on the corner
across the street
sun beating down on my face
and I do not torture myself
over shortcomings
– Hoc Scripsi
June 30, 2010
on the corner
June 27, 2010
to kill poets
the poet’s word albatrossed
to the secret villain,
hanging on like stink
from decadent fish.
this is our RSVP, their
invitation to KILL POETS.
not with censorship,
with bullets.
– Hoc Scripsi
I have a minor obsession with being assassinated, I think I’ve mentioned this before but sometimes we all repeat ourselves don’t we. Maybe in a past life, somewhere in Argentina or El Salvador I was disappeared permanently. The victim of some nations dictator extreme rendition.
Or maybe I was a cuddly bunny rabbit in hunting season. If so I hope that my name was Theodore and the family that ate me enjoyed the meal.
whatever I was, now I am a poet and consider it a poets duty to be a threat to both the vox popoli and the powers that be.
this is how I get after storing things in the attic, small confined space and all.
June 25, 2010
again
I like to throw this poem out there every now and then – not only because this blog is named because of it.
the platitudes of willful resemblances
some things have a harder time changing than others.
sleep comes hard,
now we recognize,
meds and allergy pills, a
little beer and hopefully soon to sleep
and dream along the platitudes
of willful resemblances.
– Hoc Scripsi
juggling plastic butter knives and listening to Philip Glass – I’m sure neither is allowed on an airplane if only for their murderous properties. Now as I sit and read at night I will have to worry about extreme rendition performed at the hands of the CIA or the Homeland Security administration all for giving the idea that plastic knives and Philip Glass can be used for such devious things as brutality and terror.
Lately I’ve remembered a poem by Emily D. that I once memorized and can recall still. ‘”He scanned it” – one of the 1700 or so poems she had written and not thrown away. This must be in the top of my all time favorite poems and not just for its lyrical beauty or simplicity.
the mind often amazes me with what it chooses to recall at any given time and thrust forth into the openings of self for realization.
I switch to Beethoven as I do not want to injure myself.
June 21, 2010
the poem and reflection are both reflections but unrelated.
Father’s day was calm, relaxing. Watching favorite movies, reading a book and eating the best homemade meal on the planet. Went out to the shop and looked for a lost part for the better part of an hour when I decided that yesterday was not the day for getting all worked up. Played games with my son and reflected.
There are three things that I am that I love being, a poet, a father and a husband (in no discernible order mind you). There are other things that I am that I could do without maybe or maybe not but nonetheless I do not like them as much as the other three. We look for the constants which medication does not erase, many things wax and wane with time and in the constants we find out ourselves defined/refined.
the medications make me sweat when I am not sedentary.
Years ago I found I could no longer lie, once I had taken a Buddhist vow. When I try I lose my words and cannot speak what I so desperately want to lie about. Think about it like this – say you look like a whore in a particular dress and ask me how you look – the right answer is ‘sexy’ or the non-committal ‘good’ – what comes out of me is – ‘well, you look like a whore.’ which inevitably ruins the whole evening.
with the language that I wear as a skin I am still able to word things that they are truth but convey nothing of the meaning of said truth. “you look ready for friday night.’
or just be objective – ‘wow, how much does that cost?’
but as I said, it would come out of me as “well, you look like a whore.”
sweat
my body stinks, sweat beads
soaked my shirt and slacks.
I changed my boxer briefs and socks
but should’ve taken a shower and
changed all my clothes.
I don’t mind so much when
the stink gets to others
if they’re offended, so what;
it’s when the scent
offends me.
distracting!
there is a lot of day to get
through still
before a bath of shower can
be employed.
for now I’ll have to bear it
and so will everyone else.
– Hoc Scripsi
the platitudes of willful resemblance 