sentiment

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.

 

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Misful Wishtake

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Misful Wishtake

by

Kenyatta Jean-Paul Garcia 

from there on in

the coming is rough

 

above all illuminations

of a doubt

 

on river of moonbeams

countdown of worries

too much

to know where to begin

largest numbers

return to zero

* * *

even weak storms

are missed

in droughts

* * *

wishes take form

from mutiny

at heart

* * *

mistakes

always seem

to go

before corrections

are understood

* * *

over thrown

kingdoms

of nervous mirrors

 

over rested

children

kissing first time

dark

and created

under daylight’s

eye

* * *

started ravenous

waves

ate ancient

 

saved modern

for tomorrow

 

held distance

in shadows

of nets

* * *

shallow lids

did best

they could

to shield vision

from feeling

second best

* * *

fugitive peeks rose to occasion

took mission

as destiny

* * *

conscious

attacked

itself

* * *

truth

was turned down

 

but truth

takes life

in stride

 

sees rejection

as its favorite

outfit

* * *

whispers tried not to

but cut through sleep

 

offset any sense

of a cure

* * *

brooding

began

when

the missing did

* * *

wish

took up

sentry

over breakfast

* * *

liberty

misplaced

wingspan

* * *

eager transformation

-sigh-

another weekend

* * *

neon gave signs

lessons in youth

and age

 

took out for a date

mistake

* * *

impatience

persisted

for serendipity

 

hoped in

jitters

 

prayed

in fashion

of moping

* * *

sublime

moments

remove

sails amiss

* * *

waking brings mist

* * *

full winds enter

wingspan

found

 

freedom

possible

matures

* * *

swift

close to dingy

filth

of sunlight

refused

welcome

 

heavy dust

of silence

fixes

 

at-hand world

 

overturns

with sleight

in mind

language

thawed

 

Bibliography:

Enter the After-Garde Selections from 1998-2010

This Sentimental Education

Back Pocket Book

Distilled! and A Northern Elegy