Archive for life

a simple thing complicated by thinking

Posted in humor, love, New Poems, poems 2017 with tags , , , , , , , , , , on May 11, 2017 by GJK

scraggly grass is curiously clipped

uniformly by an unwieldy

and aggressive machine.

the scent of gasoline melds with that of tree pollen

and the internal fluids of innumerable

bifurcated herbaceous dicotyledons.

wending its way through that melange

is the aromatic certainty

of rain-clouds drawing near.

it is the first mass torture of spring.

i grin impishly at the dirt

between the green, severed blades.

do your work, soil

i say.

i laugh, walk away

and slay my evil minion

by throwing a dead, vulgar tarpaulin

over the top of the hulking beast.

i congratulate myself

for a job well done —

(a ridiculous job that offends

my neo-tribal philosophy,

but this ain’t grad school

and my philosophizing is sporadic

and incoherent at best)

so,

the trouble, i suppose,

is simply some vague fear

of incurring a fine from the city

for allowing grass to be grass.

the deeper reason, though,

for this botanical violence

is the bloom of happiness

i see upon her face

as i brush the dirt from my hands

and the first drops fall upon our skulls.

GJK

11MAY17

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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!

* * *

ignoring all

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

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

is here

Posted in New Poems with tags , , , , on October 7, 2014 by GJK

cringe cowered under the silver yolk

slivers of consciousness sever spinal cord

i am absurdly protected

living here

where i live.

elsewhere fucked.

but refuge is here

living here

where i live.

GJK, 7OCT14

the wheel

Posted in New Poems, poems, poems 2014, taoist, zen with tags , , , , , , , , on August 25, 2014 by GJK

three flies swarm the gaping wound

in the belly of the dead mouse

splayed on the grass and dirt

killed and left there

by a house cat on the prowl

asserting its nature

to hunt.

the corpse nurtures the flies

it is a beautiful dead thing

spindly limbs frozen in rigor,

its death invigorates

industrious insects

and nourishes the soil;

next spring the mouse will be

a dandelion

that delights a small child

and perturbs the adult

obsessed with the concept

of a lawn.

it is a wondrous corpse

it is marvelous and pristine

even with its entrails spilling out

and glassy eyes fixed upon

the eternal.

GJK

15AUG14