(Poem #309 on new numbering scheme)
It's hard to know why he kept fighting them; they were just spinning windmills after all; but he announced they were demonic beasts, and battled them till they, bewildered, fled.
Category: A Daily Poem
Caveat: Random Poem #7
(Poem #308 on new numbering scheme)
An escalator carried me below, where I met ghosts who haunted subway trains; their writhing nothingnesses captured me and caused my eyes to droop in naked sleep.
[daily log: walking 2.5km]
Caveat: Random Poem #6
(Poem #307 on new numbering scheme)
An algebraical theology perhaps makes possible reflective thoughts of strange and doubtful meanings all arrayed in rows of figures bending into night.
Caveat: Random Poem #5
(Poem #306 on new numbering scheme)
By means of time small people take on weights they would not otherwise begin to bear and understanding each year's progress till at last the heaviest thing buries them.
– this is my first ever effort at blank verse, which is arguably English’s most important poetic meter.
Caveat: Random Poem #4
(Poem #305 on new numbering scheme)
The free spirits of mountains, of ephemeral cities lacking well-conceived futures, of unnamed rivers and lakes shimmering on horizons, of towers spiraling up, asymptotic to time's lines, these spirits will not speak, but loiter on the pale edges of maps, of dreams, of stories.
Caveat: Random Poem #3
(Poem #304 on new numbering scheme)
I don't like the sun it makes me feel tired
Caveat: Random Poem #2
(Poem #303 on new numbering scheme)
The man's moped was his cathedral, where he could sit, watch people, make deliveries, or just smoke. He had three smartphones - a kind of makeshift dashboard - attached at the front with bungee cords.
– this poem is completely random.
Caveat: Random Poem #1
(Poem #302 on new numbering scheme)
The fading sun made aimless grasps against the window such that glass became purple illumination without shape. I bent over my book with my neck tensed because the tiny lamp's lighted circle denied me its narrow landscape.
This is not a quatrain. I don’t know what it is – I guess it’s a sestet, and it’s got some kind of metrical thing going on. But I think I’m not going to weld myself to a specific form, for now. I thus will just call them poems, and we’ll see what happens if I make one every day. I had been intending to change over to some continuing series of poems that were thematically (as opposed to structurally) unified, when I got to around 100 quatrains, but I didn’t. So now I am dropping the quatrains, but I still don’t have a theme worked out. So I’ll just post whatever, I guess, for now. Or forever.
Caveat: Quatrain #115
(Poem #301 on new numbering scheme)
Some leaves with flashing silver eyes begin to spin as wind attempts to steal from them their trust and leaving them chagrinned.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
[daily log: walking, 1km]
Caveat: Quatrain #114
(Poem #300 on new numbering scheme)
Most people seem alarmed to learn I rarely feel alone. They ask me why, insist I must spend time with those I've known.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
Caveat: Quatrain #113
(Poem #299 on new numbering scheme)
I stepped out today feeling rushed - forgot my metaphors. So things were dull, like dirt or jobs. My words waged pointless wars.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
Caveat: Quatrain #112
(Poem #298 on new numbering scheme)
I didn't mean to keep writing these droll, clichéd quatrains, but time stole my initiative and now I'm lacking brains.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
Caveat: Quatrains #109-111
(Poem #297 on new numbering scheme)
Three simple songs were sung among the faces going by. I knew these songs in passing, then, though all the years did fly.
A song of patient worrying came first, a princess true. The second song had deep kindness, but understandings, few.
The third song had the boldest heart, but passions rather wild. These songs departed. But today, a song returned... and smiled.
– three quatrains in ballad meter. This poem is not just a hallucination or metaphor, unlike as is the normal case with most of my poetry. Rather, it has a fairly important and specific subtext, which will make the meaning quite clear.
Caveat: Quatrain #108
(Poem #296 on new numbering scheme)
Parts of the world declaim to others by means of movements small and large, that spiral and conspire to etch scars on us all.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
Caveat: Quatrain #107 “A gothic style”
(Poem #295 on new numbering scheme)
Is there a gothic style, in how we look at abstraction? Is there some kind of reader's gloom that gives a soul traction?
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
Caveat: Quatrain #106
(Poem #294 on new numbering scheme)
Words, decontextualized, seep across his consciousness till they begin to congeal and their meanings cause duress.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
Caveat: Quatrain #105
(Poem #293 on new numbering scheme)
A certain type of air is more like motes of truth and doubt: it swirls in paths around each tree like hounds sent out to scout.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
Caveat: Quatrain #104
(Poem #292 on new numbering scheme)
I would prefer to craft a text that comes out quite absurd but every time I start to write, there's meaning, word by word.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
Caveat: Quatrains #100-103
(Poem #291 on new numbering scheme)
One time, we drove to Winnipeg. We argued about things. The sun set over frozen fields; a bird spun on its wings. Michelle said she preferred Plato She forcefully declared: The essence that precedes language... no category's spared. I liked more Aristotle's views a fluid take on stuff: I felt thus that all meaning shifts, Essences aren't enough. We never did agree that day our anger simmered slow We stayed together three more years, Before I had to go.
– four quatrains in ballad meter
Caveat: Quatrain #99
(Poem #290 on new numbering scheme)
"Teacher! Why do you know so much?" "I guess I studied lots." "But studying is not much fun." "I've way too many thoughts."
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
Caveat: Quatrain #98
(Poem #289 on new numbering scheme)
The rain presents some symbols to the streets with gentle strokes; the streets in turn reflect the signs that wind itself invokes.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
Caveat: Quatrain #97
(Poem #288 on new numbering scheme)
Some Mondays will refuse to be compliant with my hope that each new week begin with an ability to cope.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
Caveat: Quatrain #96
(Poem #287 on new numbering scheme)
In times before our epoch's end when alligator songs were chanted in the swamps and groves, swarms rioted in throngs.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
Caveat: Quatrain #95
(Poem #286 on new numbering scheme)
If anything becomes like graves it might be buildings. They can stand for longer times than those who made them, grim and gray.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
Caveat: Quatrain #94
(Poem #285 on new numbering scheme)
The moon's dull disk, above, now seems unreasonably gold. The teeth of time's wheels make me feel unseasonably old.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
Caveat: Quatrain #93
(Poem #284 on new numbering scheme)
As hopes proclaim their roots and sprouts, each tendril rashly curled, the ordinary blooms of need unfold across the world.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
Caveat: Quatrain #92
(Poem #283 on new numbering scheme)
This speck of dust did not attempt to cross the gulf that yawned between my window's dirty sill and all the world beyond.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
Caveat: Quatrain #91
(Poem #282 on new numbering scheme)
The spirits bodied forth on walls, incarnate desires swarmed all into crevices and cracks with mutant, feral forms.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
Caveat: Quatrain #90
(Poem #281 on new numbering scheme)
Sometimes I try explaining things; I am misunderstood. I still digress and divagate my words a trackless wood.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
Caveat: Quatrain #89
(Poem #280 on new numbering scheme)
An incantory angel's wings, with luminescent plumes, descend upon your muse, like snow, disguise what she assumes.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
Caveat: Quatrain #88
(Poem #279 on new numbering scheme)
The bird shoves time out from its nest; it, stone-like, falls and sighs. Tic-toc, tic-toc - it spins and flaps, until at last it flies.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
Caveat: Quatrain #87
(Poem #278 on new numbering scheme)
The clouds adopted purple robes, brought early summer's night, began to shred the stars' bright flesh, dispersed gems into white.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
Caveat: Quatrain #86
(Poem #277 on new numbering scheme)
The ziggurats began to watch as humans dueled with saints and on clay tablets, scribes took notes about their blows and feints.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.