I. "Art Museum"
modern persian miniature on white leaflets;
a maze for lab ants.
II. "Kaiser in Paris"
a deadbeat in front de Franche-Comté;
patents for toilet paper.
III. "in Dingle"
the earliest casualties drowned at night,
driftwood in wilted, Irish fields.
IV. "The Mistake"
August 27 2012, an elephant awoke;
in Tampa, Florida.
~MK
A crushed apple led the new yorker
to notice that only half destroyed
he could feed his dog off the sidewalk
dog and the bum walked
downtown to the daises,
flowers grew on that street
for the first time in years
he couldn't decide what to do anymore
on his ass in whisky, she threw shit
out the window, like the stray
he was unwanted and waiting
and crushed in the middle of the road
as gifts flew out windows,
he grabbed the dog for the night
and he felt the city save him
shinny the red toy was his son's
~MK
I am not a poet, I'm a scientist by ATrueNorseman, literature
Literature
I am not a poet, I'm a scientist
When I look at the sunset draw out
between the stratus clouds
I know there's going to be the orange sky
melting into the blue night sky
just the same as any other day
With high stratus clouds
I know it will get dark
and I know the cold will bring a fog
above a still heated earth along a dry coast
populated with trees or factories ripely brewing
I trust the dew has begun at 5
when the heated atmosphere drifts miles
into the sea, forming storms for no one
the type of dew from a rainless day
speckled with oils of debris and dry air
I've lived for days without opening an eye
and never missed a beat of the gulls
stealing fries fro
a virgin piece of silver and welt wood
solemn and square, four inches apart
hand from the ear pound the gavel
down a nail
the coroner's tools, the town jewels
nightly tapping at the nape of fears
leaked between the ears and fingers
clasped on the letters of the law
every gunshot horned to the hollowed
pine echoed across the oldest river
where cross men wade and tread
to the black, vaulted banks
the dust trailed his hammer like holy water
and the people cheered, and cheered
~MK
I read his books he pointed to
when he didn't speak, or care to listen
my words were all too simple, dust under the carpet
he said again my questions were stupid
but I couldn't understand him
the night is still when the rain floats
divided without a whole
if in flight, where are their wings
where are their colors?
the wind whispers but the porch is in a howl
questions like where do the hills go
when flooded, why stay out get sick and die
why did the ground distance with years?
but still every one hears the silence
of it swallowing all sound
~MK
Aesop was a god,
And his writings could flood
Every tissue-paper-page of hotel bibles
with fable. Like little truths, in large lies.
If he were a barrista, he'd shut down
Starbucks with one store
without selling a single cup.
Work was his art.
A pigeon typhoon once arose in Central Park
From the sheer number landing at his feet
With pieces of bread
Claiming the largest storm in NY, Sept. 2012.
The golden arches was his first
Two attempts at throwing boomerangs.
The third was at St. Louis.
It's fair to say he's won.
To him, fighting for peace
Was like fucking for virginity.
Ever since he's never had sex,
But some say Poe was his biological
A virgin piece of silver and welt wood
solemn and square, four inches apart
as a hand from the ear by the judge
each oath pound the gavel down a nail
every gunshot horned a real echo
to the hollowed pine trees, just so far
across the oldest river where cross
Men wade and tread afriend
to its black, vaulted banks.
A coroner's tools as simple town gems
nightly tapping the nape of lost fears
leaked between the hand and ears clasped.
Metro Poems (insp. by E Pound) by ATrueNorseman, literature
Literature
Metro Poems (insp. by E Pound)
I. "Art Museum"
modern persian miniature on white leaflets;
a maze for lab ants.
II. "Kaiser in Paris"
a deadbeat in front de Franche-Comté;
patents for toilet paper.
III. "in Dingle"
the earliest casualties drowned at night;
driftwood in wilted, Irish fields.
IV. "The Mistake"
August 27 2012, an elephant awoke,
in Tampa, Florida.
A cheater grabs, and poets stew by ATrueNorseman, literature
Literature
A cheater grabs, and poets stew
I'm not a cheater, I'm a poet
I see everyone
point pencils to their foreheads backwards
for a few etches
jotting a capital of letters
as brokers for A's
a list grows on of cheating things, so
unelaborate
tranced, soon to sink from reality.
But select in brief
what written noise is worth the effort,
interrupt yourself
hesitate, and you have your poet
Voilá! leave early
finish school and walk to your real work
bumming on words like
meaning, making frame to S.Dali's
daily siesta
blind or focused, you'll nail three ends
and utility
will somehow be lost between th
a Jewel between two blocks by ATrueNorseman, literature
Literature
a Jewel between two blocks
It was back alley quiet fume
an unnoticed miracle stew
a dream world crack in Gough's
once starry night, on the floor
the pen hole leak of black noir
found destiny chose its battles
the silent crevasse that broke no
ground, soot, dead dove feathers
lit time into thirty-two past
twelve, and counted faintly
the unchanging canvas of space
unmarked, sitting, watching
fiddling the decision to move
deep traces of unearthed
and virgin city stifle
across just the way