habit and rancor

Posted in best of GJK, for Calvin Grandaw, for Jingle et. al., humor, New Poems, no-mad poets, poems, poems 2017, prose, taoist, zen with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 16, 2017 by GJK

GJK, 16MAR2017

from WRIGHT THE BOOK

habit and rancor’

hello, predictable. hello, habit. hello shitty diner coffee

that i do so love with every fiber of my mortal being, every mote

of the ephemeral essence that is not me, yet, in truth, is entirely

me and you and every living thing that ever was and ever will be (which means nothing because time is a fiction) and because, as we have learned and understood for eternity — time is not real.

conversely, timelessness is also not real. confusion enters

the mind and sugar is stirred into the ‘brackish black liquid’

and down my gullet it goes and once again i proclaim:

Sentence structure be damned to the deepest bowels

of the most foul, vile and wicked lake of fire

that sentience itself has ever imagined within

the rancorous confines of earthly existence!

YAWP! grammar, to hell with thee! freedom, expression, caffeine! exaltation and liberty!

* * *

9MAR17_10:48am_menom.mi

Posted in best of GJK, New Poems, no-mad poets, poems, poems 2017, taoist, zen with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on March 9, 2017 by GJK

i sit contentedly ignoring all that surrounds

and focus only upon the internal realm

of consciousness in all its infinite, formless

and unknowable grandeur.  i am beauty and ugliness,

i am order and entropy, i am all

and i am nothing.

i laugh aloud and startle my neighbors in this common room

of this public house.  i alight from my overstuffed chair

and exit abruptly to smoke that cigarette

that awaits me in the shotgun seat of my own truck

and damn it is wonderful.

the sun shines on the smoke

and i disappear

completely.

GJK

9MAR17

no-name poem-ring

Posted in Uncategorized on March 6, 2017 by GJK

old, old, old… great but not quite there or right; there is no perfection…

poems by GJK

——————

no-name-poem-ring

 

[dj spooky is flowing from the speakers]

——————

within the pen-named ego-aura of gjk

i let it all go

i let it all float away

there’s that tenor sax i’ve been wanting

there’s that beat man

that beat man

that beat woman over there

knows what is what

and what ain’t worth her time

there’s that bass that upright bass

those finger-plucked notes of tones

of tomes of pomes of books of jazz

yas yas yas

there’s a nod to the jack kerouac-e

(hear it as jack care-oh-wacky)

madness spookiness angels and light

and dark and paved moons of planets of suns

of systems of galaxies

holy moses holy cow holy god holy human holy

john coltrane was right

‘n’ what i’m talkin’ ’bout is

outta this world

set the controls for

the heart of all hearts

the mythic hart of old

that cannot be slain by…

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stones and stumbles

Posted in Uncategorized on March 6, 2017 by GJK

for Maus and me and also
no name poetry
milwaukay riverwest
Michael bret n me and you
and Sleepy too… yo Sleepy !
AND, dedicated to Calvin Grandaw

poems by GJK

waiting for you to call me back

i stumble upon a stack of notebooks

written in my hand,

the hand of me from two-thousand-and-three

and 2001

and many other years.

it is heavy,

that whole stack,

heavy as stones piled precariously close

to the edge of a creek in the night

where shadows move

the shadows of young women and men

who walk slow and talk soft

and mostly sit

listening to the night

the water

the owl

the engines from the city

that surround this peaceful place.

i don’t remember exactly who was there

but some of them could disappear at will

all they had to do was sit still

and my eyes could no longer see them.

so now i am there,

no longer awaiting your call.

i see you in a shadow

as a satyr

as you and he

once saw me

by the dock of…

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shadows subterfuge

Posted in Uncategorized on March 6, 2017 by GJK

poems by GJK

shadows subterfuge elegant mystery coiling in smoky trails

upward shadows history misery only falls grace does rise

the crash of swarm of words that fail flailing futile

all the ideals of ages swallowed by tides of blood

of holy wars (the most insincere of terms) the dead

philosophies the worn footpaths of sandaled feet

all shadows lovely dark recesses in unconscious

manifestation flying forward now breathing

flowing forth ah Beauty oh mistress of sunset

the shadowed hours stretching time of cool

moist winds of sand scattered by barefoot

lovers oh Love ah Pain where has

Misery gone ??

(how i miss her anvil touch)

——————————

GJK

2003

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i type with four fingers

Posted in New Poems, no-mad poets, taoist, Uncategorized, zen with tags , , , , , on January 3, 2017 by GJK

and that is enough.

the others work well enough,

but with four my mind has time to float

a bit

yet remained tempered by focus

as sharp as a bushido blade.

GJK

3JAN17

12:24am

to the wounded

Posted in Uncategorized on December 30, 2016 by GJK

to the wounded

i say that i hurt too and it doesn’t matter what kind

of hurt it is,

i wish that i could wish it away,

but unfortunately we have eons between us

and i am only human.

we have all felt that hollow pit in the stomach

or that stabbing eye-glare

that is perhaps a misperception

on either end;

or it’s real and agonizing physical pain,

perhaps it’s war or abuse of any kind

and i certainly do not know your particular struggle

but i can tell you that i am hunched over this machine

with terrible posture and it hurts but i NEED to get this out,

i NEED this figurative device to survive until my next breath.

so i breathe, and i notice the cat staring at me.

‘you didn’t forget about work tomorrow, did you?’

no, kitty-cat, i didn’t forget.

so!

this particular piece of automatic writing is at its end,

and i am thinking of you,

the wounded.

GJK

30DEC16