novapsyche: the inner view of a manual typewriter, the long thin metal keys (longtypewriterkeys)
Here we are, not even at the start of winter
and already we perceive the heart of winter,

snowfall clopping down on our necks, a white anvil.
Making us fear its weight: not so smart of winter,

otherwise ingenious of insinuating
itself inside our clothes. Soon a part of winter

blooms in our breath and seeds within our bones, crafty
wizardry invoking the dark art of winter.
novapsyche: parchment with calligraphy framed in sunlight, a quill-tipped pen atop it (scriptwithpen)
Here we are, not even at the start of winter
and already one can perceive the heart of winter,

snowfall clopping down on our necks, a white anvil.
Making us fear its weight is not so smart of winter

otherwise ingenious of insinuating
itself inside our clothes. Soon a part of winter

blooms in our breath and seeds within our bones, a thread
cross-stitched and stitched again. That's the art of winter.

Headlines

Sep. 9th, 2014 08:54 pm
novapsyche: hands actively utilizing a manual typewriter (activetypewriter)
Joan Rivers is dead. A dog barks
every three seconds, an echo

in its jaw. The sun has perished
for the day--there live only hoots

& response hoots from canine neighbors.
Joan Rivers is dead. The Huron River

flows on, mid-height, with its flotsam
whitish like a sick tongue. Summer

is aromatic in its waste, its widening,
simpering, deadened scent. Flowers waste

& wither in the late September breeze.
The heat drifts with little threat,

yet the cold signals its packing punch.
Joan Rivers is dead. Ice looms.
novapsyche: parchment with calligraphy framed in sunlight, a quill-tipped pen atop it (scriptwithpen)
So tenuous: the tendrils slip through links of fence
but slacken. Where is tenacity?

The sky thickens with birds--
is love what keeps them in formation?

Startled, the flock jerks like a burnt hand
chastened by the glance of a hot stove's eye.
novapsyche: the inner view of a manual typewriter, the long thin metal keys (longtypewriterkeys)
Lincoln with polio.
Lincoln in a wheelchair.

On Guard

Aug. 17th, 2014 12:11 am
novapsyche: a manual keyboard tinged with teal (tealtypewriterkeys)
Featured is all hope escaping,
ovaries twisted until nothing

can steal their way out, the eggs
withering in their original good-luck

clothes. The supermoon draws them
just as any other magnetic body would,

with gravitas & secrecy, the enigma
of earth. The ova declare decay,

just as ancestors declared victory
over remote towns & villas no one stateside

could ever decipher. It's
Miller time. It's time to celebrate

the beginning of the end, the righteous
mollification of nature, the aperture

of life & unlife, the unnatural passageway
of if & whether, of now & may have been.
novapsyche: the inner view of a manual typewriter, the long thin metal keys (longtypewriterkeys)
I'm not really a suicide risk,
mainly because I lack the courage

of my convictions. All that exists
is functional futility. Stilling

my own Newtonian motion might be the ultimate
synecdoche but would do nothing

to rectify the situation.
Death is a persistent but patient stalker:

let him do all the work. In the meantime
I observe the absurd gallivanting of songbirds,

the constant stridulation of crickets, the lanterns
of fireflies at night, signaling

their useless desire, their attempt to stave off
the impending heat-death of the universe.
novapsyche: hands actively utilizing a manual typewriter (activetypewriter)
The terrible poetry police
will come to my door, burst through

with no warrant, and set about
inspecting and inquiring, checking

the poem from a multitude of angles
and perspectives. They will ask

if I were aware of this mundane clause
or that horrible, groan-worthy pun

that was never funny or clever to begin with.
They will, in their crisp blue uniforms

and comically octagonal hats, crouch
to examine every historical allusion

for relevancy and appropriateness.
One officer may straighten and point sternly

at an unnecessary dash or semicolon,
at my pretentiousness. Then, satisfied,

they will write and hand me the carbon
of a ticket, warn me not to do it again,

saunter back to their stealth-black sedan
and seamlessly glide into the stark onyx night.

Near Miss

Jul. 11th, 2014 01:56 pm
novapsyche: golden typewriter keys from a manual typewriter (typewriterkeys)
The final time
we lay together
I looked into the disc
of your face
& nearly confessed love.
But there was none.
Possibly "love" is a placeholder
we feel the need to profess
in such situations.
Instead I glanced at your feet
& perused the knobs
of knuckles there.
novapsyche: a woman leaning against a wall, reading a book held in hand, legs raised against opposite wall, showing her garters (attractivereader)
This morning, there's snow on the ground.

To honor this occasion, I repost "The Cruellest Month":

The Cruellest Month


Sparrows speak spiritedly for one
full minute, then silence themselves.

It's tax day. My period has come
a week early, and something in my mouth
tastes like blood. A tooth
has cracked like an acorn, spilling
premature fruit into the earthen
floor of my mouth. Outside,

music floats through air like smoke
as families barbecue pork on ageing
terraces, hickory pricking the nose.
Skins brown in constant sun, absorbing
filaments of radiation. Tomorrow,
the threat of freezing rain.

Snooping

Feb. 27th, 2014 09:52 pm
novapsyche: hands actively utilizing a manual typewriter (activetypewriter)
The email told all there was to know.
The email said all there was to say.
The past wafted like smoke under the door,
heat at the doorhandle. The past coalesced
like a genie, turban and bared midriff,
feet coiling into mist. The skin of the past
shimmered with cocoa butter. The past's
tinkling laughter morphed into thunder, distant
but threatening to advance, undulating
under bruised clouds.

The email said all there was to say:
To genie with love.


restrictions )
novapsyche: parchment with calligraphy framed in sunlight, a quill-tipped pen atop it (scriptwithpen)
The average man wears trousers, but the best lounge in baggy linen. One such type waltzed into a china shop, hoping to purchase a bookshelf of cedar. Within his hand he held the design he desired, a near-Celtic knotwork carved deep into the flesh. He wandered from one store to the next, his fugue a sapient one: he imbibed the sights and curiosities with unvarnished relish. His traipsing led him to the harbor, the salt-swept air lingering in his nose, astringent. He filled his hands with sand, witnessed the waves litter the shore with shells. Two ships out to sea sounded their foghorns like whales emitting mating songs. Such was his fortune, this Swede who eschewed Swiss leather, this globetrotter who peered into dark places, this lark who spelunked in underground mansions, exploring the nether secrets nestled there. His vision, telescopic, garnered him insight into the nature of shadows.

word list )
novapsyche: golden typewriter keys from a manual typewriter (typewriterkeys)
Wheat product, cayenne, dirt. Pepper
shells or dirt. Pepper shells or dirt.
Pepper shells or dirt. Pepper shells
or dirt. Wheat product, cayenne. Pepper

shells or dirt. Wheat product, cayenne.
Corn, wheat and buckwheat products, charred
cocoanut shells. Corn meal, charred cocoanut
shells. Pepper shells or dirt. Pepper shells
or dirt. Corn meal, charred cocoanut shells.

Wheat, buckwheat & linseed products, charcoal,
cayenne. Wheat & linseed products, mustard
charcoal, cayenne. Wheat & linseed products,
mustard hulls. Starchy matter, charcoal.
Wheat product (probably biscuit). Corn meal,
charred cocoanut shells.

Corn meal, cayenne.
Corn meal, cayenne.
Wheat product.
Buckwheat middlings.
novapsyche: the inner view of a manual typewriter, the long thin metal keys (longtypewriterkeys)
So with the stuttering & the sputtering. To tell you
The truth, entire caches, the richest
Elements of the population swoon with no swagger.
Verily, they mumble, tight- & closed-lipped,
Even as they mean to disperse blessings.

Jojoba, cinnamon, frankincense, mace, thyme:
Ordinals state to combine the best & the least of these; cardinals
Boil them to amalgam, anoint
Skin of temple, skin of toe, skin of in-between.
novapsyche: parchment with calligraphy framed in sunlight, a quill-tipped pen atop it (scriptwithpen)
The sidewalks glistened in the abnormal heat. A swatch of snow
stood out from the church's valley. The sun played peek-a-boo.
The unusual wetness wended the once-frozen alley. The day
looked like a slice of spring, despite the calendar testifying
the height of winter. Birdsong absent this eerie January.
novapsyche: a young girl sitting with her fist up to her chin, her face turned away, ringed by a blue crescent (crescentgirl)
The recipe I keep making: the flour
& powder, no salt, butter heated & swirled
for a minute, this recipe will end up
fattening me. Add oil, egg, sugar.
The sugar. Dollop enough to make
a cookie. I’ll become the cookie.
Bake five to seven minutes. Cool
then transfer to wire rack.
Wiry body transfer to fat.
novapsyche: Sailor Moon rising into bright beams (Default)
pressed, a clear shore
spends the sense of lines,
values made green with day

today sonnets blend shine and shade



(Play with magnetic poetry here.)
novapsyche: Sailor Moon rising into bright beams (Default)
Last year I participated in an offshoot of NaNoWriMo: [livejournal.com profile] insohaimo encouraged poets to write one formal poem every day of the month. It had been my intention all year to do so again in 2008, but somehow November snuck up on me.

Due to my seasonal job as an achievement test scorer, I haven't had a lot of free time to devote to the challenge, but I have scrounged up a few haiku in the interim. I have several days to make up, however.

haiku )
novapsyche: Sailor Moon rising into bright beams (Default)
Loved One,

Your orgasms were more than physical. What
orange dreams you supplied me, the great
surprise of giddiness in knowing what others
could not know. Eight seconds of glory,
glaring like high pressure sodium.
It wasn’t enough.

Read more... )

Profile

novapsyche: Sailor Moon rising into bright beams (Default)
novapsyche

October 2014

S M T W T F S
    1234
567891011
12 131415161718
192021 22 232425
262728293031 

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags