emotion

THAT GUY (STANDING ON BROKEN LEGS) by Jared Schickling

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THAT GUY (STANDING ON BROKEN LEGS)

by

Jared Schickling

 

Dear Dick:

 

if there were power enough to do so

but who believes there is

someone—yes—someone

would use it

apes

a good ape

a bad ape

perhaps human

though probably not

(a poem)

us—where we were

some chief proponent—un elected

(un assailed) assistant

(to the) boss

of nothing special—

already—

a motherboard’s groan

too loud

hears a fan going

the way of heat

I no you do—

 

were there power enough to do so

yet you believe there is

someone—yes—someone

would take it

chance

a chance

the despicable and heinous

practice of printing

practice of printing

torture reports

cuz—cause the many

be many

un shocked

only disgusted—

the transparency and honest

nature found—in such printing

(really made you)

really makes you

shit your pants.

 

but not really.  permanent.  did you think

they were coming—that they’re here—

if there were powers

enough (& I believe

there are)—[redacted

redacted] forced

[redacted]

is like something that would that

could

have been—properly utilized much

to wish for—

 

We’re here—

a documented medical need

 

Poetic Statement: I began this poem learning of the Senate Intelligence Committee’s report on torture during the transnational American war begun in Iraq and Afghanistan.  It is a test for the poem committing the emotion that would like to see especially those war criminals that look and act like something called us subjected exactly to what they’ve accomplished.  To commit the beauty of stone legs made trunkless and the reality of social order.  Mechanically this was difficult to achieve, if I have at all.  The poem does not bear witness.  The poem is romantic, kissing mere instruments.       

 Bio: Jared Schickling’s recent books include Two Books on the Gas: Above the Shale and Achieved by Kissing (BlazeVOX, 2014), The Paranoid Reader: Essays, 2006-2012 (Furniture Press, 2014), and Prospectus for a Stage (LRL Textile Series, 2013).  He co-edits Delete Press and eccolinguistics.

Three Poems by Michael David Saunders Hall

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Three Poems 

by

Michael David Saunders Hall

Analog Soul: Ode To The Ark of History

 “History is never silent, it reminds us again and again and again, that we live its presence in every part of our life every day.”

–Paul D. Miller (aka DJ Spooky)

 

#1) In the Fountain of Now

 

in the beginning

of the end, in the fountain

of now, where youth

is the eternal exuberance

of expression

choreographed

to the sound

of breaks

extended on

phonographs

I once telegraphed rhythms

purposely

abrupt

cutting in, out—

between scenes

of sound

& silence,

ambition

& ambivalence…

sermonizing

the psalms

of drums

in the cadence of heartbeats

with rhythmic instinctions

transcending the trek

of life. it’s all a mystic brew

of rhythms spun from

constant conjures cooking

in the cauldron

of old record

crates

creating concertos

of the crossfader

with coaxing

diminuendo…counterpoint

…& crescendo, making

music from noise wandering

amidst the voices

in the margins, lingering

& loitering

like echoes, refined

by time.

 

#2) In the Tongues of Talking Drums

 

Everyday is the big playback: listening

to ex libris

excerpts & excursions in aural alchemy enjambed

 

& juxtaposed within the soul vibrations

of lingua franca

conjured in incantations of rhythm, connecting

 

us to the continuum of lost & found moments

spliced by

the metronome of memory into the digitized

 

diary of the mind where our analog souls

segue

into the ark of history, rehearsing & conversing

 

In tongues of talking drums

versed in

hieroglyphics & a tapestry of folktales.

 

Words on Fire (or: Destiny…in search of the light)

 inspired by Mark Helprin’s Winter’s Tale

Are we ever to be old

 

As the destinies or dreams

Of our own decree we seek?

 

Connected by light

We are stars ageless as God

More ancient than Earth

 

In a clockwork of spirits

Born out of our words on fire

 

& loves unbroken by time.

 

Two Views on Love

 1)

What’s this thing called love?

Kisses coming off the tongue

Hearts beating like drums.

 

2)

In the scrupulous scribbles

Of  life painted freehand, love

 

is the serenade

of whispered watercolors

echoing anon

 

& on, dancing in the flesh

never to be forsakened.

BIO: My name is Michael David Saunders Hall. Born February 24, 1970, I am a graduate of University of Illinois at Champaign with a Bachelor of Science degree in Liberal Arts. I’ve worked as children’s counselor and a laborer for Firestone among many other jobs. Presently, I am employed by Walmart. My love for poetry and the arts has me putting all my passion, energy and zeal into an effort of building up a following and becoming a published poet, going wherever the journey takes me. Presently, as part of the process, I have two blogs I maintain, The Poet Tree Will Be Streamed and Life’s Last Labors of Love. I also head and help run (with the aid of RC deWinter, Chris Flegel, and Uma Venkatraman) a community on Google Plus called Words On Fire and ezine of the same name. By the end of this year (if not earlier), I hope to self-publish a couple ebooks of my own verse: one entitled Haikooley High Harmony: Life, The Duality of Love Vs. Lust & The Sunshine After The Rain (which will be like a chapbook of haiku and tankas), and the other is to be called Like Blue Notes For Poetry.
Poetic Statement: I believe, When you write how you feel, all dimensions of yourself come to light and cannot help but be exposed as genuinely real. For me, writing is truly the balance of “delicious agony” and suite ecstasy, always revealing itself as both the process and the product of catharsis.