Wanderlust and Immense
We live in those nights,
travelers visited by our own unconscious gift:
the courage to face our fears, accepting vulnerability:
who is afraid of whom? The bright moon, mystical, serene–
is she also dreaming?
One could sleep with bare arms, bare legs,
and the fear of forgetting
anything can happen. Dreams
will devour you.
[Remix poem. Source: Tweets responding to Henri Rousseau’s The Sleeping Gypsy. 1897.]
Yesterday’s poetry prompt on The Found Poetry Review site ( http://www.foundpoetryreview.com/blog/poetry-prompt-thoughts-on-art/ ) involves an experiment conducted by ART/140 ( http://artoneforty.com/ ) Basically, they asked web viewers to “share what you think about art” by selecting one of the listed works of art and tweeting their impressions/thoughts about that piece. This is where the FPR came in, with the idea of remixing those tweets into ekphrastic found language poems.
Adrenaline & Testosterone Battle to the Death
What could be perceived as chaos, rumpled and restless,
kinetic and alive, yet to unfold. The wonderfulness of a feverish pitch,
spinning wild. This is the feeling of a long day at work:
pistons, legs, elbows, arms, joints, and it is scary. Violent. Fast. Strong
movement. Demonic coiled energy, like a pulsating zodiac sign,
like a crumpled rainbow, crayons caught in a fan belt, an ecstatic pinwheel.
Danger is in bloom, and hope. The explosive liveliness of a jazz drummer
on a fast moving train, about to reach the 5/8 rhythm he has been looking for
all his life.
[Remix poem. Source: Tweets responding to Umberto Boccioni’s ‘Dynamism of a Soccer Player.’ 1913.(pictured above).]
Madison, New Jersey, 800 Miles from Home
Everyone else had east coast accents
that summer of apprenticeship. Sweltering
dorm rooms and sidelong glances for the Kentucky boy
who had mostly acted on bare, black box stages
and in the barn, telling his father “I’d love to learn to shoot.”
Anything to pass. Anything for applause, really,
just a couple of beer bottles on the top of a fence.
Set them up, see what happens.
Just a small transgression, down the road.
The bouncer sees him watching
men play pool, sees him watching him play
Spot the Outsider, lets him stay past closing.
“I’d love to learn to shoot,” he lies, again,
ring slipped into bluejeans pocket. “Set them up,
let’s see what happens.”
Baptism for the Dead
“Else what shall they do which are baptized for the dead, if the dead rise not at all? why are they then baptized for the dead?” 1 Corinthians 15:29
Even after we agreed it was over,
with that phone call three days before Christmas,
you kept tabs. Watched, occasionally.
Liked a Facebook post.
Today was warm enough to drive with the top down.
[You like this.]
So many trick-or-treaters tonight, all so creative!
[You like this.]
There is a God…met a cute gaymer guy.
You don’t like this. Instead,
you write privately to say:
I’m happy for you, but
Have you truly judged the moral character of this person?
His page (yes, I looked it up) has a picture of him
holding a Zima.
An impaired mind is an impaired heart,
and I know this is true.
I don’t write back.
Antarctica, Day Thirty Eight
Our expedition faltered today.
We miscalculated our supplies.
First, the pemmican ran out,
then the water. Please, God,
let me pass tonight.
As I write this,
I just learned about the Nonnet form ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nonnet ) tonight, and something about its shape on the page made me think of dwindling, which coincided with a recent book I read about the difficulties of early Antarctic expeditions.
The Iambic Pentameter Horror
I never thought that this would happen, but
it seems my wife has inadvertently
discovered certain ancient arcane arts
revealed in lurid yellowed magazines.
She references illustrations, like:
“A woman lashed against a stake, alight,”
“A man impaled upon a fleshy thing.”
She tells me that the stars will soon be right.
I’d rather not provoke her to explain
the blasphemies she whispers in her sleep
or why the neighbors vanish without trace.
She has a hobby! Gruesome, it may be,
but if Cthulhu brings her happiness
then by the mythos, that is fine by me!