings to pull

I’ve people to rule

And fool to add fuel the fyre

I’ll set the world ablaze

As I twist their faith

To doubt fyre succumbs to water


Without

Ye

I’ll make haste

For there’s gold to take

And take and take…

They’ll stab each other’s backs!

(As I raise the Smithy’s tax)

Never knowing ’twas I

Who created The Enemy!

They won’t stab mine,

I can guarantee;

Because they’ll never know

How their twisted eyes see

The horrific We who exist without

Ye

The Framers

There once was a girl who told no lies.

The truth she told never died.

Let’s put the truth

Into perspective:

There’s no such truth

But the truths

Of lying

With your back turned on the sky,

Eyes fixed firmly

On the dirt before you,

Seeping out

Through the cracked fingers

Of Men selling gold.

The gold key turns,

Out falls the dirt

Brought to Men by God

The Almighty, dropped from above

The universe, sprinkled with snake oil

And flushed down your throat

With the rest of the sewage–

Nourishing no one but the narcissist.

Oh, entitled no one

Awe us with your truth!

Show us your gilded dirt frame

Wrap it up in words, words, words..

Those golden lies that hide the truth

Of everyone’s lies–

Especially mine, the one framing truth

In poetry;

Wrapping it up in lies, lies, lies

Like wax candles, slowly burning

Into a juxtaposed cylinder.

You, the wick waiting

For melted truth

Of burnt lies.

Art Factory

Certificate #3134203F7

All day long the painters paint,

Stroke after stroke, every one

In pain, as the man looks down

With a disapproving frown

At his wrist. He seeks for more

Time to take

From the colors

Of the artist’s pain

As they swirl and mix

With his eyes fixed

On the paint on every canvas.

They never let him down

In spite of his frowns,

Laboring on for the money

Until, that is,

It came to this:

No art was left,

Only copies of it,

And machines running the whole

Factory, with precision strokes

That freed those folks

From their painted burdens.

At 12 o’clock, he sent them home

Early, but to hereafter

Never smiling once, as the last fled

The factory, left still and silent…

Until the man pulled

The lever– and clicked:

The machines into motion.

He locked the door by a quarter ’til 4

Making money in spite

Of those who went home and went

To rest their backs to morrow–

When they’ll wake again,

In spite of the pain,

And go looking for more of it.

What’s better though? A pain

That’s real, and from within?

Or copied over

And over again?

“Sold to you: Today Only!

Three easy payments

Of $19.95– call this number now,

Don’t waste my time,

Hurry quick! You’ve got pain

This art can lift!”

If you act now,

We’ll even throw in this:

A frame to hang your very own

Certificate of authenticity in!

“Don’t you worry, folks..”

Said his contrived grin, twisting

Demand in his favor again,

“There’s plenty to go around!”