Archive for June, 2012

journal entry, 30 April 2004

Posted in no-mad poets, poems 2004, taoist, zen with tags , , , , , , on June 20, 2012 by GJK

at a certain point, the mind begins to rebel

against input… there comes a time

when the mind is apparently saturated

and will not absorb anything not yet residing

within its confines.

new information does not stick.

fresh paths do not open.

the circuitry is muddled; it loses its integral beauty…

the mind begins to tell itself

I CANNOT LEARN ANYTHING MORE

and the fear of death, or rather, the fear of finite experience,

begins to resonate in the frigid bowels

of distraction and doubt that permeates

the subconsciouss, bleeding thru into front-mind

moments of lethargy prolonged and

ponderously dominating all vectors

of perception.

GJK

30APR04

Advertisements

GJK_June 12th, 2012

Posted in haiku, humor, New Poems, poems 2012, sarcasm with tags , , , , , on June 14, 2012 by GJK

i.

beef sizzles on grill

somnolent nose awakens—

pocketful of dimes

— 

           heralds hunger,

           jangles malaise.

 

— 

ii.

— 

cute dimples and eyes

will not convince me to spend

money i don’t have.

— 

           please stop trying,

           ms. ponytail…

 

— 

iii.

— 

blue sky burdens ire,

bombards gloom with happiness

and lightness of heart.

— 

           fuck you, sunshine!

           fuck fresh air, too…

 

 

—          

GJK

12JUN12

2 Poems by Calvin Grandaw

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , on June 1, 2012 by GJK

Wasted dreams, spitting back reality into the grooves

of your dejected, shame-bleeding face.

Paranoid arrogance is confirmed by the endless stream

of one dialogue.

History becomes a comfortable escape. The unreliability
of a coerced memory is a relaxing suffocation,

the sweet repose from excessive breathing,

from the destiny dance you try to avoid;

upon return, waiting, is you,

just you

— 

denuded
and unarmed.

by CALVIN GRANDAW

—————————————————–

 

The footprints in the sky flavor my triumph.
Tales of crude rides salve the wayward hopes,
and steal my drenched respect.

Post storm, silent and regretful,
massaging with wasted solicitude.
Nature’s swallow cannot hold the end.

The footprints in the sky are clouds, you say.

No, they’re illusions, unattainable as they are.

by CALVIN GRANDAW
———————————————————-