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Monday, August 10, 2015

Variouscopics

I, as poet, crave clarity in definition and precision in the tools of my craft. The visual elements of poetics have always indicated images impossible to explore with current technological hardware.

Here I would like to introduce a new dimension of navigation. The root word of microscopic  is "scop" meaning to see. Micro addresses things extremely small.

A favorite read of mine is Piers Anthony's Macroscope. The idea being all within visual range can be examined. The prefix macro- (rhymes with "hack hoe")  is common to modern lexicons implying objects and events observable to the naked eye.

I wish to formalize a new definition / pronunciation  of Macroscopic. This meaning infers objecst and events which are large beyond human senses ability to capture. This new prefix is Macro- (rhymes with "Take Toe") and deals with things too large to see.

So here are your variouscopic options: Microscopic (too small to see), macroscopic (soft a , within optical range), and Macroscopic (hard A, too large to see). 

Knowing that  there is a word for a concept or thing invisible to the naked eye but undeniably real, is a prosperity to my poets soul, and a luxury to my military mind.

Science and art are advanced by this new codification, obscure as it may be, of structural design at all levels of observation. The beauty of Great Creators handiwork can only be hinted at with our most powerful tools.

My responsibility as poet is to reveal the indivisible connection between humanity and the incomprehensible support systems embedded within us, and those within which we are embedded.

Swallowed by nature
Abandoned village returns
Elements to Earth

Beauty everywhere
Above and below poet
Rings of creation

Various optics
Reveal the tiniest hint
Visionary truth

Say it with me now
My crow, mack row, Make row...scope
Of observation
Micro- (tiny), macro- (common), Macro-(giant), treat converging fields of study which I gigglingly poeticize. I may have made up  the m-M differentiation, but I am a linguistic disestablishmentarian and reserve the licence to tread on traditional toes.

Taint

vague artistic taint
between asshole and nutbag
find me pidgeon-holed

rage

shouting rage repeat
you would use that against me
like I have no right

Sunday, August 9, 2015

Curse of the...

When it is rain time, it rains

when haiku time comes
it will begin to haiku
in sprinkles and storms

some gentle verses
lavender summer night breeze
others poop on shoes

now something unknown
suddenly talons extend
slashing blindly wild

am I enemy
I know I must be somewhere
so why not here now

face mortality
know that you may die today
I won't skip a stroke

destroy all in path
authorities have arrived
sir drop the pen now

you don't call me sir
unless you are in my path
you will surely die

I will live and my
Names not Shirley dear reader
Escape while you can

I can't control this
Force of nature act of god
Some sick joke of muse

Letters spinning blade
sharp and hard as katana
probing for your throat

howling eyes roll back
strings of foaming spittle splat
blend with blood on bed

another falls prey
and another after that
slip and fall in gore

jab and twist of blade
cranium tumbles from neck
throat geysers sticky

splash in open mouth
puke rises into throat
cut short by blade stroke

dead all of them dead
guts skulls and blood so much blood
but none of it mine

I tried to warn them
without remorse or regret
I collect my fee

Time v Timing

time but an instant
while timing is everything
so take your timing

pencil

poet regards verse
blindly groping for pencil
lost in translation

hurt

skinned knee hurts for days
hurt feelings leave pain for months
sometimes forever