June 8, 2013
I suppose
I suppose that I ought to post something. I don’t have much to say. So, this may well be short or a ramble or a short ramble or something about god.
I am an atheist. I know some of my Christian followers will stop following now and are offended at the very thought. But there it is. I am an atheist and have been most of my life. Do not pray for me – if you are going to waste your time do it on something that will at least make you feel better. So, a few questions answered:
1. If you are an atheist, why do you write about god, Judas and the like?
Well, regardless of the veracity of the belief – it is a powerful subject that evokes powerful imagery in the reader. Also, I write a lot about mythology as popular mythology is a subject that sustains my interest when a lot of other subjects do not. Modern religion is nothing other than modern popular mythology. Lastly, all subjects are fair game for the writer and the writer is not always the narrator of the poem – not even as often as you might think.
2. If you don’t believe in god where do you get your inspiration from?
Everything else. Well, that isn’t accurate – I find inspiration in everything up to and including modern mythology as noted above. Most of my inspiration comes from the observation of life as I see it and experience it.
3. without god as a part of your personal experience isn’t your life and therefore poetry devoid of deep meaning?
I find more meaning and mystery and wonder of life without all the answers – with all the answers everything just stops doesn’t it – or at least this is the way it seems to me. Believing in some god provides the answers for everything and the conversation seems to stop right there, there is no mystery and wonder left for science or poetry.
I’ll take other questions in the comments and probably make another post with those.
May 13, 2013
what I say is holy
but it’s no good,
the secret out,
and I am on my knees.
what I say is holy,
holier than the tomes of great men
whose bodies are dust;
I can no longer blow them for good graces
except by exhale,
head buried to the lap
of dead gods turned to ash.
February 8, 2013
untitled dream #3
untitled dream #3
we are west sixty-six revisited
we are bound
bordered between psychiatry and madness
and we celebrate in ceremony
counting one to four,
four to one.
in the arena of dreaming
a precipice with feet teetering
don’t look back!
playing Aeolian harp
singing our __________.
keep it simple, Orpheo.
don’t look back.
a love lost within scope of wandering
and vanished.
itself playing on bent shaft
itself a white lily
itself a love under guise
itself a nuclear proliferation.
– Hoc Scripsi
the platitudes of willful resemblance 