The Word Pirate

How Much Not

Wed, 08 Jul 2009 16:37:15 GMT

Standing, the mind drifts to the dark
for underneath in flickered shade
certainties cannot be made,
and above, thin consciousness,
cannot in light imagine such depths, so stark

Yet comfort can find its place in this
tethered tightly to our hearts
as glancing down sets us apart
as just how far we stand from bliss
a measure of how much not in abyss

An Upward Tilt

Wed, 03 Jun 2009 02:58:14 GMT

the height from which it hung
cold and perilous

felt low and wan against its orbit
coronating in great arcs and spans
a crown so brillant a trillion
shining shards a humble ring

when it fell
I could only think of a comet

darkness and fire plummeting
a burnt line across the sky
yet the impact all in ice
heaving up a mountain without mass
a glitter in endless glass

and on that impossible slope, I start
awake

toppling up towards
clearemptyinfinite
every step a stumble gasp
above ghost shapes moving
within its low tinted glass
straining at pale pyramidal seams
my rough heels feel the burred pitch of some nothing screamed
as I stand on sloping walls once made of sand
shaking above something still alive

shivering above looking down
it is so steep I feel far beneath the ground
I tremble fall clutch and seize
I am but a silhouette there is no sound
a tiny shadow on my knees

it is a moment I might understand
reaching below into not quite guilt
no longer climbing,

but an upward tilt

A Heavy Business

Sat, 30 May 2009 03:07:51 GMT

You expected irony
I offer iron

sixty thousand tons
of hammered ore
floating proud on ten thousand more

a heavy business
built upon the sea

a hundred hardened men who pray
to faithful tension
and factory

a ship, a home, a wake in bright white foam

could but our
deadweight
drift so purposefully

The Wobble

Fri, 17 Apr 2009 15:11:15 GMT

On the beam, I am all cheer

The wood, the ground,

seem wide and near

after a fall

I have no stress

it’s in the wobble

I’m humorless

A fragment from 2008

Fri, 02 Jan 2009 18:56:58 GMT

like a ship

I do not slip
the waves pass under
I bob beneath the thunder
a wobble, not a wreck
a little water on deck
keeps me cold and clean
brisk and mean
like the risks I've seen
I am stable
like a riveted boat
I yawn and spread my weight
and it's hard not to float.

No one keeps the lighthouses anymore (v2)

Sun, 23 Nov 2008 16:36:54 GMT

still they stand
full of flash and purpose
alone, no longer lonely;
long vigil kept by wave tossed sea--
and constant battery

No one yearns desolate
for the mariner, the wavering sail
off rocky shore,
diminished,
no longer burns the isolated wick, the solitary soul
that, somehow, was security

what was lost?

the light blinks on just the same

spinning around wrong and right
we sail fearless,
abandoning the land
our faith found in a bright circuit--
a thin strip of sand
against the abyss

oh empty beacon
turning in the night
above the breaking waves

Fine Dining

Sat, 15 Nov 2008 00:20:41 GMT

Wait a minute here
You asked me to act like an animal
So I did
reached out
with my hand
curled
and gave you a bit
of my world
I kept my fingertips tight
it felt right

this was a fight

I didn't care if you hit back
I didn't care about a second act
fuck all that grist

this was a dedicated fist

I swung
I committed
I missed!

this seemed so funny
I found myself on the floor
tossed out the door
my head spinning the world a roar
down on all fours

making like a lion
looking for his pride

so sauntered back inside
all hi's to the hyenas
slipped the bouncer a bill
moved in for my kill
feeling vicious

ordered a big steak
best bottle of wine
divine
so rare and delicious

I can't even hear you
I am so near you.

No one keeps the lighthouses anymore

Tue, 11 Nov 2008 02:20:26 GMT

still they stand
full of flash and purpose
lonely no longer;
long vigil kept by wave tossed sea--
and constant battery

No one yearns desolate
for the mariner, the wavering sail
off rocky shore,
diminished,
no longer burns the isolated wick, the solitary soul
that, somehow, was security

what was lost?

the light blinks on just the same

oh empty beacon
turning in the night
above the breaking waves

November Flight

Wed, 05 Nov 2008 17:01:25 GMT

82, moving fast
but feeling slow

I'm relativity, lightspeed, one old dude
gonna fly south for the winter

like a proud goose

like lost baggage
on a steel bird

but no magnetic north, no GPS here
I can't even find my exit
was it 24E? 26? When did this road become a route?

what's the time? when's the flight? when did it get
to be night?

too late to turn around
two hours late and still on the ground

I feel relieved somehow

somehow I missed this ticket

somehow I'm still driving.

think I'll roll the window down.

Do not fret for a fallen tree (v1, working title)

Thu, 05 Jun 2008 19:58:51 GMT

For there is patience in the cold of earth,
the bustle of a thousand lives
long redressed in dirt and death
awaiting a more slender birth
across a field's spring floral girth.

Flowers, burst so slow at first,
uncurling quiet, humble limbs
all green, ungrown, but growing still,
quickly quench their hopeful thirst,
blossom loud and sweet and well rehearsed

Bethroned, they sing, proud and petal light,
laughing at the solemn trees,
bending blind to seed-tossed breeze,
all busy buzz above busy weeds,
who more swiftly woke from winter's night,
and treat each dawn's thaw as autumn's sight.

But mild winds soon wild gust,
whip-chilling verdant wisps to rust
and all of those attentive bees flee with their buzz
high above to oaken hives,
where, solemn rooted, a tree survives.

A Purposeful Mind v1.0

Wed, 19 Dec 2007 18:51:32 GMT

A dull inward pressure forms in my head
my brain feels contained
by some inner hollow--
a vacuum awareness, a wracking lack
of purpose,
a momentum flying off the track
suddenly lost, out of contact with the ground.

I hear it without sound - a spring snapping unwound
the metal confused by vanished tension
a former coil finds itself a line - undefined

I shake I swoon I find and force a grin
I grab at a wavering willowing end

and begin to bend
and wind.

v2

Fri, 26 Oct 2007 20:01:58 GMT

To Reach

Tell me, on high,
atop this painted mountain
no longer blocked by granite side
now free to stumble off in any direction
but yours
is this what freedom offers?
was this worth the climb?

With all under my feet, and nothing but the barest rock
Here, unrestrained, smiled on by chill gust,
I call out
Freedom only seems an end -
when clouds below an august mist
--a mere start--
a blank white canvas
that appears as art

How I've leapt after dreams
with no brush, no stroke, no shape
to see them below, the past, escaped!

but free, to create
and love--
just as I see you now, alone, above--
blessed I stand on freedom's stone

and reach!

another draft...

Fri, 26 Oct 2007 15:24:42 GMT

To Reach

Tell me, father sky
atop this painted mountain
no longer blocked by granite side
now free to stumble off in any direction
but yours
is this what freedom offers?
was this worth the climb?

I have all under my feet, and nothing but the barest rock
Here, unrestrained, smiled on by chill gust,
I call out
Freedom only seems
an end--
a mist that drifts - a blank canvas-- a mere start
the flat white square is not art!

How have I leaped after dreams
and yet brought no brush, no stroke, no shape?
I see them below, past, escaped!

but free, to create
and love--
just as I see you now, alone, above--
blessed to stand on freedom's stone

and reach!

Freedom and Comfort in I swim - (a draft...)

Wed, 19 Sep 2007 20:02:32 GMT

i sat and sat and would grow fat
so ran in place and lifted things
that needed no lifting
and sweat the purest cleanest wet--
no doubt drops from an unstressed mind--
clear from fear--justglistenskin!
I got a rush pretending to be thin
playing at animal in a gym

outside I tried to weep when people died
but hand wrung more over the latest in

freedom and comfort in I swim
floatingpushedalong and don'tresist
any creeping consequences I might have missed
any falls below, any well lit abyss.

The Destroyer

Sun, 19 Aug 2007 02:14:10 GMT

A willow, green and bent
passing my attention lent
branching down I twisting went
in each bit of bark, I tore a vent
the roots they drank dripping sap
the trunk I burned to cinder black
the leaves I sternly shook and smoked
charred and curled and crisped and choked
I could not grow, so I unmade
a shadow of that tree--a shade
I sat under,
it swayed and cracked
down from the thunder
that I lacked

Madonna rules!

Sun, 19 Aug 2007 01:05:02 GMT

Ok, so she doesn't *rule*. I mean, not like a despot. Despots rule. But not like Madonna. Pol Pot - the first despot that comes to mind - heck, half of his freakin' name is two thirds of the darn word - that's committment! Anyways, Pol Pot wasn't known for bustin' a wicked slinky disco groove, far as I know.

Far as I know.

But this *song* rules. Authentic acoustic autocrat this beat is.

-Dallas the parrot out.

Hmm.

Sat, 18 Aug 2007 22:26:58 GMT

A quiet Saturday today. I suppose I needed it.

A new blog

Sat, 18 Aug 2007 14:32:52 GMT

I'll be transitioning from my old journal to this new more public blog over the next several months. My old account, for those who know it, will remain as a personal journal for the time being.