A small set of haiku inspired by late autumn in Ukiah, specifically the turning of a few tall birch trees growing in the front yard.
birch
My second synthetic ode. Parts I and II represent antithetical aspects of a child’s development, first the creative wonder and exploration all children seem to enjoy, then the addictive violence and desensitization of modern video games. Part III presents the synthesis of these two, the soldier on the field of battle, ready to kill without hesitation or remorse.
Imagine, as you read, one voice—say a soft-spoken female voice—reading part I and a second voice—say a harsher male voice—reading part II. Then, as you read part III, imagine the two voices reading in unison.
Transmogrification
I
Hazel eyes absorb a world of wonder,
cities floating through the sky
half concealed among the clouds,
mermaids dancing in the sea
half revealed among the foam,
and camouflaged away from human sight
elven nations thriving all around the world.
Nimble hands explore
paper wood and plastic,
creating new inventions week by day.
Supersonic aircraft zoom through hallway canyons
and out across imaginary bays;
coffee table cities rise among the couches
busy with the sounds of industry; and
stellar ships and space ports emerge from bedroom closets—
precursors of a future yet to be.
II
Stormy eyes absorb a realm of slaughter,
cities rotting with the dead
overrun by demon hordes,
Gothic townships ever dim
overwhelmed by zombie mobs,
and everywhere, apocalyptic doom
drowns imagination with visions of the slain.
Frantic hands control
pixels bent on trauma,
with implements of every kind of war
wielded to the hymns of personal damnation,
gentleness made mad for battle-scores,
shooting hacking slaying, all discrimination
lost amid a growing thirst for more. And
steadily the will to think and learn is narrowed
to morbid rivulets of combat lore.
III
Steel gray eyes survey
silent flesh and burning bone,
columns pluming black against the darkness,
cities rubbled with dismay,
broken homes where broken mothers moan,
brick and mortar scattered through a halflight
fraught with holy terrors lurking deep in shadow
and sensor-tripped explosives stashed along the roadways.
Steady hands take aim,
crossing foes between the rigid hairs
of righteousness and training,
a firm belief that killing in the hallowed name is fair
ingrained through years of subtle inculcation.
Calloused fingers stroke the edge of death,
forever tense, prepared to deal
the fatal strike that leaves the twitching dead
left glaring up one final supplication.
I found myself thinking about the story of Adam and Eve. It has always seemed odd to me that god would place his newborn creations in a garden of ideals, and then stick a tree in the middle that grows fruit you’re not supposed to eat. Then, on top of that, toss in a snake that gets off on lying to people and convincing them to do what they’re not supposed to do. Never mind that Eve didn’t know anything about lying, so imagine her confusion when god tells her one thing while the snake tells her another.
This is like putting a small child in a room with a great big bar of chocolate, telling him he’s not supposed to eat the chocolate, then leaving a recording behind that repeats over and over, “You can eat the chocolate. It’s okay to eat the chocolate. Go ahead and eat the bar of chocolate.” Well, what do you think is going to happen?
Naw man, if you take the story at face value, then the whole thing was a setup from the start, like a really bad practical joke. So thus this experimental poem.
revelation
Sometimes I just feel like experimenting.
I found myself enjoying a cloud mural painted in the skies above Ukiah’s western ridges this evening. I felt it deserved a tanka.
valley dusk
In this poem, my 13th trisect, segment one depicts steel. Segment two depicts the skyscraper, in which steel is the most essential component. And segment three depicts the effects of modern industry upon earth and humanity, which includes mining for and smelting steel and the development and movement of all those resources that lead to the creation and maintenance of the skyscraper.
Alchemy
Ore
Forged by myriad million years of light,
cast against eternities of night,
elemental embers collect amid the void,
pooled in glowing clouds of dust and rock.
Particles accrete through time and motion,
condensed to monumental orbs of molten
crystal moods, amassing alloys mid the darkness,
cooled to form a rind of raw potential.
Fertile soils rise from ancient stone,
animating shapes of wood and bone.
Nimble hands evolve and grope the ground for clues,
scratching for a means to reach the sky.
Fires smelt a future from deposits
quarried from a realm of veins and pockets,
charged into converters from out the depths of reason,
hatching alloys cast as new potential.
Corpse
They rise as if from out the earth, a maze
of beams and columns stretched against the haze,
looming like the relic frames of ancient beasts,
massive specters moaning on the wind.
Reflections slowly seal each giant carcass,
body bags of alloys mined from darkness
closed around the ribs of tall decaying monsters,
ghastly shadows cast across the landscape.
They cantilever labyrinths of gloom
hard against an ever present brume,
where wander human wraiths yet bound to living breath,
faces filled to silence with dismay.
Like mausoleums raised to mark the open
graves where hopes lie wasting in corrosion,
great facades reflect with every sunset whisper
traces of the hollowness within them.
Course
Canyons wrought from concrete steel and glass
soar above an ever seething mass,
heads and fenders tossed within a frantic flood
swelled from centuries of strong desire.
Arteries of lava, veins of phosphor
circulate through fields of psychic squalor,
where great malignant tumors feed upon the current,
welled from out the heart of mass confusion.
Discolored patches stretch and fade from view—
membranes taking on a sickly hue—
an ever growing quilt expanding abstract themes
flung beyond the grasp of human thought.
Filaments of culture weave a madness
shimmered from the dark side of a canvas
suspended deep in silence against abysmal backdrops
clung forever to the soul’s awareness.
The prosody is pretty complex. If you’re curious about it let me know and I’ll respond with an explanation.
I had no idea where this was going when I started it, but I thought I’d just go with it and see what happened. I’m kind of surprised. Perhaps even pleasantly so.
rainbow
i traced its edge
through deep green fields
over pine tree hills and higher
till it scraped the desolate
snows of nowhere
and still i followed
on through alpine vale
and florid glen and down
jagged canyon ridges past
island mountains that rose
as if from seas of sand
and still i followed
past mesas lined with crows
and sere grass ranges
where lumbering cows rid
the world of diversity
and yet still on
along wide slow rivers filled
with stench fish floating lifeless
on bloated sides and
by pillars of smoke that
chased blue from the skies
and yet still on
through lifeless mountains
painted green to please the eye
past springs that bubbled poison
and wells that oozed dismay
yet still i went
following those faded hues
amid a web of tall marble
monuments each depicting
through stains the long neglected
dreams of liberty
yet still i went
along shores littered with
death where rag-worn poor rake
thin pale fingers through filth
for remnants of life
and finally there in a long
white plaza it ended
all its color drained to sooty
shades of gray that flickered
out from the last remains
of a once great constitution
now but a distant hope for
greater souls to strive toward
I normally don’t approach topics of this sort. But hopefully I can pass this off as a sort of pen-portrait and not as any sort of political commentary. I don’t actually know or understand enough to comment on American or World politics. But, regardless, this is the undeniable impression I get when I see Bush and certain members of his administration up in front of the microphones.
strange disease
your face looks somehow
slack
not with age but some
strange disease
your tongue slithers in and out
slicking greasy lies
like rancid butter
across rows of microphones
your cheeks spill out
over insect jaws that work
mindless as mandibles
on flickering teleprompts
your eyes are toxic
squalid little pools of terror leaking
shivers from soft busy glows
sea to noxious sea
your ears have rotted gray
deaf as battleship decks
slack as the torn and tattered flag
silenced behind you
your voice is the sound of gravel
shoveled from the backs of trucks
with dirt and lime into
long shallow graves
your hands grope out trembling
as if overcome by pressure
tapped from ancient soils long ago decayed
to putrid pools of loss
and your head swells grotesque
to bursting from your dark black suit
pumped with agendas too fetid
for the heart to endure
As I got to know my future wife long distance, I found myself wanting to assure her that my love for and dedication to her will never change.
“He loves me.”
When I go backpacking, I tend to my bring my journal along, or at least a little composition book. Here I’ll record any thoughts I have, or poem fragments. I should do this more often, since it affords me an opportunity to really sit with my thoughts, undistracted. Later I’ll go through the poem fragments and see about expanding them into actual poems (though I’m told a poem fragment is usually itself a poem).
Of the five or so recorded during my recent eight day walk, this one feels the most complete.
Glance
If I have a child one day, where would he (bold assumption I know) come from? I think we rain from the void into awareness. I think we drift in a sort of sleep, locked in the watery depths of consciousness and are eventually lulled by the rhythmic sounds of promise into life. From dream to dream we sleep our way through eternity, connected by an ever expanding web of condition—or karma.
Provision
Once in awhile I’ll meet and interact with some small creature, and this will inspire a poem or three. I’ve attempted to interact with cicadas in the past, but they’re always so skittish, making it difficult even to get near one, never mind give one a ride. Maybe this one was a bit shocked by its downtown surroundings, making it more willing to try its luck with climbing on board. Which I think worked out well for it, since I was able to leave it someplace far more green.
cicada dreams
i
stained glass wings rest
light against the dull gray
tinge of stainless steel
compound eyes study a world
more strange and alien
than their wide and varied view
giant beetles rush colors past
sometimes disgorging unwieldy
young from beneath heavy wings
great square hives rise up
full of eyes that glint back bits
of amber pearl and turquoise
creatures half concealed by
remains of cocoon rush about
scratching out bits of song
small metal trees grow barely
a few flat leaves which never
bend to the touch of wind
there is no need for thought
for there is nothing to understand
here of this dim new dreaming
ii
curious eyes reach out and
touch ever so slightly front-
most legs with invitation
one rises up to ponder-feel
the alien appendage almost
lost in reflections of meaning
then all at once tear-drop
wings climb up light tan skin
and over thin brown hairs
one walks the other rides
before the floating scrutiny of
a large peculiar gaze
overhead floats a sidewalk
canopy of maples deep green
firs and old black oaks
sign posts and street lamps fade
behind a backyard gate that leads
into a garden where the sound
of city streets is hardly heard
among the many hues of spring
that climb and blossom toward the sun
and here against a beechwood branch
living wings are gently placed
returned to sapwood realms of dream
