Posts published in “Poems”

http://bertc.com/subfour/ss/singleSheet.htm

Received this link through Reddit. Peter Callesen’s (http://www.petercallesen.com/) work is quite thought-provoking. From the 3D-from-2D modeling to the spooky shadows of some pieces, these artworks are a look at pure beauty. It’s amazing to think that, perhaps, each image put on paper was taken from the cutout around it, creating a sort of realistic play of shadow and object. All are amazing, especially the house and the snowballs, the skeleton and the man, and the tomb and the Halloween-ish skeleton dance.

i can’t tell you how often you absorb yourself into my, this memory. i wear a band of rubber about my wrist, hoping it would aleviate some sort of pain i feel when the veins rise and i’m let wondering what to do next; should i walk, should i pray?

you know, i never even began to feel this way. it’s just a dream. it’s just a dream. it’s just a dream and i’m waking to it every day.

if you watch the skinny cat find its way back to your opened hand, you’ll have patience enough to live with me. if you can stand and laugh at the squirrels, their tails let-waggling, watching me, as we converse in tongues left before we were born, you’ll have patience enough to live with me.

does time really tell, or does it speak itself in whispers, much more slipping than communicating?

you’re in your sickly state and i’m lying there, beside you, legs betweex’ legs, and i think of the worst for you, allowing those thoughts to walk themselves in and take seat amongst our joy, proudly proclaiming their obedience to none, and then i awake in this semi-slumber and see i’m looking in the shadow form for something good, when the entirety of this room is bright, and i lose myself in hovering thoughts of how beautiful these four walls are with window, you, and i.

http://www.grammarmudge.cityslide.com/articles/article/992333/8992.htm

my fingers are numbing; the air’s on and sausages are cooking.

you better recognize me. you better recognize me. you never recognize me, you never recognize me.

i stood there, outside of your house,
soles of heels digging their own place,
and i stood firm in the beliefs
the walking’s ‘way and i knew we’d need
another step inside, another step inside
to hold the pressure from
to hold the pressure from;
and, and
i tried to hold you,
but you walked inside;
you tried to scold me,
and you did a damn good job.

i forgot the whole purpose of this exorcise was to find out what’s next, not to dwell on what’s been. i guess that’s the right thing to say; i never really thought about what i was writing, just how good the fingers felt in rapid succession. maybe i should have put, “cessation,” there instead, to try and sum up how joyous one’s mind feels when the body becomes some sort of rogue entity, devowed of knowledge and let run wild with whatever comical and miscreant thoughts lay before, behind, beneath the fingertips and betwixt the raising of the hairs on scalp/neck/arm/knuckle. how ordinarily plain. i wish true spaces could be used,
instead of this ramp-up to a mock-up. i feel as hotly contested actions in a boardroom are making my decisions for me, and not myself, my SELF. i don’t know my self, though, so it’s not as though i were entirely missing something there.

i sat on the stool a bit, and pondered, how enticingly long my nails were, and how those sheers, or, “nail-clippers,” seemed to be a welcomed benefit of this role we’ve called, “humanity.” and then it dawned on me, or, more accurately, rose within my being’s mind, and taunted me with images of some cave-like, encino-man-esque rocker of the hair, with long nails, and i thought, “how truly outrageous (gem!) and unlikely in wild settings.” how, then, do we go about grooming ourselves? naturally, we probably cut or arrange ourselves in a way which is suitable for our fellows’ and their kind, or our own needs and desires. how does a cat groom oneself, though? how do we pick at ourselves in such familiarity, but look upon the cat as some lowly creature, caught within itself; or the dog, who constantly scratches and licks, but is so completely, undecidedly without soul. and, i thought, that’s only true in a culture, not inside.

we are but pets who govern themselves. how terribly allowing of grandiose thought if we were to be some pet for a higher creature, left on Planet Earth as the other pets were, and we are to fend for ourselves, with ourselves, and against all others, until we find out that we’re rolled up in the stars and able to read our destiny if we but look at the helix-like nature of the systems, and accept the fact that we’re two-centric: ourselves and our views.

Slightly (very) low audio.

to see those two,
the live’s and dead’s embalmer.