Tag Archives: Free Verse

Machine Flow [Free Verse]

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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]

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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]

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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.

A Life Improbable [Free Verse]

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Each of us lives a life improbable,
 the gift of an ancestor who struggled 
 through some terror which killed others.

We each have an iron impulse 
 to maintain a cracking grip on life,
 but some won't ever be pried away,

growing like the stunted pine
 that juts from the mountainside:
 gnarled but indestructible.

Live improbably 
 with your life improbable.

Seasons [Free Verse]

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I

I remember Spring:
   tight and tender buds,
   soon to blossom

clouds -- low & swollen, 
   & rain scent in the air
II

I remember Summers:
   the season of freedom...

and mosquitoes,
   but, also, fireflies

exploration &
   calamine lotion
III

I remember the Fall:
   harvest time

Grain chaff in the air
   axle grease on the wind

Canadian geese
   Honk-Honk-Honk-ing
   in wedge formation
IV

I remember winters:
   snow days

snow drifts

the feel of the first morning
    of the season in which
    one woke up to a blanketing snow,
    having gone to bed with 
    pathetic matted grass

Night Colors [Free Verse]

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It's dark.

But the neon burns,
   and bright signs
   color the night,

and that color
   shines against wet surfaces.

The color seems to float,
   and when I walk past
   it shifts, morphs, and flows,

becoming alive.

And it -- those bright primary colors --
   might just be creeping towards me
   like a killer kindergarten clown.

I turn to see the colors swirling,
   swirling but not advancing.

I stare into the color paisleys 
   as they dance yin-yang do-si-do's
   around the puddle.
  
I'm entranced & soothed,
   and no longer fear
   the colors will attack,
   turning me vibrant.

Ghost or Dream? [Free Verse]

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I glimpsed your ghost,
   but for a moment
   
   in the middle of the night
   
   just as I opened my eyes.

You stood stock still --
   right there at the foot of my bed.

I couldn't make out your expression
   in the short time before you faded.

In the morning, I learned
    that you died that night.

Everything City [Free Verse]

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Everything is happening 
   somewhere in that city.

Blocks of block buildings
   broken into smaller blocks,
    in turn into smaller ones.

Those blocks -- rooms --
    are the city's unit of interest.

So many rooms,
    so much potential for the:
        -nefarious,
        -virtuous,
        -ill-advised,
        -hideous,
        -hopeful,
        -hilarious...

Someone is hanging 
   from a rafter,
   waiting to be found.

Thousands are masturbating.

AI surveys the porn they surf,
    making new genres in real time
    based on unfulfilled search terms...

In one room, a scientist
    figured out a cure for cancer
    in a burst of inspiration,
    but by the time she'd found a pen,
    she'd lost it -- no trace remaining.

    She then convinced herself
         she'd never really had it...

         but she had. 

Everything that can happen 
   has happened,
   will happen,
   and is happening
   in the city.

Off-Kilter [Free Verse]

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woke up,
   stitched up;
 something growing
   deep within

inside /
   outside
 what strange hell 
    is this?

what's this box i
   built within my brain:
 old ideas keeping
    out the light

i read a story,
   made a movie --
 all within my mind,

but something grew out
   that i couldn't comprehend

Fields of the Dead [Free Verse]

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It's a beautiful day
  in the graveyard.

Blue skies.

Cool, but not cold.
 The ideal temperature
   to be an overdressed military man.

Do ghosts amble among the stones
   on days like these?

I imagine most of these men died
   on quite different kinds of days:

Rainy, cold, muddy days.

Muggy, buggy, malarial days.

The kind of day that just won't end,
   but to fold into a sleepless night.

How many died, 
  not from spall or Minié balls,
    but because they just didn't have the will
      to drag themselves through another day?
        from exhaustion?
        from demoralization?

How many died under beautiful blue skies
   on an idyllic autumn day?

I don't know whether 
  there're good days to die,
    and even less whether 
      there're good days to be dead.