Tag Archives: existentialism

Conquering Mt Katahdin

Teeth grind against time, older than heart beats;
bury themselves in the nape of the world
and through that grit they grunt back, “I dare you,”
so in droves we come to mine from them ‘truth.’

But ‘truth’ does not move through time as we do.
Desperate for relevance in our space,
we seek stability in the journey;
while what is true finds no movement worthy.

Thus those mandibles remain static
while we struggle for purchase against them;
should we win, overcoming their long face
we will have, in the end, lost the race.

The drums of victory may course in our veins
as we stand atop the corpse of impulse
to reflect on the unconquerable
hoping someday to be ponderable,

yet our triumph is too brief a passing
to reconcile against the scales of time,
like a flash of lightning through the night sky;
radiance wasted in a blink of an eye.

Photograph by David Wilson

Artillery

Fire surges us forward at speed
piercing clouds and comprehension
threading violently through the chaotic cotton
eluding any eyes that would dare to follow.

A monstrous arch that frowns against the world
all the fruited things now rotten
corrupt with anima and conflict
warring over what little remains of Apollo.

Human nature is to define and to contradict
and they do so with unquenchable bloodlust
condemning their opposition without discourse
at a pace that leaves their memories shallow.

We crash to the earth, nowhere they could predict
a bedlam of the horrors willfully forgotten.

Thick Gray Clouds Crying

Not for caution

              the rain

   like water toiling away
          at the bottom of a black pot

heavy with industry

             an entire era of invention
          crashing to the earth

          burning away the weeds
                with acid and ash

taking everything else with it

           while we dance and sing,

                         make love

until at last we drift away into sadness.
                        again.

               that rain…

                               even on sunny days

                  is always seeping deeper beneath the surface.

Middle of Nowhere

Solemn shadows
languish about
in the heat of a stale sun.
The world stretched out like taffy
yawning at the end of day.

Rust caked memories
cover everything the eye sees
red cataracts
over golden iris’
[keeping secrets]

A lone desolate road
lays against the earth
like an abandoned parade float
absent the anticipation of its creators
the pomp of its apogee.

No one is there to hear
the road signs speak,
every mile or so,
reminding would be travelers
where they have been-
where they go.

The Last Noel

I saw christmas propped on a wall
a furry elbow anchored to faded brick
and an old frayed rope loose around the neck.

His coat opened to expose the belly beneath
a polluted white undershirt
covered in flecktarn flattery of the heat.
The suspenders undone, failed their purpose
but allowed him to
              decorate the building
          with a hot yellow stream
      that smelled uncomfortably sweet,
      the excess pooled on the cement below;
an alabaster sidewalk, darkened
by the corruption.

He didn’t stop when he noticed me
turning midstream
like an eighteen wheeler losing
                                its center
                                        around a corner.

Amidst the wreckage
a sign remains intact
moored to his chest
bobbing up and down with labored breath;
              “The End is Nigh.”

You Are Here.

I am here.
Against all the dreams of fate,
my persistence permeates,
transcends the fear;
I, am here.

Long behind bolted gates,
bound by crippling weights,
now freed upon a new frontier;
I am here.

This life is mine to dictate,
these dreams, mine to create.
If there is one thing that is clear;
I am, here.

Through all the changing states,
my force will not abate.
Because I persevere,
I am here.

Delicacy

Hindered by broken moments
                  the time passes
                        meat from a grinder
                                  squeezing out uncomfortably,
                  sustenance indiscernible from grissle.

oil, grease
      leisure brought to sloth
                    manifest
      falling like melted clocks
                  to a porcelain plate below.

somewhere
          cellophane is waiting.

Crossing Roads

Bones
riddled with age
wrap around the space.
The entirety of the body
embracing oblivion
like a handle hovering
just over a threshold;
an opening.

Each step
is surprised to land
a little further,
retire there
and relax,
but there is more to go.
The light is green
the streets – serene.

A hot wind
sends what remains of hair
into a silver blur of rebellion,
against time
against fragility
against predeterminism;
restrained only by old roots
that hold fast always
even beyond the grave.

Anabolism

When plating emotions
be mindful of how they are consumed.

Sadness cannot be devoured immediately
pair with colorful sides
to keep the appetite distracted
while it waits for the meal to be tolerable.

Anger is much the same
but requires the opposite response
serve alone on the otherwise empty plate
give enough space to save the sides.

Interest is built of delicate crust
that will collapse under pressure
but handled carefully
will keep its delicious vitals intact.

Joy as your main course
cannot be given – only cultivated
the effort and intent can be tasted
a culinary crescendo patiently savored.

Despite our favorites we all need a full course,
compelling meals are filled with diversity.