This is actually the first poem I can find that I have written. It’s a haiku written on an index card and shoved into my Arbans book circa 1997. Although it defies the traditional Haiku practice of referring to the season and relating it to an everyday event, I still like it because on one hand it is a literal description of a plant, but on another it alludes to genuflecting morons praying to Apollo 2.0 (or Mithras 3.0).
Heliotropism
Unnatural growth
raise your arms towards a false sun
ignorant till death
artwork by Joey Fisher
crow wings flap
on wax horizons –
the candle sets
earthworms writhe against
mica starred heavens –
sky below the sky
ginger snaps
mouth wider –
she favors curry
sandalwood beads –
a barefoot monk
gathers kindling
the bind gardener
never understood
why
people liked roses
fingernail moon –
forest mountain sea
scrawled with a black crayon
fingernail moon –
spectacles fumble for
clearer shades of nothing
concaving moon –
kraters full of wine
and water night
Sun swiftly sets and
Moon smiles over the apples
oranges and melons
Slender moon crescents --
Astronomy observes her
as fat as ever
In late January 2004, I attended a poetry conference in Salida, Colorado. While there I attended a workshop on short poems (from 1-5 lines) and was very impressed with some of the ideas the presenter, James Tipton had to offer. The salient point for me was that the whole 5-7-5 haiku thing was largely an invention of the American educational system to teach syllables under the auspices of multiculturalism. His focus was in the conciseness of the poem and the turn (the twist at the end that makes you care one way or the other). As much as I'm a form guy, most modern Haiku, with it's jerky affectation, leaves me cold and I was beginning to drift away from my interest in them. But with a new focus, I found a new reason to write them. To get myself out of the 5-7-5 mindset, I have changed the heading to Short Poems in honor of Mr. Tipton's eye opening workshop.
Fallibilities of Perception
I.
infinity
through a garden hose
still looks like
infinity
II.
turning her filters off
the aquarium
became an ocean
III.
the sun set read
with expectant eyes
deceives the heart
that watches earth rise
The last of these comes from reading "Venus Revealed", by David Grinspoon an author and scientist I can't say enough good things about and I'm only halfway through the book.
Fuck morality
A fine line divides a one line poem from a bumper sticker. However, I feel strongly enough about this to explain it a little more thoroughly. The english language belies a class warfare between Germanic peasants and French-Norman nobles. All the "bad" words are Germanic in origin, with our genitals covered with fig-leaf Latinates. That's why I have legs, arms, hips and heart but I have a penis instead of a cock. The main weapon of the "common people" is and has always been higher birth rate, i.e. fucking. The ruling class keeps the lower classes down with faith based institutions (religion, nationalism, etc.). Therefore, these two words sum up the conflict inherent in the english language and the behavior induced by the way these words shape our thoughts...for me at least
Dinner with the Folks
two lovers bicker
over a rotting carcass-
vultures mate for life
I don't usually title my works, but now that I've started posting on an online poetry forum (arcanumcafe.com; username:ompholos), I usually try to think of a clever title that will make people want to read the poem. For some reason this title just popped into my head. It never was about my parents, although my entire family(along with most of the midwestern United States) are devout buffet folk. At one time I could polish off quite the plate of food(the result of which being benign praise for getting their money's worth) and go back for seconds, thirds...you get the picture. Now I'm a vegetarian and couldn't eat that much if I wanted to, which I don't. Every reponse to this poem has been that it's somehow dark or pessemistic, while my intent was quite the opposite. I was merely, pointing out anything or anyone usually has some redeeming qualities if we bother to look hard enough.
Orion
at dusk he awoke
to hunt in star-crossed forests
on a winter's night
Message in a Bottle
borne by waves ashore
the prodigal son returns
and beach stretches wide
to embrace gently as they
collapse in each others arms.
I thought this was a cool idea, that a glass bottle (made from sand...get it) washing up on shore could be seen as litter or on a whole other level could be seen as a joyous homecoming. No one at the poetry forum did...oh well.
Two short tree poems
I.
She likes fir. I pine -
our conifer contention
resolved by blooming plum
II
a late spring snow storm -
unwilling to leave her leaves
aspen branches snap
a rose bloomed today-
someone forgot to tell her
the two towers fell
My big 9-11 haiku. It's about all I wrote on that subject.
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