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Poetry Magnum Opus

dr_con

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About dr_con

  • Birthday 05/10/1964

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    http://www.integralvoodoo.org/
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  1. dr_con

    The Escapist

    Thanks DC! indeed, maybe my favorite line? 😉
  2. dr_con

    Self-Portrait 101

    How did I miss this? Lovely, lovely rich piece, it invoked so much in so few words. Well, well Done! Juris
  3. dr_con

    Cold Bed

    Dark and comforting simultaneously. Very enjoyable;-) Thanks JJ! Juris
  4. dr_con

    The Box

    A perfect and moving personification. And glad you have had a break in your challenges. Beautiful piece Tink;-) Juris
  5. dr_con

    The Escapist

    Thanks JJ! Appreciate the feedback!
  6. dr_con

    The Escapist

    Thank You All, here's the extended full version I'm reading at my dad's memorial this weekend.
  7. dr_con

    The Escapist

    The Escapist Part 1: Apocryphal truths On the day my father died I had 6 hours 48 minutes of sleep dreams both warm and rich fueled by post Yule nanoseconds of light stored by our 23.5 degree tilt our axial relation to the Sun Woken abruptly by the phone And of course I knew We all do Informed by The One who has lived it all The Storyless Storyteller who speaks out of the space between broken lines through enjambments past violated syntax and lost thoughts or the sentience he showed on that last visit mumbling visions so vast words defied him memories defeated him choices defined him To me he seemed to be waiting for permission He passed on the same day As our mother 22 years removed Apocryphal truths Soon to be canonical A reminder these Tales are for the living My only certainty Is this is a bad day To quit smoking. Part 2: Memento Mori Back when I was Immortal keen on living in relation to dying I asked for my 18th And he gave: A human skull mis-cut made unsuitable for medical diagnostics Perfect for desk and shelf of a burgeoning Philosopher Writer Poet or Bohemian Lout The last His stance A response to his Disappointment my assigned and labeled wasted potential I was just standing on the back of my ancestors who were Rebels All the way up and all the way down Our Prussian Forebears jumped ship accepting the deal With the Colonialist Devil William Penn for Land and Freedom Or so I was told but it comes back to Escapes Escaping his Parent’s Puritanical Moralism by stealing the Key of a Strong Work Ethic used again and again A life well worked borrowing peace with a Promise of Tomorrow I struggled to escape that Promise A constant dance with Memento Mori seeking a crack in the Now Like the original dance Hunter and Prey I and Thou It gets complicated Part 3: Complications A God that needs your belief Is not a real God Deep down Before Memory The Divine Is but a projection of the parental Molding our perception Do triumphs over Say But say I do beyond the all too Complicated dualisms of Family and Foe Blood and Water Success and Failure Right and Wrong these stories: The Summer I was 3 a stubborn stump being removed by the application of controlled Fire and Brimstone me running to get Daddy for Dinner and then the screams echoing thru the evening sky They didn’t know what to do My nerves dead charred skin in strips driving to the hospital He never said I saw Him volunteering as an EMT For years His Silent Never Again Or At the age of 7 On the field trip Listening to his stories of Ophidiophobia his deep revulsion of snakes as we walked The swampy path The Bush and The Rattle Magically I Am transported through the air from lead to rear clutched behind him As he reaches forward with his walking stick To reveal A Message loud and Clear In the study of escapology Remembrance is the only assured Method of escaping our chains.
  8. dr_con

    Christmas Eve Tanka

    Really enjoyed this seasonal Tanka! Thanks Tinker
  9. dr_con

    Clubland

    Nice work Tony! A fascinating image, framed by the title. I saw the individual, felt the conflict. Nicely down! Juris
  10. dr_con

    entranced by dust

    entranced by dust an early one not just my bedroom shared with my brother until Didi died his Latvian Metal Smith’s heart giving way after its cleaving from the loss of his wife Matt ten years earlier A patina of dust over-everything academic tomes nicks and nacks a lifetime of travel refuge escapes accumulated comforts mnemonics crafts startling colors dulled by wood skin metal fibers chaff microtubules vapor all the while Tardigrades herded mites and glass spiders across a family’s tundra unseen except for moments truer than true dusting I would sit for timeless seconds the light was just so slanting past red/blue child’s curtains Entranced by the infinite the regress a grain split again and again historyless lessons kaleidoscope leavings allowing no room for stories of angels heads or their pins.
  11. Notes For The Other Self First I notice For not To does Author henceforth referred to as Poet claim as did Creeley when asked about I Know a Man ‘Maybe I’m just the poet’ or when I offered my sophomoric LANGUAGE prose poetry he sd “Class is this poetry?’ or as Pale Fire defers to lost footnotes that can’t be rd Yes yes yes of course so much more without disservice to intent Poet noted To Future Self indeed too many many times simile like of Borges’s Kafka and his Precursors often to a Past Self Cheat! Cheat! Cheat! We do not have Virilio's 28 books in Crepuscular Dawn Not a correct number Babylon is a myth For Futurists Weight fractured brought To 7.6 Billion Poets without common threads author and patriarch and matriarch unknown guessed interpreted fudged and it must be For To is To too exact Poets have an Other Who hides behind concrete or eldritch slither of specific specifics a forebear of Knowing Is it Poetry?
  12. dr_con

    Witness

    Witness We stood before the Throne you and I In the Loon’s call The clearing of clutter The unreliable labor to make ends meet And the beggar at the door says We’re selling these trinkets To raise money to help children grow closer to god and she seems confused at my reticience My avoidance My refusal Is there anyone else here she asks holding her box as if it’s a shield seeing in my eyes more than rejection I want to strip politeness from my censor leap upon the table yelling Which One Which One? If you have to ask You don’t know the Gods they are everywhere In the washed cups In the jars of herbs The dried spill one of us must clean-up Not the Hanging Judge The God of No unless multifaced Nothing grinning on the same side as the dog barks the cricket chirps the fragment burns on edge of atmosphere Or survives and creates an excuse for pilgrimage I met your god The one who uses belief to abdicate the sins of the Father pedaling a perversion of love spreading and subjugating your young bound to a demiurge Not Dead but Mad Mad Mad I almost laugh Instead silently say Be gone Be gone Ignorance The look of doubt as she leaves through the door contains more Power and Glory than this Witness can bare.
  13. dr_con

    the apprentice

    Agree with all! Breathing life into a sonnet, creating something modern and living from old material. Whimsical and profound, nice work Geoff!
  14. dr_con

    Baku

    Baku Our lives are poems in hushed tones screaming NOW NOW NOW Do you think Japanese parents lied to their children with tales of the Baku who stole nightmares? Why would they do that? War for profit Death by Greed Where are the Dream Stealers now? And she said I don’t know if it’s OK To be happy Child Child Child Always OK on your Deathbed In your Sickness In your Struggle In your Fear In your Joy Always OK Always OK Life is what happens Not more Not Less Awake Awake Awake Hush now Why let them take what is Yours? Love Love Love Nothing More Nothing Less.
  15. dr_con

    River Crossing

    Tinker, I find this (and many of your recent works) To be filled with the kind of depth, wisdom, that moves one toward a grasp of the ineffable. Beautiful in its simplicity, and poignant. Many Many Thanks! Juris
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