The “end of language” is a new art project I’m working on. This is the first image in that project. I will be posting future images as individual posts. For more information about this project please see the following page: https://onbeingbecoming.com/the-end-of-language/
regal, pompous
purple martins majesty
live in mansions
******************
run, run away
a honking, snapping terror
the goose is loose
******************
blue heron
fishes in reflections
one stiff leg
flock of pigeons
flying over — blue skies
poop on my head
*****************
feeding time
excited sparrows chirp ’round
flower box
*****************
egg adopted
screech owl hatches wood duck
one family
You whisssper in my ear
your palpable smile
some mystery
or a secret that only I am privileged to know,
some master plan,
some wisdom or
some knowledge
or just “I love you.”
The warmth of your breath
softly radiates
entering by hearing
and “hearing by the word of god.”
Familiar as a breeze
rustling the leaves
on a humid Summer’s day
under the shade tree.
These whissspering waves
ripple through my body
steadily quickening
the beat of my heart.
My pulse registers . . . . .
excitement, a cherished connection
words and meaning lost in anticipation
virtue swirls into sweet sin
tingle of unending hope
inspiring passions aplenty
I dream of grabbing you and
holding you closer
than my own skin.
A half-deflated balloon
decorated with
colorful stars and
“You’re So Special”
tethered to its cubicle
now
bobbing and weaving
now
drifting listlessly in
currents of stale
recirculated air
its metallic surface
reflecting the
bright
white light of
office fluorescents
“I don’t make mistakes!”
Hmmmmph!
arrogant, ballsy fraud.
Elitist, cock-sure punk.
The claim
itself a mistake
waiting to humble
the utterer of lies.
Pop the balloon
of ego
(or is it id?).
Beat the
empty piñata
there’s no sweetness within.
Drink the curdled milk
soured by
time in the slow
heat of ignorance.
Remove the clothes
made dirty by
the ejaculation of foolishness.
Wash clean
the soiled
soul.
Rinse the body and
dress it in the clean
fresh clothing of
righteous humility.
Walk out into
the quiet morning of
birdsong
welcoming you
to a new life
where others sing
your praises,
as you practice
patience
for the mistakes
of others,
when they look
fearfully to your
criticism
only to find
the warmth
of the sun,
blue skies of kindness
green grass of compassion
in the welcoming embrace
of
forgiveness and understanding.
The hand lies
limply on the page
Pen flip-flopping flaccidly
insipid, impotent inspiration
Desire, a
vacuous turncoat
betrays me
What to write.
What to write?
What To Write!
nothing.
Walls overcome by
broken vines and shattered panes leave
heart exposed to life.
The butterfly
believes it’s flying, still trapp’d
in its cocoon
Autumn paths remain
buried as Antigone’s wind shakes
the leaves from the trees.
An old man stands,
only holes for his pockets,
begging for more.
“blah blah blah
blah blah blah blah blah
blah blah blahblah,
blah blah blah blah blah,
blah blah blahblah blah
blahblah blah blah
blah blahblah blahblah.”
So,
Another poem – this one’s about laughter itself.
Laughs are like
potato chips
you can’t eat just one
Ha is not as infections as haha
or hahahahaha…
You can’t have tee without the hee
or teeheeheehee
It’s harder to grin
from one side of the mouth
easier with both
If you laugh without sound
you’re in very much danger
so wheeze, grunt, snort or chuckle
laugh until your weak in the knees
If the belly stopped after one shake
when it shakes with laughter
you would die
lots of laughs
are better than one
and laughing out loud
is better than death
There is a long proud history of bawdy humor in literature of all types including poetry. I’ve decided it’s time I give it a go at low brow humor.
Farting is the sound
of the body’s marching band.
Its trumpeting brass,
thunderous drums, and
the delicate squeak of the clarinet.
Gaseous humors
released from within,
expelled with force or
slipping out through the cracks
in a hissing wind.
Grand multi-sensory experience –
whether earthquaking, embarrassingly obvious
or silent and deadly;
a bowel-shaking satisfaction
will always make you smile.
Polite society is no place for me.
Let the face bunch up in laughter
and let the ears tingle.
LET IT RIP! (and of course)
pass the nose-plugs please.
for more laughs….
http://mentalfloss.com/article/52419/11-literary-fart-jokes
THE FORGOTTEN VALENTINE
Hearts and candy
Baked goods, cards and flowers
A saints holiday,
… the saint would not recognize.
Pagan cupids,
fleshy child-like innocents
with winking mischief,
ready with arrows and bow
to slay the expectant heart.
…… while other hearts
go unfulfilled
longing for companionship
like dry ground longs for rain.
… and winged cupid’s
in their flawed judgement
fly by… mocking
… saving their arrows
for the select few
and not the ones in need.
LAUNDROMAT
Chattering women
gossip pretentiously
each is right… each is self-assured of her rightness
even if they do speak in the tongues of angels
ignorance and distance.
I, huddled in the far corner by the door
recently propped open by a newcomer
transporting her laundry from car to machine
unaware of her effect on others
Cold winter air flooding around me
chilled to the bone
impatiently waiting
unable to escape
trapped in my domestic duty.
In 07minutes I will be able to carry
the cold, damp, freshly-washed garments and
deposit them into a warm dryer
to tumble and fluff then fold
and afterwards,
finally, leaving for the quiet solitude of home.
(untitled) 1/29/19 1AM
… with bigoted clam-shelled-shut heart
pinched accusation and fervent digit all gesticulation…
… their unctuous moral fortitude, no reverence for creation
razes the standard none can achieve
happy to fail, happy to fall
into the boiling cauldron of righteousness…
… reason lost.
Who will avail the good, decent, compassionate
and forgiving soil?
… planting seeds to each grow its own kind
fruit bearing and fruitless
watered by streams of untethered acceptance.
Virtues are best left in deep shadows
where they are not exposed to the light of…
… haughty self-aggrandizement,
bleached by self-promotion or discolored by false humility…
… left in the heavy darkness when eyes close
and sound fades to sleep…
… perchance to dream.
... on being and becoming ... 