Four New Poems by Pat Nolan |
by Pat Nolan |
|
FOUR NEW POEMS BY PAT NOLAN
ANY DAY NOW
In the binary month of a binary year the anxiety of one day seeps into the next each little disappointment kills a larger hope bad news in the mail complication of fears exacerbates all the aches and pains fastened to worry by the glue of gloom and woe
“his bitterness survived him and tainted future generations a strange and foolish galoot”
there is always a price to pay for being different in need of that newfangled awe befitting the god of love
but with age comes a certain responsibility to act my age
jar of another speed bump what it does to forward determination how genius can be stuffed in the pursuit of stubborn resistance a density poignantly rejected to possess authority known as author effacements self-reliant calm in the commonality of all
distracted by needless worry heedless I bump into myself a case of nerves and tiny ailments the entire underpinning questionable shaky prone to collapse self-torture’s miserable state of being
or ponder the difference between a kaon produced in high energy collision with electrically charged forms being about a thousand times more massive than its electron and a koan as a paradoxical form used to abandon ultimate dependence on reason and enter into sudden intuitive enlightenment
robins keep their appointment with the freshly mowed roadside at this particular edge of dusk not quite dark a rain squall whitens the air as a damp filter
there are words I should define but faced with the dictionary I can’t remember what they are I don’t want to map my thinking I just want to leave footprints
standing in line the woman behind me thought it funny to unlock my knees her name spelled with a secret vowel only revealed once you speak it
my dreams parallel my waking life where nothing much gets accomplished either
I can’t believe I said “doodle bug” not “you cry baby middle class snot”
ant navigates a vast listless sea of shag persistent irony of daily life sweep paper floor made to look like wood
swift moving clouds leave sunshine in their wake
does not my aura contain as well as emanate a pure spectral body of surrounding light as if I could actually see the strings and strands connected to the physics of being
steady rain streams down a pale transparent code
evening imposes a kind of silence a stillness of the moment joined as it were to the mood of transition I step out of myself
sometimes I’m my mother sometimes I’m my father sometimes I’m just me waiting to be
desire happiness mindful of all the suffering it will cause treasure the inconsequential for more momentous matters omens read into the unexpected to explain a failure in predicting the future
garden of purple and white asters wag in the wind edge of fog sieves the light to understand those wavelengths demark a cold neutral cast neither inviting or terrifying but pressing with its stillness a cocoon-like transcendence it’s what I expect and accept an abeyance in the ripening buffeted by a hardening breeze
thump the remote wake up the battery
how I drag my weeping carcass across the landscape and sing in a tongue yet to be understood
connect the dots the dots the dots
alone the empty house inhabited by shadows and excuses for not getting out of bed
the older I get the better feel I get for the inevitable
waiting to turn the ignition off so I can listen to the last of Lady Day’s breathy lilt on the radio in what sounds like an intimate nightclub atmosphere and reflect on the incredible richness and bounty of the moment and what a beggar I am to appreciate it so little
yet morning’s roar of machine shattered stillness projections of ego reconfirm my status as the center of attention where surface frivolity hides a deeper demon quaint perceptions lead to unusual conclusions
rain wet streets mark a change of season low spots along the road as puddles resume birds gather in joyful congregations the air streaked with delicate splash
transition from one moment to the next full of holes gaps light year spans the pace of eons with each breath conscious of the unconscious unconsciously a snarl of hair triggers
vague giants march out of morning mist silhouettes edged in softness a day of no sun and pale spumes the trees shedding a steady fine glaze as awakening color adds its transparency
you never step into the same stream twice Heraclitus was fond of saying what he didn’t say you still get wet
LYRE LIAR
Awakened by ache most of day expired illness while more often than not uncomfortable also a monumental waste of time bathed in the cold light of calculation a world of computational excess I could die tomorrow and that would sum it all up
long for enlightenment of early sun as it lays orange marks across frosty blades
this my own personal Daoism a principle of purity in essence non-action as the application of spontaneity
ebb and flow of mist at ridge top raises and lowers a curtain on the saga of ancient trees ranks of giants stand shoulder to shoulder in drifting vapor testifying as a chorus of beauty the archetypes of centuries reenact their drama awesome in their stature and stillness the slow bleed of smoke from a chimney feeble before the white cast of billowing atmosphere overpowering the wash of its grace a squall’s sudden intermission
thoughts and ruminations evaporate before the vast emptiness of the page pearls of wisdom go unstrung brilliant insights go unset
just the topmost tips of trees bathed in gold still in shadows rank upon rank belong to cold
tangled up in the ropes of dysfunction head held under the waters of regret an accomplished sadness bereaving the unknown puzzle of relationships further unsolved
so it is that I cling to life like lint that blur at the periphery what’s always passing me by failure at the things I wish to accomplish successful at things I could care less about
lost in movement the acrobatics of language finally settle down sparks whose glimmer fade in memory
how long have I been walking around with my fly at half mast
(the poet captivates his audiences by turning them into accomplices)
as I know emotion deserted by reason can be flushed out in laughter yet I’m reminded daily the brain fails to understand itself
over the phone “no brain is an island” my brother informs me to which I reply “no brain is a salad” we speak in code he and I a redundancy of childhood when the world was light and we chased our shadows instead of now the other way around
take comfort in music each note information played in sequence instructing wonder
just as when writing if by chance I use a word incorrectly in time it will align itself with meaning
compelled to ask am I really as irredeemable as I feel or if dogs are considered domesticated why not men
I see it even in the kitchen drawer telltale signs of entropy how order gives way to chaos I’m still working on a unified theory of furniture
(cat underfoot squawks chalk it up to just another misstep in the delicate dance of interspecies relations)
in my fugitive life I fly from the inevitable my radical beliefs make room for moderation
“in search of equilibrium the biosphere evolves around us its many grains of sand we will be left behind soon enough consumed by a soup toxic and single-minded”
against deepening shadows of a forested hillside translucent trees gather the last of the lingering light
aesthetics knows of a sentiment of culpability of unease in the face of the finished product the incomparable erudite polyglot George Steiner has written being is inescapably compromise and naming isolates disrupts unity
even more than in philosophy it is through poetry human consciousness experiences free time
Law #1: at the edge of chaos act without trembling hands
time change mind change spare change
Law #2: be alert for the door ajar onto the adjacent possible
as space tends to be flat in the absence of matter
so speak the mute soliloquies as the stream of consciousness of every human psyche
out of wisdom comes grief knowledge begets sorrow intelligence is lethal
“you can lay your baggage on my door step but that suitcase don’t belong to me”
what am I supposed to think
a stretch of days covered in a shroud of anticipation becalmed in a sea of anxiety
I talk shamelessly about works I have written as if they were fait accompli while in a parallel universe each word uttered each supposition ensures their flaws diminishes them as if they were done to death
hounded by this deep pessimism I retrace my steps day by day I have the honor of being me why can’t I accept that
same with the physics lesson I learn from my socks when there are two of something identical one is always missing
mist smoke shadows lifting light rising
observation reflects the average of all possible histories at the edge of every moment the past redefined
in my futile attempt to diagram the limitless I am bound only by mind (what the Chinese call “the square inch”) there is however a probability I suffuse the universe
RASH
In a dream my father calls me
crazy but I object to that
generality I want something
more specific the word he comes
up with is rash I asked
for it awakening to the truth
I’M THE ONE
A singularity is anything but singular
steady particle string streams
make it up in the way that I am
composed of everything
I come in proximity to and similarly
need to hog all the light
|
< Prev | Next > |
---|