There is a gray cormorant just sitting, looking, waiting, head aslant, on the dock's arch, like some plant.
Category: Englyn
Caveat: Poem #1168 “The signs that appear when eyes briefly close”
Those hieroglyphs that are drawn by blinking, a vague inkling, but then gone, as my eyelids' world moves on.
Caveat: Poem #1167 “An expressway made of gravel”
The trucks on the expressway zoom along tires sing their song on rock - gray gravel kicked around all day
Caveat: Poem #1166 “Reduction”
A chill drizzle touched my neck, a ghost's hand prodding me, and sought to wreck my work, reduced to a speck.
Caveat: Poem #1165 “Procession”
The morning's light disburses in fragments: day's integuments, night's verses, like introspective hearses.
Caveat: Poem #1164 “The systematic advance of winter”
The first frost of the season kissed the earth, betraying mirth, fighting sun, limning puddles one by one.
Caveat: Poem #1163 “The sins of slugs”
The slugs climb the gravel stairs, all fearless, but confess to the bears that pass with glowering stares their sins and their weary cares
Caveat: Poem #1121 “The committee of islands, here gathered”
Here, the sea is not just sea - rather, too, Islands throughout feel free To commingle, and to be A green, fractious committee.
Caveat: Poem #798 “As the sky will do”
ㅁ From the sky, the clouds descend, fragmented, sun absented, winds portend rainy end.
– an englyn of some kind.
Caveat: Poem #717 “As seen upon awakening”
ㅁ There at the end of the night were notions, abstractions blooming in white, waxing bright.
– an englyn of some kind.
Caveat: Poem #621 “Headlong”
ㅁ Consciousness derails, off track it will fly... I feel it, a kind of lack: only black.
– an englyn of some kind.
Caveat: Poem #595
Caveat: Random Poem #181
(Poem #482 on new numbering scheme)
My two plants don't do that much - the table holds them, and their leaves just touch - or somesuch.
This is an englyn cil-dwrn.
[daily log: walking, 7.5km]
Caveat: Random Poem #50
(Poem #351 on new numbering scheme)
The two men fought in the wood. Winter's breath made clouds. They stood facing. The fight was no good. A rose appeared in the snow. Then another drop fell, slow - from the wound his blood did flow. He threw his knife to the ground and wobbled, spinning around. At last, he fell without a sound.
– three englyn milwr, telling a little story.
Caveat: Random Poem #49
(Poem #350 on new numbering scheme)
On this map you see my dreams: look here at the X, it seems to mark my mind's random streams.
– an englyn milwr, i.e. “soldier’s englyn.”
[daily log: walking, 1km]
Caveat: Englyn #101
(Poem #206 on new numbering scheme)
One hundred and one poems drawn from the sea's foamy rims thrust into imagined homes lost among time's felled columns.
– an englyn proest dalgron
My intention is that this is my last englyn. I’ll try to start something different for my daily short poems, soon.
Caveat: Englyn #100
(Poem #205 on new numbering scheme)
I got to heaven at last. Prices were high. The cars, fast. I looked around, aghast. Should I cry? Then I knelt down, downcast.
– an englyn unodl crwca
Caveat: Englyn #99
(Poem #204 on new numbering scheme)
"Why do you write in your mind, like some old bard?" asked my friend. "I'm preparing for the end of time, when the spaceships land."
– an englyn proest dalgron
Caveat: Englyn #98
(Poem #203 on new numbering scheme)
Mostly I'm just drawing lines across a landscape of bones which rest beneath the dry rains of ash, covering my sins.
– an englyn proest dalgron
[daily log: walking, 1.5km]
Caveat: Englyn #97
(Poem #202 on new numbering scheme)
A series of explosions on philosophical moons changes orbits and begins to undo people's notions.
– an englyn proest dalgron
Caveat: Englyn #96
(Poem #201 on new numbering scheme)
My friend, who is my reader, celebrates his birth date. He's older. Some old snow lurks like litter, here and there, on the corner.
– an englyn unodl union.
Caveat: Englyn #95
(Poem #200 on new numbering scheme)
The octopus was alive. But then it began to have problems in the soup. It strove to remember... what is love?
– an englyn proest dalgron, referencing the Korean custom of eating raw octopus that’s still wiggling.
Caveat: Englyn #94
(Poem #199 on new numbering scheme)
I'm plummeting through life: down... Voices on all sides: a din... Days end; days begin: each dawn... Without purpose - but not done.
– an englyn proest dalgron
Caveat: Englyn #93
(Poem #198 on new numbering scheme)
On that first day, just one step starts the world's making. Top- down it goes, never to stop, quantum nodes placed on a map.
– an englyn proest dalgron
Caveat: Englyn #92
(Poem #197 on new numbering scheme)
Weirdos are chanting by threes, and dancing, Yelling at the pine trees. From the north there wails a breeze, So their madness starts to freeze.
– an englyn unodl union. This strikes me a more than a little bit Dylanesque – not that that’s an assertion of quality – it just has that feel to it.
Caveat: Englyn #91
(Poem #196 on new numbering scheme)
On the shelf I found a book. I pulled it down, took a look. But sadly, the words shook: no meaning; foaming gobbledygook.
– an englyn unodl crwca
[daily log: walking, 1km]
Caveat: Englyn #90
(Poem #195 on new numbering scheme)
She'd heard the teacher's call, so she tried. Her pride before her fall - Orange letters - not so small - she wrote her word on the wall.
– an englyn unodl union. This is about my student who said “no.”
Caveat: Englyn #89
(Poem #194 on new numbering scheme)
Laser-focused, I stumble through my apathy, tremble, wishing I were more nimble, each step a kind of gamble.
– an englyn proest dalgron
Caveat: Englyn #88
(Poem #193 on new numbering scheme)
The green gorillas will gasp and dance below clouds. A wisp of mist gropes the trees that grasp the hills. The cool air is crisp.
– an englyn proest dalgron. It may be surprising to hear that this is based on a fragment of a vivid dream I had 36 years ago, in 1981, while still in high school. I recorded it then in a journal I had. But this poem was written without consulting that journal – it’s just an image/story/vision that sticks with me. The full dream ended with nuclear holocaust – recall that I was in high school during the age of Reagan.
Caveat: Englynion #85-#87
(Poem #192 on new numbering scheme)
On a long trip on a bus, from Temuco's rainy moss to Santiago's vast mess, I read a small, torn book. Thus, because of Neruda's songs there took root a vague longing. my inner poet grew wings. Although maybe I am wrong, since, in fact, I still long failed at becoming more controlled in habit, till I was told perhaps this blog could be filled.
– three englynion proest dalgron
Caveat: Englyn #84
(Poem #191 on new numbering scheme)
To let them languish, and use them for nothing? Thus I chose. See, the saddest spoons are those that sleep, unloved. Is it wise?
– an englyn proest dalgron
Caveat: Englyn #83
(Poem #190 on new numbering scheme)
His oleaginousness causes me to start to miss the clarity of past gross crimes done in name of the cross.
– an englyn proest dalgron
Caveat: Englyn #82
(Poem #189 on new numbering scheme)
White, red, black, and pale: masses plunging among the grasses. Hooves pound. There are four horses. You see them? Now watch them join forces.
– an englyn unodl crwca