Category: Nonnet

ㅁ
No
I don't
really know
why I feel lost
but if I didn't
then I would know why not
and I could get on with things
walk down the road confidently
confront the hesitations and doubts

– a reverse nonnet.

ㅁ
Things
grow up
and outward
in my greenhouse
filling the corners
with effortful branches
but then a mildew has come
and attacked many of the leaves
leaving my plants unmotivated

– a reverse nonnet.

ㅁ
When the words flow through dreams like water,
then the ghosts hang at the margins.
They listen to what we say,
and jump to conclusions.
The air leans in, close.
Answers are rare:
so questions
converse;
reign.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
Adrift in seas of melancholy
Witness to birds that perch in trees
Scattered like dandelions
Gray just like the damp skies
Renderer of lines
Painted but dull
Wordless soul
Person
Lost

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
No.
Poems
which linger
in the mind's eye
do not represent
anything except words.
They spill out like spilled gravel,
like insects lost in the damp air,
and in the end they fade like old logs.

– a reverse nonnet.

ㅁ
I've not been in a good mood lately.
The sky feels heavy and brooding.
Uncles toss profanities.
Birds force their cheerfulness.
Tomato plants climb.
Slugs cross stairways.
Dampness dwells.
Time stops.
Dawn...

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
Wind.
Outside.
Awaits me.
More like a breeze.
Arboreal moves.
A waving of branches.
Having crossed the sea, it comes.
It chases bears and deer, they say.
I will challenge the wind in debate.

– a reverse nonnet.

ㅁ
We, the assembled, drift and declaim:
We permit your wind to bring us
- a conspiracy of clouds,
in collective action -
to your continent.
Your straining trees,
your cold rocks,
told us:
stay.

– a reverse nonnet.

ㅁ
I,
a bold
sea otter,
witness the boats
that cross the sea's roof
and that scare our children;
the boats drone their hot dirges
in their unusual straight lines,
interrupting our happy repasts.

– a reverse nonnet.

ㅁ
Watch
the world,
through windows,
from a distance,
keeping perspective,
avoiding confusion,
constructing mental models,
testing them against what happens...
or alternately just sit and watch.

– a reverse nonnet.

ㅁ
Snails
have found
radish leaves
in my garden.
They are so happy.
Still, the radishes grow.
The snails rush from leaf to leaf.
The radishes seem unconcerned:
new leaves appear daily to feed snails.

– a reverse nonnet.

ㅁ
I was told I was quite eccentric.
This was in this dream I was in.
My friend Bob was there, talking.
He had an unreal farm.
There were outbuildings.
Within, some boats.
A woman.
She slept.
Safe.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
Yes.
It's true -
what they say:
I am a tree.
Let's focus on that.
I cling to the damp earth.
The skies taunt me day and night.
I'll get at them any year now.
The days are like seconds spinning by.

– a reverse nonnet.

ㅁ
The tree was leaping into the sea.
It tangled its branches, flailing.
The sea was indifferent.
Eagles were witnesses.
The tree's roots were caught.
Moss rode its flanks.
The clouds watched.
Birds sang.
Jump!

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
Maps.
Fictions.
Diagrams.
Imaginings.
Strange realities.
Bespoke geographies.
Alternate universes.
Linear agglomerations.
Maybe just a way to pass some time.

– a reverse nonnet.

ㅁ
Sun
replaced
all the rain
that came before
and dried out the road
making lots of gray dust
for the trucks to kick around
coating the leaves of the bushes
which are drawing bees with their flowers.

– a reverse nonnet.

ㅁ
The deer stood at the top of the rocks,
looking at me as if surprised.
It had come down that steep path -
the one I'd made last year.
It browsed some green leaves:
blueberry plants
reaching out
to feed
deer.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
Sight
constructs
images
engendering
thoughts hopes dreams doubts plans
which swirl in vast spirals
on the field of perception
sweeping conceptual gestures
like galaxies of damp greenery.

– a reverse nonnet.

At first light, sometimes I take a walk.
The road is dark and the trees loom.
I see snow stained lavender.
The stream rushes nearby.
A puddle wears ice.
Gravel crunches.
I return.
Birds speak.
See.

– a nonnet

I look out the window by my desk.
Tiny pearls of rain hang, breathless.
The sky threads the trees' branches.
Purple trapezoids dance.
The moon has left signs.
Snow has melted.
Gravel rests.
Fog drifts.
Chill.

– a nonnet

Specific unrealities surge,
emerge from apophenic thoughts,
caught in virtual gazes,
await capture by minds,
wind through fields like birds,
heard like the wind,
in your hair
where we
sleep.

– a nonnet

Rain!
You, me...
we should talk.
I'm just trying
to get something done
out here under the clouds
but you keep interrupting
forcing your damp fingers at me
full of naturalistic hubris.

– a reverse nonnet

So...
Sunday.
The thing is...
the days, they blur...
a string of mornings,
awoken out of dreams,
undifferentiated.
Then the calendar lays guidelines,
steers thoughts away from simple being.

– a reverse nonnet

I'm wide awake, middle of the night.
With an aggressive staccato,
the rain perforates the air
while I watch the darkness.
I consider shapes.
The night crawls by.
It dissolves
into
dreams.

– a nonnet

lines
displace
surfaces
manifesting
into abstractions
and hypotheticals
painting obscure paradigms
which distort representations
and make you want to stop reading this

– a reverse nonnet

I saw there were strange things on the map:
mysterious towns and highways,
inconsistent land-uses,
geographic glitches,
unknowable lakes,
hazy outlines,
lost cities,
portals,
holes.

– a nonnet

at some point before the sun comes up,
before the looming fog brightens,
above the waiting forest,
behind the slate gray sky,
with eagles' assent,
but bears' surprise,
it begins:
purple
light

– a nonnet

pain
expressed
like desire
internal states
with utterances
perturbations in air
or glyphs projected with light
hopeful, vain intentions to use
an apparatus known as language

– a reverse nonnet

A speculative solipsism:
I imagined being a bear.
The world was an endless verb.
All objects were nameless.
Feelings thrummed through me.
The seasons changed.
The trees drooped.
Leaves fell.
Bare.

– a nonnet