The Shape Shifter

-----------------

Ease in anonymity,
Status of a drifter.
You must understand;
I am a shape shifter.

Living off of leftovers,
Scrounging how to Be.
Living light enough to travel,
It ain’t easy bein’ free.

Found the old-fashioned way,
Faith straightens tight my spine.
Saunter fearless now and here,
BodyMind in rhythm and in rhyme.

Roach Trap

* * * *

I caught a cockroach with a cup.
There was nothing to crush him with easily at hand,
so I trapped him in a glass.
He tested the perimeter,
sporadic, lunging jumps,
while I found a wooden lacrosse stick - a bottle-cap attached to the bottom.

Can one cultivate compassion for an exploded cockroach?

God Light

* * * *

The filtering light made the room seem smokey.
The fan spun slow over head - the ceiling shifted on rotating shadow beams.
The blinds failed to block the day.
It was the eerie light that slips down through a forest canopy, or
dives through gaps in the cloudcover.
You called it God Light.
There were prisms in the air, but I was alone.

Reality broke back there.
We’re definitely going back where we came from.

I have thirst.
Tube of Life.

My hands are thick and hairy.
My feet are crafted clubs.
My knickers never get dirty,
Ornamented in this Terrapin patch.


Bucolic. (byoo-call-lick)
Remember when we were walking,
And the sound of our steps fell in time.
Sampling the strolling sound scape,
We started touching and tapping.
Energy both yours and mine.
That’s Natural rhythm.
Easy as it comes, easy as it goes.
Casually tap into the effervescent energy in the rhythm in the
deepest neonforest.


Constantly contacting condescending constituents,
crooks, cramming coerced, convoluted concepts,
conveniently condoned, and conditional upon one’s candid-acy.
Coming completely out of nowhere.



Murky Love,
Live from Mercury.
The mercurial dove dove off a monkeys back; hide.

Makin’ dreams come true
Is all we ever do.

Five Times Fast

Five Times Fast Times Fast


Cape Town Table Top Cable Car Tourist Trap
The thirsty nurse reversed the burst person’s dispersion.
The earthly mirth of my girth first cursed the perfect purse of my inert self-worth.
Yogh! Eee wrote doting notes, emoting mostly loathing for proper boating clothing.
Rose, don’t stow my clothes; suppose we re-pose as I doze?
Alter rain with your all-terrain tires; from mire, the altar is stained.


(Kaap Staad á soir.)

Simple Thoughts

The body is a temporary temple;
Inhabited by - infused with - an in-visibly acting spirit,
Manifested in the mind.
Slave to body.

Sit somewhere in between.

The body is an instrument;
meaning-fully manipulated by some mind-spirit
- self or not - constantly re-defined in the moment of choice.
Suffer from destiny; karma accrued.

Now then; choose again.

Haiku

. . .

A Walk in the Woods.
The Forest fills me with Life.
I step on an Ant.

. . .

You fit in my arms
like Brazil did Africa.
Continental drift.

Poem

This poem is boring.
It is plain as can be.
I did it on purpose.
It doesn’t even rhyme.
Each line has six syllables.
Except for that last one.

The Langley Zilla

This was a fun exercise. I took this Italian poem titled, "L'anguilla", and translated it purely by sound. That is, ignoring the meaning of the original Italian words, and re-writing them (loosely) phonetically in English. Here is the original poem...

L'anguilla, by Eugenio Montale

—Original Italian

L'anguilla, la sirena,
dei mari freddi che lascia il Baltico
per giungere ai nostri mari,
ai nostri estuarî, ai fiumi
che risale in profondo, sotto la piena avversa,
di ramo in ramo e poi
di capello in capello, assottigliati,
sempre più addentro, sempre più nel cuore
del macigno, filtrando
tra gorielli di melma finché un giorno
una luce scoccata dai castagni
ne accende il guizzo in pozze d'acquamorta,
nei fossi che declinano
dai balzi d'Appennino alla Romagna;
l'anguilla, torcia, frusta,
freccia d'Amore in terra
che solo i nostri botri o i disseccati
ruscelli pirenaici riconducono
a paradisi di fecondazione;
l'anima verde che cerca
vita là dove solo
morde l'arsura e la desolazione,
la scintilla che dice
tutto comincia quando tutto pare
incarbonirsi, bronco seppellito;
l'iride breve, gemella
di quella che incastonano i tuoi cigli
e fai brillare intatta in mezzo ai figli
dell'uomo, immersi nel tuo fango, puoi tu
non crederla sorella?

Now here's what i came up with. Non-sensical, but interesting i think.

April 17, 2007

The Langley Zilla


Langley land, last years enema
deign my ‘ery friend ‘fraid die, lascerated by ill bald tics o’
rare grunge in ear, eye, nostril mouth-y
Aye, no street unwary I’m fuming.
Ray resolved all pro bono, thought taking pains to reverse it
directly ramified him in ramming ‘em and why?
The caped fellow encapers us shoddy gleemonatees:
Simply put, I’d dent him.
Simply put, he’ll cure our AIDS.
Stale mace filters
through gory alleys deep in smegma
sinching up… Gee you’re new:
Your aloof soul chatters, dying constantly,
nay; ascending. The guido imposes daiquiris, more, hey,
make it Fozzi’s check; decline
my palsy not dapping your man yo, not all romantical like in
the angled villa; contorted thrusting,
thrashing dumb or in terror,
chased along the O St. boundary, for he dissed a Gotti.
Russo is selling empirical niceties recovered through a condo conduit;
a paradox definitely condoning, only
the animated everyday chaser surely can
veto the grove so low.
More they lost sure of, his
last soul lazing open;
the chin-chilla said, So,
Tube-top convincing ya? kwan-do tilt-toed parade.
Dim carbon hear-say brought sap depletion.
He’ll read, bravo Jim, Helen
the Keller trained encased in ah, no, she’s too prickly.
She may breathed ere no data, in ‘er soul, aye feel it .
Deli sumo immense singing, sell two old fans. Go phooey to
not-pray. Dare the sore Allah?