Archive for the ‘Creative Writing’ Category
untitled Writing
I wonder what a molecule of anticipation looks like.
What if it’s so big it doesn’t fit?
As if we could know where that raindrop has already been.
.
.
.
.
There is no reason
for the phrase to turn
beyond the lyrical desperation
of intuitive rhythm and rhyme
as if a blistering double overtime
suddenly is metaphor
for entire lives
while mountains slump
famished weep
muscles flex
and that little bit of crud
still lodged under nail
holds evidence despite
lack of crime
the world watches
flash neon blinks of time
and warnings warn
or grant a glimpse
while knitting knots the yarn
there is moment
and there is moment
sometimes there is even time
having the good sense
to sense the good
comes in handy
let the blessings
gently alight
untitled… originally composed June 2002.
Digging through old random writings turns up bits and pieces of things both remembered and forgotten. Some, like this one, offer glimpses of non-sensical, discordant focus that seems to turn up in my writing time and again. I haven’t put much attention toward reworking past creations like this one, even though, upon revisitting, I don’t particular care for parts of it. This was an off the cuff grasp at something in my head at the time. I won’t say that old random writings don’t stand a chance of being reworked someday, but I don’t currently have the editor driving a motivation to make it happen. If I were writing it today, it would turn out differently…
Random Writing
- What if I simply wrote about it
and when you read it you were moved
by its inherent tendency to apply
rendering all your suppositions proved
not like the tacky film of ad campaigns that try
no farther
much farther away than that
down where involuntary doesn’t even begin to exist
and up into the stratospheres of our existential bliss
where the vibrations of our ever present song
invigorate our reasons to believe
which we do
and have been all along
neither color nor flavor
but both all that and more
where nothing else disturbs
the focal distance from before
the shoelace became frayed
and elastic recoil happens not
sickly film forming over soup in pan
as simmer faintly fades from hot
beneath the late afternoon’s waning light
revealing brilliant yellow gold
where moments ago there was only white
there’s both new and also something old
already been here, already done all that
it’s the same as what already was
as if that’s some bright new found fact
a digression from a fear
accessory after the act
it fascinates and it bores
though mostly alluding every grasp
like a meaning getting briskly stamped
upon our spongy blue-green minds
and we wile away while we can
or is it them or me or you?
flailing away in attempt to understand
both a meaning and intent
focused solely on the only thing that
hasn’t even happened yet
slippery sliding down a slanted slope
of largely hypothetic tries
to heap ungodly piles of healing balm
on swollen red and tired eyes
and waiting ’til the late of any night
as if waiting makes it all alright
seeking not that phantom wisp of what
it is that starts
and stops
this unattainable freight in flight
which circles round upon
the very path
it paved away from here in desperate fright
a feeling not so bad in fact
except for when it lingers far too long
draining out the last of tact
struggling grip on flowered teacup
steady enough to avoid
stuttering clatter as you sup
a smile and a worry that have grown together
as if wed years ago
when nothing that has happened
had even begun to happen yet
wonder what
if any
silly significance lies
in the way that some people skew their words
to pronounce the “th” sound
as if it were a “d”
and say with cultivated aplomb
dat dem’s da ones dat up and died.
As of yet untitled… originally composed February 2003.
Relative Something 