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pseudonymous

pseudonymous

Obtuse Kineticist
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Just a place for any poets in the community to share their work....


11/11/11

standing hapless in between closure and moving on
the awkward silence casting a big strained sigh
the moment i realized i might of stayed too long
everyone embarrassed for motives undefined

got used to the weight of dragging that key around
a door a barrier to hide behind rather than a plateau
going through the same motions will destroy my grace
letting go i shall forget more than most will ever know

i could sit looking over that past topography for a stretch
life far more influencial than eventual possibilities at hand
certainty lies ahead of uncertainty lying about past deeds
prospects numerous drift on the wind like grains of sand

glancing down at belongings meant to prove i belonged
no one is going to claim the body the baggage or the memory
our fair value is as transient as each generation's obsessions
nothing as sad as the man pretending life off of past glory

there is lightness to my step as i lean forward to find my pace
a smile the last thing i remembered as i closed my tired eyes
letting go of one's nature becomes the most natural thing
somewhere something is bound to happen as i take to the skies

~ DC Vision
 
Hi Pseudo, fun thread! To change the pace a bit from your contemplative poem, here is one I wrote during a backpacking trip in the Rockies:


Summer Snow
Iowa Guy

Snowfall on my tent, this midsummer's eve
So late into June, who would believe?​

Winter, so stubborn, with her heavy hand
As spring fades away in Rocky Mountain Land.​

Tomorrow brings summer, with sunshiney days
Where wildflowers and wildlife come out to play.​

Winter, go home now, your time is through
Come again hunting season, I'll be waiting for you.​
 
Reminds me of an overnight snowstorm on July 8th, 1993 I think in that notch in Montana that meets Idaho & Wyoming. My response was a lot more colorful given I got rid of all of my winter clothes...
 
10aug11 revdate 1dec11
A bit dark for me, but I had a most severe headache at the time...
-----

I have heard of your boasts and your passion,
as you sing in the new 'gangs-ta' fashion
your songs instill fear but you're treated better than else wheres.

Try to live that sweet life in Somalia,
with the strife and starvation upon ya,
which because of our laws we cannot simulate here.

It's much worse than the laws of the jungle,
for it's civilization all in a bungle,
with tribe against tribe and no one sheds a tear.

All the food in the world won't help them,
they are too busy shooting and yelping,
for the name of the game is to kill, rape and to instill fear.

Short of full-scale armed intervention,
with strict martial rule no exception,
a peace sought dear is not to be seen for years.
 
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Drunk Dry Three Times

the first layer of me
was shed like a skin of emotions
words that cut and raged
like a wild fire
at me and from me
all defensive and all repetition
until it burned away
all semblances of me
and I knew I felt nothing

the second layer of me
was shed like a skin
of inflated words
and definitions upon definitions
lip service
in place of experience
shown the light of day
by the experiencial fact
that I did not know anything

the third layer of me
was shed like the skin
of the snake that lived
in the tree of knowledge
of good and evil
all of my skins
falling to the ground
like pages of books
I have lived and read them all
and come away
knowing I am nothing

the fourth layer of me
is an empty cup
drunk dry three times

~ DC Vision
 
Shadows By: GK


How many know a shadow
She's playful as I recall
How many see her magic
on an animated wall?

A candle burning brightly
extends its ghostly eye
She'll dance upon the ceiling
above the room so high

But in the morning sunrise
the shadow is at her best
She'll follow you forever
and never need to rest

But in the dark of night
she puts her needs to bed
She'll belong again tomorrow
or again when light is shed
 
Farewell By: GK


The bottle beside my bed
taunts my anguish.
The gun pressed firmly against my temple
longs to reunite.


The race is not yet over,
but it could be with a twitch of my finger.
Then, I could join my brother
and together we could face the other side


Is it fair for any to go alone?
The great unknown
intrigues my curiosity.
Does he need me by his side?


In a fit of drunken rage I pull the trigger,
the gun know pointed at the bottle beside my bed.
Mother runs in screaming!
She see's me on my knees howling at the absent moon!


I look in her eyes.
I break down crying.
Terrified and shaking
she says to me,


"Jamie I loved him too".



R.I.P Rick - You are loved and dearly missed
 
2012

time has accelerated so much in my lifetime
i wonder if clocks are truly keeping up with the pace
is there some poor sap in a windowless room in charge
i wonder if there is someone manning the breaks

one day we were figuring out how to tame electricity
next we were discovering we were composed of the stuff
soon we will be riding the lightning to other worlds
and i am treading water within these stacatto rhthyms

the times have the feel of approaching a stress point
perhaps a big bang that will punctuate worried words
we are passengers on the same fog engulfed platform
waiting on a punctual train that may have already passed

most likely i will be at peace on that december day
death and enlightenment are immune to calendars
like a man sitting in a rocking chair on a rocketship
the journey is a mixed bag of exhaustion and acceleration

~ DC Vision (aka pseudonymous)
 
Drunk Dry Three Times

the first layer of me
was shed like a skin of emotions
words that cut and raged
like a wild fire
at me and from me
all defensive and all repetition
until it burned away
all semblances of me
and I knew I felt nothing

the second layer of me
was shed like a skin
of inflated words
and definitions upon definitions
lip service
in place of experience
shown the light of day
by the experiencial fact
that I did not know anything

the third layer of me
was shed like the skin
of the snake that lived
in the tree of knowledge
of good and evil
all of my skins
falling to the ground
like pages of books
I have lived and read them all
and come away
knowing I am nothing

the fourth layer of me
is an empty cup
drunk dry three times

~ Pseudonymous
 

it's sometimes like we are each searching in the
interior caverns of our mind , desperately
to find a cylindrical rock passage where we
meet each other face to face

we keep talking , keep
feeling our way , hoping to find a place in
each other's nether worlds where
we don't have to talk anymore , where
our eyes can meet &
not be skewed away by their
fretfully recognized disjunction​

 


spring gallery walk disappointments


1

i do wish that gallery art were a little skankier
it is neurotically clean
( is it the white gallery walls , forcing art to be scrubbed & tidy & ever-so-slightly antiseptic ? )

whatever art's disease is
i'd kind of like to catch it
that germ in art which induces a healthy dose of chaos


2

art
small mouth
wide nipples
tight twat
small beasts ( flat chest ) , narrow hips ( boy-ass )
no T&A magic in art ( but
something else ? )


3

i like to look at penises
find not a lot of penises in contemp art
not even Freudian metaphorical ones

testicles ?
i like to suck a testicle till
the hormones make it roll

where in art do you feel
the hormones
start to roll ?​
 


washed clothes stacked on bed

striding down the watershed trail
i stop
"oh Ma!" heaves from my chest

far-off bald eagle slowly wings by​

 
A Stop Along The Way

I’ve come home
having beaten
horizons into hindsight
to lay foot and payload
upon the soil
of a people
long buried
like their hopes
of ever being
burden free

I am blood tied
to the topography
of this melancholy
should I join these houses
and their inhabitants
in peeling paint
and graying hair
and loss of vital signs
then all the miles
that I have behind me
would come to nothing

would you have me
still standing still
treading water in the dream
like the background
and the blood
that makes its way through you
trapped in the gravity
of whatever keeps you asleep

I know the road
that led me away
is the same road
that brought me back
and I know the road
there is no going home
to or from
a stop along the way
sometimes history corrects itself
by not repeating itself

~ Pseudonymous
 
you are welcome - would love to see more poetry from other community members...betting there are some wonderful voices here
 
I made a terrible poem of it
In case you did not know of it
eating fish with no fork full mitt
I told my waiter to please sit

before his eyes produced fine wine
or management could hear my line
I told him much of my design
to tap the til and drink til nine

that I had heard an angel shout
at me to start a paper route
and did you know he kicked me out
not caring what it was about
 
American Straitjacket

when I took my last road trip
in exploration of my terrain
I offered up my cynicism
albeit with some measure
of reluctance

but now I call you out
to prove me wrong
because I am always
one asshole-at-large
away from peace
if there is usefulness
in my discovery
let it be my currency

within the boundary
of a mass delusion
where everyone is driven
to make a buck
and spend a buck
consumed
in the consumption

in your suv’s
with those jesus fish
and american flags
and flavor of the month
colored ribbon stickers
you’d run me off the road
in your holy march
of narcissism

pray for my soul
because I cannot
manifest enough
self righteousness
to master this treadmill

I need ammunition
to blast my way free
from this cartoon repetition
predictable scenery
that blurs just behind
the main characters
in american straitjackets
smiling until they pop one day
into glorious headlines

~ Pseudonymous
 
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