poeticgoggles

some poems

2009-04-09T21:42:00.000-07:00

"That Smell"
There was that smell again.
I won't describe to you
the effects,
the cringing faces,
the pinching of noses,
the turning in the wind,
because you've smelled it
before-
that ass-wiped smile,
that time you turned
away
from your neighbor
when he was bleeding
his life
and begged you
to clot it.
That smell, the stench,
your pride.

"Poetry: A Confession"

She has grown tired of me,

Oh Poetry, how weak my voice

Untunes before her.

Yet, she dazzles me

With her words

Dripping slowly into my mouth;

It hurts.

She is not constant,

No, she is not kind.

(By the way,

She enjoys my misery

Knowing she'll win

Unerased.)

Once, I cheated on her

with Prose;

But, she knows.

Oh she knows I can't write

Her out, or break her heart

Without breaking mine.

No, she is not constant,

Oh so unkind.

"Who's the Mirror-man?"

I am the mirror-man.

What man I was, I do not

know slipping away.

Hearing that voice

I suddenly forget

Memorizing each syllable

With an untrained eye.

How often I'm broken

not remembering why

the past seven years

flew by,

And seeing the same man

in the mirror-

Unchanged. Unmoved.

I am the mirror-man.

Running On Silence

2009-02-25T18:14:00.000-08:00

Sitting upon the rocks,
(by the fast flowing river,)
the crow mocks, mocks
the movements made
by men on the bridge,
and bends his head
with animal curiosity.

The men move with their feet,
beating to the beat
that no man hears.
The cars busy themselves
like men; mocking
their movements they file
behind each other each
one facing the fronts
and backs of one another.

And sitting upon the rocks,
(by the fast flowing river,)
the crow flaps, flaps
its wings to flight
as another day passes
(the river flows onward).

*This poem was a strange one to me. Though we live in a world that is full of technological advancement and communication is easily accessed, we barely talk to people anymore face-to-face. Nor do we hear our voices in the streets, just the engines of machines running. Have we lost something?

Polluted Words

2008-11-25T20:15:00.000-08:00

I have grown old
and to look upon my feet
is like looking
upon the roots
of a willow.

Knotted, you tried
cutting, severing
with your saws
which you saw
effective,
yet those old roots
bite and whip round
endlessly around
the world.

Now stepping light,
I feel detached
from the soil,
that has been poisoned
with the smoked rain.

Those polluted words
sown swell like
the once fresh wells
which are not
well anymore.

Untitled

2008-11-14T23:33:00.000-08:00

The ill-begotten dawn,
that time the rooster failed
to call up the sun.

He must have slept and dreamed
a man's dream.

Hoping he'd mate a hen,
Hoping his offspring
might be strong

And not cracked
and not scrambled
in a yellow-frying mess

Like the sun
he tries to call up.

2008-11-07T12:09:00.000-08:00

I guess I won't be deleting this blog after all. Even if not many people read it, it helps me to write things out. Therapy, I guess.

Normally, I wouldn't think twice about fighting or self-defense; but recently I've given it a second thought. To be more specific, I've been thinking about practicing martial arts. Now, I'm not a physical type of person, but I want to do something that's fun for me and physically challenging right now.

I looked into several schools of martial arts, and the one that sticks out more is Jeet Kune Do. If you don't know what kind of martial arts that is, well, it's the kind that Bruce Lee started and practiced. Out of the other kinds of martial arts, JKD seems to be more practical and down-to-earth, which is what I'm looking for. I don't want to practice forms and moves that are fancy and over-the-top, I just want something useful and fun.

So, hopefully, after I find out how much it will cost and a little more information about it, this may be a temporary answer to my need for a physical challenge. And if it isn't, then I'll have to find something else. Either way, I think practicing martial arts will be fun and challenging.

Peace out.

Feigning Wormwood

2008-09-30T16:57:00.000-07:00

Sitting idly, the waves ran
through, the sluice
spread toward
an immense resolution.

With finality,
no tears were shed amid
the roaring
the thundering
waves of laughter.

Men,
banging doors with
lusty hands, and
children
sucking their dry
mothers' blood.

And today the sun rose
high seventy-five.
My eyes blinked
in the mirror,
I was exhausted.

My Very, Very First Poems

2008-09-06T20:08:00.000-07:00

The following poems are some of my first. During the summer between my freshman and sophmore year of college, I began to write poetry frequently. In this time I was experiencing a lot of difficulties. So, poetry became a type of cathargic form of expression in the situations I was going through. Though I don't believe these poems are in any way the best I've written, I believe these poems formed the foundation for my later pieces. Enjoy and amuse yourself with my immaturity.

Colors twirl
Light swirls
Bending, shifting
Movement mixing
Shards of colored glass
Keep moving pass
Up and down
All around
An eye without locus
Hands that change it's focus
-7/11/05

A mist descended on my path
And I dared not to pass
Grey cloud and shadow mourn
A deep thought like a storm

Rested haze
Did block my gaze
Looking for a thought of light
To end this morning trite
Eventually came
From the voice of His Name
And gave me ground to tread on.
-7/11/05

The moon with silver beam
Shown with pale light all seam'd
Reflected in a pool
During the time of Yule
Like cold and crystal glass
Did a light sparkle pass
And before me I saw my life
It's joy and strife
A sight that I wish I did not see
In the mirrored pool of cruel courtesy.
-7/12/05

A storm swelled the sky
Absorbed the sun well dry
Raindrops came, cold to kill
I could have sworn it broke the mill
Murdered everyone inside
Without leaving them a place to hide
Could it have washed them away?
Yes, I saw them the other day
Safely placed in their frames
-8/6/05

When lonely souls go oft to war
Much received and much forlorned
Do they hear whispers of good deeds?
Or hear the cries of their offspring?
Oh what reason do they wander for?
Seeking gold? Or treasure evermore?
Yet blind are those who with no show
They seek to reap
More black gold to keep
What will would keep them home
The wearied man, the endangered soul?
-11/17/05

You're more than welcome to poke, remark, and deconstruct my early verse. This period in my life was difficult and trying. I wrote at least 1,000 poems from summer of 2005 to summer of 2006. And none of them are worth much now.

Crafting Sign

2008-09-05T15:36:00.000-07:00

Loving are the hands
crafting the sign
that sits above the door.
The bell-frame structure
echoed the songs heard
in a distance off the wall.

The old church tucked
away by greedy men
waiting for death grew
impatient for salvation
as they kneaded their hearts
with dull needles
and scarlet thread
not knowing the noose
wrapped around their necks
slackened and tightened again
accordingly.

And as I watched
the sight etch itself
firmly in my mind,
I saw the melody
clear itself from us.

Tinted Color (Stilled Revision) & another

2008-08-17T22:36:00.000-07:00

Her scanty lips
pressed hard against
the window panes
and left a stain
of blood.

And not just a smudge,
but tints of blue,
and red, and yellow
made the window
sacred-stained,
that upon further observation
created a mist
of delicacy in the room
of the mortuary.

~

In the old celestial drum

resounds the hum beating

relentlessly upon a chord,

now, choked by the hands

that caressed

the aching backs of men,

it winds down.

Aliens Among Us

2008-08-11T12:26:00.000-07:00

In the dense streets
walk the bipeds
speaking in tongues
no one, not one
hears,
except the wind.

In a matter of moments,
the verge of alien
craft inhibits
the lines drawn
with the eyes
wide open to view
a path of used space,
that was empty a moment ago.

Abducting the world in fragments,
no wonder the ways
of man are
un-familiar.

The Soul Man and Others

2008-07-24T21:02:00.000-07:00

The Soul Man

Bending downward
the movements etched
lines in the muscles
aching on his back.

Here the man recoils
and doubles his efforts,
cautiously sealing his
life in measurements sketched
on a bar that understands
nothing between zero and
two hundred.

Old, the man reaches into
his heart, tuning the
strings to tighten
his soul, and close the gap
between heaven and hell
because grace is plenty
when sucked through a straw,
and there's hope
that inquity won't
slay him yet.

~*~

Down step and one foot

close to the water

breathing off cold

mist enveloping

with the words

which spring upon

the soul.

The invisible grip

squeezes veins and lungs

of hot, comfortable living

with a realization

of the un-real.

And as a pen dips the

flinches of life into words,

so does death infringe.

~*~

I wonder if the road ahead

bears signs painted

yellow and marks with

black crosses,

as the doubt of possibilities

stretch across this gravel-laden,

quiet road, ending with a

soft murmuring of my mouth.

And the humored wind

speaks with a push

as the dawn parades

upwards behind my head

against the road.

Traveling on, I kick stones

in the same direction;

they stop as I move on

solid as any one of them.

Regrettably Missed (Rem. to revise)

2008-06-16T14:01:00.000-07:00

I heard a man speak
evenly about the blossoming trees
and watering rains
meeting each other like
men engaging an acquiantance
(on a street in the middle of
the evening traffic hour.)

This man, who on his death bed,
woke up in the morning
listening to the outside choir
divining rightly the measurements
between the stars.

This man, where he stood,
no longer counted in the chronicles
of another life
dazing in a dream on a night
of thundering lights
and crying moans of the murdered.

Yet, this man, eagerly approaching eternity,
coveted the sounds of grace
and lamented the bed of his youth,
as he saw the flame ignite before him.

Poems

2008-06-16T13:44:00.001-07:00

Enlightened

Deadly, the wind blows
water-drops bearing salt
of the living deceased.

Those, who memory
has forgotten on
the moon-tide, crested
sea of life,
are seeing stars
caught in the face of God.

Standing on the shore,
grains of dust
bond my eyes shut
keeping out the light
of gods and guns
firing rounds that echo
on my deaf ears.

And on this lively island
bearing Hades' breath,
alone I sit to live
while the living
stand to die.

In Advance

Those children who held

hands in a cross

kept faith on a leash.

And we who sup tonight

lick our fingers

delicately hoping

to graciously live

as though starvation and

death and disease

are unaffordable

to the wealthy

few of us

who, in turn,

eat crumbs of

bread off the floor.

Privileges

2008-06-12T13:23:00.000-07:00

Lately, as I have consumed a few books and articles lying around my room for my intellectual reading pleasure, I noticed the difference it makes upon my growth as a reader and writer. While school taught me the formulas and the creative tactics to use and develop, spending time on my own without the pressure of papers, returning to another school year, and committing myself to assigned readings, has helped me tremendously.

The difficulty seems to be moving forward in the tasks I have assigned for myself. While I spend time reading, writing, and studying, my room is neglected cleaning, my car is denied service, and a few other tasks are casually put aside for another day. This is bad!

So, in order to redeem myself I have decided to deny a few luxuries. One of these luxuries is reading. I am not allowed to read until I spend a couple hours a day cleaning my room. Another luxury is writing. Writing of any sort must be postponed until a couple of hours is spent working on my car. There, I've written down for all to see.

Well, perhaps not.

Statement, The First

2008-06-10T21:26:00.000-07:00

This is perhaps the the tenth attempt I have made to sustain a lasting blog. The previous blogs I have created were either erased or deleted due to lack of involvement on my part. So, without further ado, I give my readers a new blog!

Attempting to dismantle any of my hopes for being different and poetically charismatic, this blog will contain pieces that reflect my current thoughts, poems, stories, ideas, and other strange musings that delight my active mind.

I hope all enjoy!