Tag Archives: Free Verse

Scarecrow [Free Verse]

Posted on by
1 
Scarecrow, n. - that which exists 
                         solely to evoke fear.

There are so many scarecrows:
   global - the end of the world
                    as we know it.
   societal - the end of the tribe
                    as we know it.
   individual - scarecrows of the soul.

Scarecrows lead us into the worst
        versions of ourselves: 
 The one who's stressed, and mean
        because of it.
 The one who imagines conspiracy
        around every corner.
 The one who sees threat in every
        change & in every difference.
 The one who wants an orderly world
        of people just like themselves -
        familiar, cozy, and lacking surprises.

Scarecrows even march us off to war,
        and war should be the scariest state
              imaginable --
        death doled out on a random basis.
 
War should be the scariest, but terrible certainties
         spur less fear than any old uncertainty.

Exit Wound [Free Verse]

Posted on by
2 
What tears away in leaving,
  when one has grown into:
         - a person?
         - a place?

Can one grow into someone
      (or somewhere) such that 
      one is fused in a way that
      won't allow separation 
      without leaving a sacrifice?

Maybe one can't help but be
       webbed into some wider world,
       and can't help but leave
       pieces of oneself littering the Earth.

Metaphor & Misnomer [Free Verse]

Posted on by
7 
"in the trenches"

what a circuit 
 that phrase has taken:

from the Western Front 
 of World War I, where the trenches 
 were cold, claustrophobic places
 of mud and creeping mustard gas;
 harbor & prison for shell-shocked
 souls at wit's end

to become used by businesspeople &
 politicians to describe metaphorical fights...

but there are no metaphorical fights,
 they should be called metaphorical games

games have winners & losers,
 but not the living & the dead
 & the dying & the disabled &
 the permanently disturbed

it feels like a frivolous bit
 of linguistic creep as fighters
 now stand on cold, wet feet 
 in muddy trenches
 in Eastern Ukraine

talk of salespeople or 
 grassroots political organizers
 as "in the trenches" 
 misses the point that everyone
 in trenches is a soldier --
 be they a salesperson
 in the metaphorical "trenches"
 of calmer days.

Poetic Absorption [Free Verse]

Posted on by
Reply 
Read at the speed 
  of absorption,
   (not consumption.)

Sit with the ephemera
  that boils off upon
   each read.

It will be different
  the next time.

Don't memorize.
 
That hammers it into
   some dark, heavy pit
    that it was never meant to be --

a thing that sinks in water
   and plummets from the air. 

Hammering cleaves its wings,
   and it becomes hopeless in the flow --
    staggering like a deranged drunk
     in the dark. 

When you read it,
    only read it. 

Don't anticipate.

Be surprised.

The Churn [Free Verse]

Posted on by
Reply 
The water churns --
   no smooth laminar flow.

Each molecule fights its way
   down the mountain. 

Sloshing up into evaporation, or
    dragged, swirling, across 
     the rocky bottom.

This is no mighty, muddy river
    in a gentle glide.

It's pretty chaos;
    just the kind I'm used to.

The Mountain has Fists [Free Verse]

Posted on by
Reply 
The mountain feels like it flows
 as much as the river that sits beside
  (or more so -- i.e. more smoothly.)

The contours of a half-buried fist --
 rounded knuckles and fingerbones --
 sit in the mountainside,
 as if jutting out of sand,
  but soft & green.

It looks like the whole hand could lift
 out of that mountainous topography,
 and flick away the buildings on the bank,
 or pluck canoes out of the river.
 (But now the water is too low and chaotic
 for any craft to pass.)

So, maybe the ancient mountain monster
 will just put up its dukes to the world,
 shaking that great, green, soft fist.

Ramzan Mela [Free Verse]

Posted on by
Reply 
A fire flares
   up Mosque Road.

Orange flames burn brightly 
    beyond the ovals lit by 
    feeble streetlamps.

Some fat 's hit the fire,
    and the smoke 's
    rising high.

The throngs have arrived --
    hungry & huddled,
    with tiny plates of 
    jiggly cubed meat.

The pious --
    angry stomachs, 
    vibrating to sundown

&

Impious Instagrammers
    (or, at least, substantially less pious,)
    having their eighth tiny meal
    of the day
    (some spit into a bucket, Hollywood-style.)

All gathered to break bread --
    except there is no bread
    (save the occasional roomali roti) 

So, instead, they bite basa or mutton 
    or chicken or camel or prawns --

all smoky

all devoured.

Machine Flow [Free Verse]

Posted on by
Reply 
This machine can flow,
     moving over, around, 
     & through.

Skin conforms to the contours
     of musculature.

Muscle binds to bone,
     muscle that thickens
     and lengthens and ripples
     and pulses.

Bones that flex and recoil.

But that machine can flow --
     over, around, and through.

It can cause air to pop
     and water to slosh
     and earth to tremor.

It crawls through liquid,
    slices through gases,
    and slams the solids,

but can move over, around,
    and through.

Let It Fly! [Free Verse]

Posted on by
2 
Stand on a hill and howl.

Don't wait for the perfect moon.

Gather your thoughts, 
  & wash the:
      cliches,
      doublespeak, 
      technocratic jargon, and
      weasel words
 out of mind & mouth.

(Those shitty words, phrases,
     and qualifiers are heavy,
      and will weigh down 
       your message & 
        keep it from sailing.) 

Then, belt it out.

Let your words fly.

Express your authentic self.

Huff & Puff, 
    and let the bricks fall 
     where they may.

Ghosted [Free Verse]

Posted on by
Reply 
What passes through me?
   I can't say.

But I feel it move,
   causing bone reverberation
    of a subtle kind.

I feel it deep within,
   but it fades quickly.

I'm moved, but to what,
   I can't say. 

All I know is that something
   has passed through me,
    and made me feel like a ghost.