Bramblings (various poetries)

[sgt.null]

scream - you began and ended in air
(What Norma Jean began for me...)

Gone forth, even by a third, in a second,
would you have taken first in my heart?

Scream - you began and ended in the air.

I held a thought star. And I was pretty sure
it looked the same to me in all the images,
in the book of music. We learned from the
rows and rows of slot machines. What was
unreal? I thought about those stars one
hundred, two hundred years ago. Or so.

Look, at first I felt relieved and this freedom
was located behind my eyes. Skyscrapers for
breakfast, one side of the toll roads dotted.

I hesitated, since I was in time and my body
posed under the veranda. And my other body
arose on the roof. And still the freedom was
set behind your eyes. My whistle was rusty,
a stereotype of sugar. Tin-typed soda cans.

You were a hero, starting with zero, but I
could not see you anymore. I remembered.

Imagination steps were not general steps.
You told me that it passed, that everything
would happen. A bell port, so it never took.

I went directly to the frontline in your past,
which was in your future. I put it on your
shelf. I let you go and called it directly to
the front line. Where did you go? I was lost.

Shouting the secrets that were never resolved,
Where were you going? Damned summer camp.

The best, best surgeons all practiced at their
replacement stations. Humiliated and busted.
They leaked stolen glances. Their hands then
trembled the absolute result. You stayed on
the balcony and kept to your balance. If only.

Close had no worries, it let you go and I did
not dare. You needed to know that I loved only
you. Or at least the memory of you. Only you.

Math was useless at the end of my cul-de-sac.

Or just maybe it was a clipboard set to real time?

She heard my wishes for fishes and many other
exotic dishes. Swinging time, vibrated, trotted.

Time gave us a whole new day. So for the first
time and for just that second, I had my third eye
opened. So i went forth. And I asked for the fifth.

I dreamt often of doors all open on other pages.
There were rubber boots also fitted as the least.
Walking, was also by a third party, in a second,
for the first in my heart? Sunrise was completely
settled in the West. I thought at sunrise on the
ground, pink and orange in the East. Better ones
all along there, strung along until they were gone.

As I found,up was down, and down was left behind.

We found access high among the Fire Marshall's
ashes. This allowed for déjà vu guns of magnetic
straws and raw, open wounds. Autumnal Equinox
came earlier and later every year. A surprise from
the leap years. Again and again hanging on to us.

The paper was a low level of amnesia. He took a
sip of blue ammonia. He hustled her rigging. And
as he sang, the honest liar kept a pulse of fever
and other secret things from the book. So short
men were stacked again and shortly were served
to lonely packs brought back as characters for
posted positions and other random dispositions.

She had hips like nurses. We avoided the curses.
I found myself only interested in the local weather
after the accidental jumpers staggered from their
wall romances and were lost to puddles verified.

[sgt.null]

Albuquerque

the Vietnamese Paul Bunyan,
grinding at his blue oxcart.
Jesus of the Navajo offers
a rock, a stick, some sand.
from where we gathered,
from where we frolicked...
hazy sky at dusk is crimson,
Wallow fire in the distance.


I had written this after our fest in
Albuquerque. and then set the
notebook on the shelf until
yesterday. imagine my surprise...

[sgt.null]

Trinity County

Waco
Beaumont
Trinity
Sabine

Wobbilty
Bobbilty
Turnover
& Stop


--------------------------------


when you are in danger
when you are in doubt
when you meet a stranger
when you scream and shout
watch out of the scissors!


----------------------------------------


my sixteenth song

afforded theater, count the
pennies on his eyes...
I could get lost
in a phone booth.

[sgt.null]

Mechanical Machine Shop

into verdant and
vertiginous open sky
low morning sun
not one iota
not one atom

so two weeks
from now, two
months from now
the sky, sunders
and thunder howls

shallow and fast
gravity tumbles up
under in equidistance
fossicking it nearby
inhale ergo fail

stained glass flickers
early morning light
electrical impulses jot
relays judder, jounce
whirl then skitter

totter over edges
cloud littered horizon
pale sapphire sun
welded, bolted, bound
slowly into black

low insect whine
vestigial and dormant
welkin is overhead
hateful dull grey
day wobbling anew

fallow fields rusty
echoes fading past
distorted waft crackles
atomic blast impact
aubade burning hot

jump out bairns
wobble through dust
smoke and mirrors
air and opportunity
hundreds of flies

cropped stone ledges
corroded, brittle, open
bolted, ceiling - floor
ceiling - floor, closed
ghost whistle closeness

low static mumbles
still remaining still
until inevitable fill
empty swill buckets
filling slop buckets

old school shuttered
flipped the script
jaw jacking hacks
pencil whipped gimps
flatweed the simple

pissing up your
rope, easy challenge
distant fog forming
fields barren, cold
empty hollow season

[Frostheart Grueburn]

Well, you asked people to read these, but I'm still afraid they're altogether too abstract for my blunt understanding that deems 2+2=4 and not = a bouquet of rainbow cogwheels. Perhaps I could mentally anchor myself on some of them better, if I knew something about the subjects behind.

[Lefdmae Deemalr Effaeldm]

As for me, these mostly pass emotions and feelings, it's not like they've got to have a plot in a normal sense. Like these pieces.

...
low static mumbles
still remaining still
until inevitable fill
...

...
distant fog forming
fields barren, cold
empty hollow season

A feeling like standing on a barren field on a late autumn or winter night - alone and slipping into thoughts about loss.

[sgt.null]

frostheart - in order.

Marylin Monroe wrote

Scream—
You began and ended in air
but where was the middle?

the first paragraph is a rewroking of the Infinity Poem found here...

kevinswatch.ihugny.com/phpBB2/viewtopic.php?t=22465

then i cobbled together various bits I had written and collected. the paragraph that starts The best, best surgeons was written while I was the sergeants class I attended a couple months back.

the paragraph that starts Time gave us a whole new day is actually a theme I use from time to time with the numbering puns. I like the idea and keep trying to perfect it.

what is the poem about? it is the about what I feel when I hear this song...
My Morning jacket - One Big Holiday

it's also about the death of Marylin Monroe. combine those and you get the poem.

-------------------------------------

Albuquerque is directly about the Fest a group of us from here attended. there is a Paul Bunyan statue there atop a restaurant that I desperately want a picture of. the Jesus of the Navajo lines are about the river we visited on our last day there with the group. we all went up to the Indian reservation. one of the happiest days of my life that turned so joyfully sad when we had to break away from the group and head home. the Wallow fire was an actual fire that was going on at the time. it is the second poem directly about that fest.

--------------------------------

Trinity County is a county here in Texas. the first four are cities in that county. the second four are nonsense. I have no memory of writing it and if I intended to expand on it. but being a fan of both Charles Dodgson and Syd Barrett I believe in a bit of well placed nonsense. maybe I'll make it a song.

Watch Out for the Scissors has a long history. I was on FB chatting with a childhood friend, my next door neighbor as a kid in fact. he remembered that I would write that line all over the junior high we were attending. I don't really remember doing it. but liked the idea of it.

the rhyming part is based on something said by a fellow sergeant at that class I mentioned. I intend to write a kid's book on the rhyme. years ago I wrote a story for kids called Never Tease A Weasel. I figure I can do a series of self illustrated kid's books and include Mr. Mean Dude and the Purple Toxic Dog. a title I came up with after viewing a child's drawing.

My Sixteenth Song. I'm not going to ruin it for anyone. if you know what it is about, anyone, please share with us.

_------_------_------_-----_

Effy - Mechanical Machine Shop was also written in that sergeant's class. the Mechanical Machine Shop itself exists. it is run by TDCJ, the prison system I work for. it is about morning in a Texas prison.

if you like I will be happy to do a line by line annotation. it is specific to my feelings about my job and my place in the long history of the prisons I have worked for. it struck me one day at my first prison that I was standing where people like me had stood for one hundred years, with inmates - making them work. and how commonplace it had become and how utterly alien it must be to anyone who had never been there. and I wondered how long someone like me would be doing that job. and how that after my some twentyfive years finally comes up that I would walk away from all of it and never be able to return there. and how I could never show people where I work and what I do.

[sgt.null]

View previous topic: See next topic author's message.

To slow: [Give] the user's name.

Title: Can you spare a minute of your time?

Hello dearest friends, can we chat for just a minute or so?

A fragile reader asks what would the world be without me? Can anyone of you tell me really?

I wanted to be a monitor, a petroleum reflection and a dreamer's tired thoughts, but now I think it is time to go in the other direction.

Hello dearest friends. My name is written at the end of days. Taken in at the end of things, you can believe something in these words. I want to talk about other cultures that are so poor that they look back on our shame. I would like to speak of fantasy. And how I never did anything without a net.

I think that the observers need to get out of their houses. Even those less stricken. Those without heart.

Not that the world is so scary, but what man is now predisposed to discuss, is regardless of our common themes.

I recommend that we should be following the man without alias. Without him we would be nowhere. But without risk I would not have the information I have given to our subject.

I am one of the only observers with a sense of humour. I wish the rest of you a happy life of friendships. There is not yet a sufficient evidence of a better alternative.

I personally do not dislike much of life. And I can no longer fund a heartless contributing intolerance to others.

So to show that the ban will continue, see morality as the next verbal theme.

The next theme : [Give] the user's weaknesses.

I will submit this early in the morning. I still personally dislike very little. And I can tolerate most of this world's tolerance.

But I offer no contributions and have monopolized almost one of the most singular places on the clock. Let us be honest, I tend to dominate. And I love the opinions of different people. But as of our individual music listening, I find us all a little crazy.

Maybe we need to save or send a personal note to the devil-child. We can tell someone of another post. But, it is not one excuse for him immediately to discover another. We still have time to make him began to study non-physical phenomena. And the study still progresses more in a decade than in all the centuries of its existence.

As of the irregular bridge burners, they are also not alone. So what do we do now? With the book of vespers can we tell other people they have a chance using postal services?

Will we go to limit assignments as we restricted others? How do you think we should say this without an authoritarian survey? If we simply sound authoritarian, will that do? Or are we to be truly authoritarian?

Here is what I think. If anyone has a problem with the book, we should be the only ones to look at it and then say the necessary words.

I love you all. But it makes me angry that it is known as there is no tomorrow. Or something must be done with art. You can publish other people, even while they have contributions that do not apply.

I know it can be annoying. But the Board of Directors must find most of the shifts at work. Or what has been spent already becomes some sort of null assignment.

I remain your faithless servant.

[sgt.null]

perchance

blue dusk, warm sugar
buzz. sweet faraway
dreams. sleeper mumbles
slumbering. tintype bebop
whistling, beatbox rhythms
lull a dull lethargy. angles
tangle, fade and collapse.
ambient man, white noise.
landscape is falling, slow
motion, howling. lazy figure
eights, infinite gliding,
sliding - completely invisible
ruins. infinite novelty
scattershot. glass splinters,
tremors. chimneys prove
full-blast furnaces. zen logic
riddles. sanskrit morse code
repeating loops and turns.

[sgt.null]

the Ghost of Charlie Hustle (called for rain)

young man can fly,
shows but not much.
his first success, Very
humble guy. hope for
the best, and a brilliant
career. tracks apply
quickly and is not -
works for home runs.
was one of the reasons.

doubtful, plays practical.
it could be rewarded.
end-sleeve, defensive in
September, until there?
has two options left, so
wish for a place for him.
no,. absolutely not. no
more scammers who play.
he was a local kid, I am.

wooden rod, he focused
on the plate of termites
infesting his balsa. guy
not taken. worst kind of
guy to have on the team.
his love of the way to see
the unwashed masses. so
little guy soiled his uniform.
many bad teams trick pony.

he has many basics. works
also and walks. so is it not?
agree, there is more capacity.
only slightly better and rarely?
takes a walk. he takes a flyer.
more speed and question. if he
should watch a minor deal for
him and see what happens?
the magical attraction of local.

actors, please note many in
history having this discussion.
would be to outsource without
even thinking. I see no Japanese
future. probably never a regular.
but he can do things in all cases.
It has me worried, the plate. guy
is crazy fast, who knows how
to use speed. if I dare say that?

[deer of the dawn]

I like the original idea of this. But for me there isn't enough of the guy's heart; it's almost like dream-scattered thoughts, last synapses firing. There should be some indication of why the ghost is hanging around.

[sgt.null]

I like the original idea of this. But for me there isn't enough of the guy's heart; it's almost like dream-scattered thoughts, last synapses firing. There should be some indication of why the ghost is hanging around.

i can work on the last four innings...

[sgt.null]

of

eight hour trash-can
ride, where the dog
bites. a weak wobble,
infinite slide. borderline
insubordinate. blue birds
and kites circling over
head. black light tattoos,
four horsemen ride again.
quiet hostages gathered.
acrid fog, a sharp report.

[sgt.null]

pulse/tone

search logic - I can
see the building out
side my unopen window.
the table was set for
dinner - how many times?
draw your money into
your tooth - bandsaw
mark one. go buy some
money for your spouse.
decade in - decade out.
jumbo jumble Sunday in
the afternoon. needed
to shave - needed to
save time. early morning
copper vest. we intently
lobby over flowing, I am
the beast of South Holland.
and I am in your debt...

[sgt.null]

Murder Inc. (death from above)

staring into the
sun's whiteness
somersaulting through
the greying sky
traversing dusk
a sudden flash
hold your breath
looks like rain
fog before dawn

[sgt.null]

Psalter

praise Him...

an echo, a lyric poem.

grapevines, bouncy heel-steps, three count
combos, forward-and-backward steps.
with clear trumpets and all kinds of harps.

(plectrums and winds)

with tambourines and woodwinds.
with stringed instruments and dancing.

(concepts and harmony)

trumpets, whistles, bells,
cornets, pipes and drums.
with cymbals, with clashing cymbals.
with timbrel and circle dance.
stringed instruments and organs.

let all breath praise the Lord.

HALLELUJAH!

from Psalm 150

12-25-06

[sgt.null]

the Kingdom of Rats

I am sick of sunrises.
and still feel the nitrous
like it was yesterday.
I am hollow and will be
my own hitman. now she
locks the doors at night.
my only gift to her...
how do you seperate so
many years? divide which
belongs to you. which stays
with me. and every night
I can hear you sleeping.

should have thought of
this earlier. I never sat
down and watched the
backyard before today.

[sgt.null]

Albert Jefferson Pilgrim

so she had eleven years if it
were a day. and I knew her as
a gem of lateness. as she was
a collection of dolls. as she was
a lot of fun. so what help would
she be dressed up as my sister.
she let me in her old clothing.

she selected me anyway as if it
should have been. as a star of
true north, when it was always
bright and shiny. on high seas.
we had a small dog for trips.
we collected small hells from
Lawrence, patron of her house.

Diego never spoke. so were
we home? funerals for us
but not for children? a house
was another. when we were.
I did know her children. I did
not remember people myself.
once a picture of her, hidden.

she was flattering. she came
as a trip, two days. did she see
trees as the wind sang? or did
she dress as current? did she
speak to him seven months
before his death? I remember
that they liked grapefruit juice.

by the glass, was it healthy?
did children pinse? or chant?
we had taste. who was left?
we drank too, were we found?
the information was marriage,
divorce. so when were we six,
eight? her parents, accordingly.

so as betrayal children seeking
forgive. by consent? accordingly.
was I five or six first? the time
I was not it. did she have hope?
a late addition? did she let
me know, specific questions?

so she had eleven years if it
were a day. and I knew her as
a gem of lateness. as she was
a collection of dolls. as she was
a lot of fun. so what help would
she be dressed up as my sister.
she let me in her old clothing.

Kate.