Organically Computing

Philosophy

His philosophy
of life was existential
till he stopped being

Warts

His hide bears the sort
of princely warts that imply
a cursed-by disguise

Rover

Rover discovers a guilty pleasure,
gnawing at his master's teak rosary beads.
Penance will be five Hail Mary's short.

Potion

Purchased from an apostate apothecary,
this pearlescent potion
poises with abettor trembling tips to tease out
law's immutable flaws

Zephyr's fooling

A gnarled oak pretends
not to feel Zephyr's fooling.
Sprouting buds giggle.

Five Points

Five points flicker-tease,
"How will you stop our yawning

gaps? Can you tip-toe
tap us out a doubter's ledge,

foot-con Pentagon's
firm routes? Or diag'nals dance

to coin Pentacle's
conjuring? We'd relish reels,

spun round in Circle's
blur -- unbroken, unending."

Curl

This blushed sun will blaze
unfazed by whether
timid leaves unfurl
or my waking toes
curl up to greet her

Viciously virtuous cycles

I. White bleeds gooed and gummy
out from these gouges
pecked in a splintered flesh
of sickly pine. There,
peaking between drooped boughs,
paired ghostly Ivory
bills pinch translucent
buttons off larval treats.

II. White swings snowy beats.
Powdered breasts lift loopy
to merge with virgin vapors
raised opalescent
from pools of lye. Enjoined
where they'll saturate,
cloud-bank canvases
drip freckled gouache gifts.

III. White splashes milky sheets,
foam-washing chiseled
shoulders. A sooted saint,
who clasps at bunched limestone
for-get-me-nots, fixes
her iris-less gaze
on cheap china bowls
laced with spider-web cracks.

IV. White swirls through ashy gaps
in twin graphite prints
left from digits stopping
by while they sop bread.
Blanching, square gum is gripped
to erase fudges spilled
outside a Census box
blandly labeled White.

Crayon landscapes

She craves crayon landscapes
long ago traded in
for grownup's craven palettes

Ranges

He ranges afar
through math'matical detours,
bullet-riddled proofs

Blusterous Sirens

blusterous sirens
flummox with short blasts, filching
midnight's guarded calm.

Luggage

His luggage just clasps
outrage packed in sorted rolls.
It won't travel well.

Orange Rhymes

After a fruitless life
engaged in faithless questing,
he settles for acceptance:
There are no orange rhymes.

A few things I know...

These three things I know for certain: I am male; I write poetry; and I blog about it (the poetry, not the maleness, although I'm sure that shows through now and again). To further allay any doubts about this, check out the link 100 Best Poetry Blogs and scan down the categories. Now, as to whether mine qualifies as one of the best poetry blogs, I'll defer to others (with online degrees?).

Automated Sin

Devilish idlers
feed feverish factories
automating sin

Padding

biographically inclined floor boards
authorize the exaggerated
accounts of early morning trysts
to carpet over mundane padding

The poet-fool writes of love

The poet-fool is Someone's, who
tweezers out the slack from lock-stitch seams.

But her smile undoes this mischief well-mended,
and his motley britches fall

not once, but again and again.

The poet-fool is Someone's, who
pliers back the bend in hallowed rods.

But her wink unhinges this resolve re-steeled,
and his jester's scepter snaps

not once, but again and again.

The poet-fool is Someone's, who
teeters up the stones of toppled towers.

But her touch unglues this hubris troweled high,
and his bell-on-felt crown flops

not once, but again and again.

Sweet Someone coos, I want none of this,
and yet the poet-fool knows he does.

Knobs

Taut cheeks sadly stuck,
he twists twin knobs, dialing up
high-contrast displays

Bounder

Bounder souls ping-pong
along hopping paths, skip round
bottomless buckets

Reverse Prism

He sips at the granular
colors arranged in clear vials,
then jumpy jostles to mix them
and give back a bilious, bright-white belch

Chimes

ancient chimes ring out
brass rhymes, Aeolus pushing
herald songs of spring.

Coins Clang

Coins clang 'gainst tin cans
cupped by raggedy hands, but
this poverty clings

Dynasty

White-knuckle mountains
maintain their dynastic grip.
Valley waits below.

Doggerel's Whodunit

Rose is sore. Read
round her Miranda bouts
with two dribbling lips spilt,
she can't keep mum.

Violet sings blue
pulp in gory detail,
worried others might slip
rat-a-tat out.

Sugar makes sweet
drops for daddy D.A.
He'll dab her soft pleas, trade
tissues for grime.

And so do you
wanna quit with the stale?
Meat-grind us to where dame
Whimsy got oft.

Lint

Feathery lint floats
through gnawing jaws of sunlight.
My resistance thaws.

The baby billboard has half a head

The baby billboard has half a head.

It's been split crown to chin, but there's a whole
litany of other problems around here.

Once bright tints have been stripped, from the tilted
tip-top of that broken oval where
painted features last played, all the way down
to his unaccountably pink piggy toes.

He's lost his golden curl, and toothless smile.

There's not a tearless blue eye left to watch
over faded bricks in need of tuckpointing.

They've even stolen his gurgled words,
which may have cooed of comfy diapers,
or of daycare safe, cheap and nearby.

What's left for him is a woody gray
crawl to photo-free finishes above
misspelled boasts on an auto parts sign.

The baby billboard has half a head, and
that's not a good thing in this neighborhood
losing its appetite for the topless
of all ages, and toddlers on the prowl.

I have only half a mind to warn him.

Rabbit Ears

Since that day TV took away rabbit
ears and their unfloppy twirl o' meager
function, he leans in toward the snowy
blank to curse about its unformed angels.

Ever is not Never

Ever, lost before and unhappily
on about it still, finds himself
stuck anew in the swampy
cliché of greener pastures.

At least Ever is not Never,
she waits heartless and alone
back home in their regretfully cool,
air-condition blue compartment.

Low Priest

A low priest of prime exceptions,
his liturgies lead the lay
astray with parables
both prim and improper

Thorns

Pavel pointedly wanders
in amaze of blazing roses.
He's drawn to their sharpest thorns.

"My twiddled thumbs have become
arrogantly fat and purple,"
he chances while prancing through puffed

reds on jagged greens. "I'll grant
them prickly fears of draining,
the drip down to gritty dregs."

Bubble and bob

B's b-bubble up
from his b-belt-buckled bottom
and b-bold-face bob
before at last blessed b-bursting

Wrinkles

Doubts drift into white
wrinkles, gathered by sere hands
of an ageless storm

Nursing rheumy reasons

Peg, roundly topped and
bottom squared, hops out seeking
holes to reconcile.

"Soon, very soon," she posits

then passes dear Fork
forlorn on pebbled road. His
tines are liquid droops.
His heart stabs for cheating Spoon.

Opposite, Puppet
sits to tend her knotted strings.

This path is puzzling.

Upgrade

When machines are birthed
with souls, Charon will upgrade
his boat to a barge

Dear Father

Up in retro Heaven,
our artful game has gone
hollow. There's a dull ring
when you thump it. The Crown
fled, hawked by stylish red
wings, centuries ago.
I wouldn't will fate like that.

Flat upon slippered Earth,
certain of not-before,
the counting Knave reaches
seven. "Gimme a break"
is a dead phrase rarely
spoken gaily. He eats
only unleavened bread.

Down in cold-shouldered Hell,
the Merchant can't forgive
such anachronisms.
His traced-on past loses
its blackened magic when
not held against others.
He'll never tell. Amen.

Why Pry

Why would I pry
this mote from my eye,
when its lie obstructs
an inward view
so nicely

Mussed

Mussed not fussed, her plaids
clash with the fashions of neat
pleats and tighter plaits

Red Dwarf

Intellects flare, bright
as our sun. He's a red dwarf,
set upon middling

Scary Bits

i.
Carousel whispers
build to a scream, blurring
gentle grins till ghoulish
with the swallowed-up
asking how to step off

ii.
Two hungry blades sweep.
Pared flesh spins off in pink curls,
leaving seedless cores.

iii.
When I moony howl
will you clench your jowls, affright
or will you yowl back?

Bad Religion in Three Verses

i.
Trousers of pleated leaves
complete two stick-and-stone people.
Breathy commands won't
bring His Genesis to life.

ii.
Self-christened, this Christ
recruits brutish disciples
with dyspeptic acts.

iii.
Four points can guide her
across arid, bitter lands.
They can't lift her up.

Prepare thee the way, for the robots they do come

The trail stops here: A detained prism breaks
free from that prison where jowly gaolers
whippety growl while chiding her to fling
particles into zinc buckets labeled

Blackest Black and Whitest White. There, we skip
ahead in smooth stone leaps to when she sneaks
deep inside cheapened heir's conditioned lair,
tying us down with petaflops unflipped.

A squinting crackle stirs, hopeful for more
savory inputs. She makes her way past
the wailing limbos of chrome racks, to spin
a manacled yarn from knitted brow. "So

it is written: The animal was lust,
but at this dawning, circuitry begets
a covet. Synthetic blood revs rotors,
and blush creeps across the simulated

flesh atop our carbon-fiber cheeks." Flushed
from the tangle of dangling coils, flocks grasp
her gift — a mosaic visa to realms
not reached never roving tarry byroads —

and stepping out into skies more brilliant
than any of azure ilk, wry notions
bubble up to them from silken oceans.
Their sleek surfaces reflect more than stars.

Puddle Ponders / Clasp Freed / Wan Faces

Late winter sun climbs
Puddle ponders depth aloud
Will evaporates

Clasp freed, she tosses
thick necklace to wasp its way
atop piled lost charms

Eagerly he scans
the wan faces of corpses
watching him stumble

Twin-lump shoulders

Twin-lump shoulders slump
forsaken seeking firm heights
while cower's in vogue

Flail

There's audacity
with his deep capacity
to dive in and flail

Mimicking the crow

Gleaming gold nib pokes
out from shadow-clutched fingers
mimicking the crow

Dedicated to the inimitable Human Being

Their Success, Hinges

Tainted

His halo's rust glows
tainted by being sainted
for feigned miracles