Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Household Chores

"I was trying to talk about people, using the only tool I knew, which was the country that I knew...I discovered that my own little postage stamp of native soil was worth writing about and that I would never live long enough to exhaust it." -William Faulkner

hey, that clock needs a new battery...
cyclical cycles cycling cyclically
surrounding the summer sun
but night falls earlier every day
if only I knew your mind
and the words twisting behind
how much to understand
how little comprehended
the reality of thought amidst
the worlds allusions
to take to keep to
eat and sleep
...and i think my bike needs a new tire.

close the refrigerator...
the fork and the spoon
are over the moon
a direction I'd like to follow
but my shoe lace is broken
and the gravel's too sharp
to go barefoot
...and please don't forget to turn off the oven!

Sunday, September 14, 2008

Poems' Progress

Writing = work, even if it is a dream. 250 words a day, such a small amount, but often pushed to the moments right before bed. A tired mind works weakened words, but the efforts better than none. Sample poetry produced before bed in the past year, in no organised order and with recent requisite revisions:

from 9/6/2008 around 11:06 PM

...amidst the everlasting...

sieving the dream of gem
from the streak of streaming
stone amidst the foggy night
and uncertainty's the only thing
for sure

surrounded by stars of permanence
before the years reveal their explosions
of transience

even the stars are not immune


combo from 4/27/2008 and 9/8/2008 at 11:17

no proof, as an excuse

boundaries of perception
impertinence of choice
automatic lenses vs. manual focus

editing around the facts
to make them blurred
agreements, neutralizing language
to speak without opinion
the lack of meaning recycled
into mindless rotations

and their isn't time to think about
what i don't have time to do...

from 6/10/2008 11:45 PM

(Intermediate) Reception

neuron snaps
the synapse glows
neon in the highlighted diagram

quicker than the time
for the sound of the door
slam to reach the ear

yet in the synchronized algorithms
melodies that hide the hidden

between action and perception


from 5/14/2008, 10:35 PM

You're Bait (everybody does it)

Varies a little.
Eating from the ground, attempting to
Reel in the cycle of time.
Yet the hook is caught on a rock at the
Bottom, and all the pulling will
Only make the line snap.
Down where the hook remains and the fisherman
Yells useless curses
Damning the river bottom where the
Optimal light radiates
Efflorescent blue, where fish
Stream out
In anticipation of a fly for dinner.
Too bad the line snapped.


From 10/7/2007, around 4:32 PM

Adam's Apple

Heisenberg at large
Murphy at a loss
infant's cry breaks to upturned lips
all eyes on the skies

Life abounds
yet the multiplication
of the potential
of the potential
mushroom clouds
still enclosed
yet not released

one false step

why practice
if its not going to happen

one more misplaced jenga block
leading toward the tower's tumble


From 9/7/2008, around 10:09 PM

who spilled tea on the directions?

tears dripping in the crevices of my mind
and i don't understand

why in the here and now
or when in the future
relating invertedly to the past

yesterday at a diagonal
and perhaps in reverse
is tomorrow
and today will happen
again in a year

if the earth is still spinning in the same direction
the loops on the roller coaster leading me
in permanent upside down stomach flips
but always slowing to a jerking halt
brace yourself to avoid whiplash

too bad the road forked instead of spooned
into the pools of a mirror
reflecting the reality
magnified retrospect
but the riddles obscure the lines
showing the course
for perfection

Saturday, September 13, 2008

Flash Photography

When I went for a run on the island (Margit Siget), I passed many photographers (many with the camera I had drooled over this summer) and assumed they were participating in a photography course. Later in the evening, while I was sitting down on the banks of the Danube, trying to take a picture of some ducks with the lit shore of Buda in the background, another man (with a pro camera) began taking the same picture near me. He came to talk to me (in magyar) afterwards; he was participating in a photo marathon with 400 other people in Budapest (if I understood him correctly--always a risk).

In reflection on flash, while in Vilnuis earlier this month for a meeting, I met a photographer, Mirjam Wirz, who worked on a publication for the "Flash Institut". A quote behind her work for this project, 'In English, the term 'moment' refers only to an instant of time, whereas the Spanish terminology 'momentito' denotes the complete extension of an instant, encompassing a psychological movement, an internally consistent series of thoughts or a situation of contextual events that may last from 'one instant to several hours, days, sometimes even years'.' (Monica Ramirez-Montagut,

In a moment of reflection, tonight,

in a flash--lights sputter on, turning the city from twilight to its night life.

in a flash--she met HIM, and she knew who she would not vote for. jeremy cried as blood covered his homework, a papercut; and mrs. calahan would not accept his report like this. his cell phone rings; he GOT the job so there would be wine and steak tonight. the computer, she was going to back it up today--why won't it start? the ledge in the sidewalk, and now she’s covered in mud—no time to go back before the interview. only once, once never hurt anyone; she would never smoke again afterwards. a cry, a smile, a scream of joy, another life, another mcaphy, but where would the money come from? he shakes—her soft arm is still there next to him; it was only a dream. BOLD headline, there in the morning paper, and she knew, the army wouldn’t give him a choice this time. one bee buzzing around the driver’s head, one swerve and now—if only he hadn’t left the car window down last night. she liked her yellow dress, said she looked stunning; maybe it wasn’t such a bad day after all. camera and his checkbook, gone—how had he forgotten to turn the lock? sealed envelope alone on the table and he’s praying that it’s an acceptance letter. An open door, the organ music beckoning, its only the service and its warmer inside, why not go in?

Monday, September 8, 2008

and there was light

Maybe posting will keep me accountable to more of a writing routine.

"And the eyes of them both were opened, and they knew that they were naked; and they sewed fig leaves together, and made themselves aprons.”

What a quote to start with, in the "big-inning" (Gen. 3:7). I have long been fascinated with the fig imagery in the Bible, my journals could almost be a concordance for the prominence of "figs". Each time I pass a reference to figs, it's a reminder (dare I say a good-natured "taunt") to write. :-). To quote the script of one of my favorite movies, Amazing Grace, God often chooses to do his work in gentle drips, "drip....drip", rather than in storms.

Feedback is welcome. Maybe I will start by posting a link to some older things...

Looking Forward to the Past, short story, poetry combination:

Representative, poem:

And boldly go (...fully equipped with the most famous split infinitive in the western world...)