From apple roses,
their broad, twig riddled crowns
glowing in the cold starlight,
the red round elephants
of promaceous fruits
descend into the planet,
like fertilizing gametes
to a large blue egg.
Fiery death!
The harbors, the cities, the countrysides,
are drenched with spray,
lit with flames,
and ravaged in smoke.
The plump red houses bombard the earth!
A barrage of electric pulses on a distraught mind.
The clotting of sweet juices brims into devastation,
marking the second coming
of the Malus Domestica.
Hundreds of miles from any red Goliath.
A small, slack-jawed child watches the succulent
death-balls stream down in blazing streaks.
He reaches out his hand
as if to snatch a tasty treat from the air
and dab it in his melting chocolate bar.
...
PARLOR TRICKS
he is a shimmering pearl illuminating a grand stage,
as if he had been knocked down
into a cavern in the ocean floor.
They might want to light the stage more,
so I would be less suspicious
that his holy miracles aren't just
whistles and fog in the dark.
He hides a lit cigarette in his left ear.
But they are watching his right side.
I wonder if that ear feels like his assistant.
The true mastermind of this swindling con.
Yet here I am, behind the smoke,
and watching the magician's glorious bow
in the floating mirrors.
...
This next one has been published in a literary review called The Spoiler from the press at Marylhurst University. I'll be receiving a copy some time next week. It's got lots of great stuff. The main theme of the issue this poem is in was experimental literature, so I decided to write a poem that sounded broken and constant. There's a great short story in the issue where the point of view changes from second to first person depending on the character's social comfort levels.
BROKEN STEREO
Your train of caterpillar carts are vacant, abandoned, and
cringing at your own cries, your
clamminess, I never would have connected, to
discombobulation, katzenjammered from
the very start.
Complex, complicated, clinks and
clangs, a symphony of kinetic
corruption, of late, your tray of sliver
treasures comes cracking up, stars
scathed out.
Cobwebs, lining decadent crap, inside
your dense, metal cavity, your corpse
was cold, even when alive.
What are you thinking, chanting
contraption, sticking,
to the desk,
with dread,
or unconcerned,
by your,
fate.
...
One last thing: If you want your poems or fictions on here don't hesitate to send 'em to me.
4 comments:
These are some very beautiful and modern poems!
I like the parlor trick best of these poems. For me, it is a complete and vivid display of what language can do . If performed right, a word can light up a large space. And yet you created it but wonder how it came to be. To me it's a wonderful metaphor for creativity, language, and the newness, the primal words pressed into the voice, a sound, the world.
Impressive set of poems! You have a knack for painting vivid images (especially in "Parlor") and also a good ear for language (most obvious in Broken Stereo).
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