Displaying 1 To 27 Of 27 Comments Some Things Are Not Words No pre-chews today, One day without your A dreamer, Watch the big world » Posted By Kevin Geraghty On October 12, 2017 @ 9:35 am Seeds Tiny cantaloupe seeds » Posted By Kevin Geraghty On October 4, 2017 @ 12:14 pm Floating the Pentagon 1967 The judge allowed for No one knew the silent Did they secretly hope to rise? Peace had it’s chance, » Posted By Kevin Geraghty On September 28, 2017 @ 11:22 am Peaceful Winter I want my last day » Posted By Kevin Geraghty On September 20, 2017 @ 11:49 am Spoon-fed We’ve come to see It requires no worship, And there it is… » Posted By Kevin Geraghty On September 13, 2017 @ 10:27 am Timely Haiku Change, as if there was » Posted By Kevin Geraghty On September 10, 2017 @ 12:13 pm Fortune Telling Not tea leaves… » Posted By Kevin Geraghty On August 31, 2017 @ 3:49 pm Ghost Words We spoke of The Sunday paper plays along, I already know… I don’t care how » Posted By Kevin Geraghty On August 24, 2017 @ 10:10 am More than Warmth More than warmth, » Posted By Kevin Geraghty On August 17, 2017 @ 3:00 am We Only Spoke Briefly She said she feared her future, Fear is the fuel Had to dump the extras, » Posted By Kevin Geraghty On August 10, 2017 @ 2:53 pm Brain on a Diet Pick an enemy I prefer a thin hero, I could study Foucault, with bright white polka dots… » Posted By Kevin Geraghty On August 2, 2017 @ 8:46 pm Tribes We gather round a family tree The others gasp Thick tribal skin » Posted By Kevin Geraghty On July 27, 2017 @ 8:09 am Needles and Trains Enthusiasm can’t be trusted. » Posted By Kevin Geraghty On July 20, 2017 @ 10:03 am Serape Dream I have surrendered, » Posted By Kevin Geraghty On July 13, 2017 @ 6:16 am Language Games Easy enough to believe in life You can reify experience Only your story will believe in » Posted By Kevin Geraghty On July 5, 2017 @ 9:47 am You and Your Self You have talked with Buddha, » Posted By Kevin Geraghty On June 29, 2017 @ 2:44 pm Hobo Dependable hobo Unlike a transient, Please, be more » Posted By Kevin Geraghty On June 21, 2017 @ 4:45 pm Serape Dream Serape, often snarls at every blue wall without Conjures with goldenrod trumpets, Sinks my sleep to the realm of He slaps me yellow, reminds me » Posted By Kevin Geraghty On June 15, 2017 @ 6:10 am Holy Resistance All my Saints are buried Even my faith sat there She had refused the mantilla, said that it hid might turn her to marble. She demanded to and would agree only » Posted By Kevin Geraghty On June 10, 2017 @ 8:42 am The Burden Men children, numbered » Posted By Kevin Geraghty On May 31, 2017 @ 11:37 am Every Design Has a Flaw Umber, tan, Crimson forks flick about, Isn’t God fair? » Posted By Kevin Geraghty On May 24, 2017 @ 5:23 pm Dogma I followed the wisdom of » Posted By Kevin Geraghty On May 17, 2017 @ 10:54 am Feeling Crowded » Posted By Kevin Geraghty On May 14, 2017 @ 6:46 am A Storm in June » Posted By Kevin Geraghty On May 14, 2017 @ 6:50 am The word: Circuitous This time, tell the truth Even our love for this world » Posted By Kevin Geraghty On May 10, 2017 @ 10:14 am For the word: Energy Don’t tell me yet about » Posted By Kevin Geraghty On May 8, 2017 @ 10:38 am Lovely Colcannon I might be only a mood » Posted By Kevin Geraghty On May 7, 2017 @ 1:27 pmComments Posted By Kevin Geraghty
wonder away
your time with
unnamed bugs,
stars falling into
newborn forms.
moths pinned to
the page, demoted
from being…
to being known.
poet for a day,
making claims,
dreaming names
for your little world.
worry
about you
for a change.
in deep cupboard sleep
always faithful to
their simple promise,
someday splitting
into double suns
suddenly
spilling sweet
scents,
seeds
survival
beyond the solstice
three feet of lift, and
Peace can’t wait….
Meditate!
Come on, come on
Float the Pentagon.
thoughts inside
uniforms with
oiled weapons
inside war rooms,
full with maps
tiny flags
no blood.
just an inch?
We pleaded
“Join us
Get serious
about bodies and bombs
Meditate!
Levitate!”
was seeded
where needed most,
and no one knows
who was on the side of
rising
and who rose.
December grey
without a single shiver,
no foggy breath
to spoil the vision
of gentle
snow flakes
that celebrate,
float,
settle so softly
on cold lips,
perfect geometric
tips
shining.
They land on
an eye lid
unwinked,
white on white on white,
so still,
their light
shines my way.
elegance
in simple soil lives.
We heard Woody Guthrie
sing us away
from silent given gods,
to remind us of
our own
imperfect divinity.
no diet or days of supplication.
Only flawed love
finding one more
bowl of stew
in an empty pot.
Cautious love stew
served to a stranger
who’s tempted
to steal the spoon.
the brief blue wonder
in your voice…
“Keep that spoon if you
need one.”
A love potato stew
just to remind you
that a gift is
too heavy to steal.
Some kind of non-change option
If I only ask
only a round drop
of me,
pornographic red
on white sheets,
soon to be bleached
by young people in tattoos
and shoes
that don’t suit me.
They work when I bleed,
they feed
on my needy drops,
still dance after midnight
still mate after two,
without a “thank you”
for my dripping.
I know what time it is.
fleeting deliciousness,
and the dangers
of enthusiasm,
or loyalty.
But you won’t stop
sending me
ghost words
that pretend to catch
experience in a box
and make it a thing.
asks me to measure
the contentment
they think I carry
in my heart.
it won’t be enough.
hungry you are!
Living will offer you
no second helpings
… no doggy bags.
more than bright eyes or smile,
she’s got the heat…
fire in her drive,
her own skin
blistered
many times.
No pine needle fuel
or common bark,
I’ve seen her
burning the hillside,
bright in the night,
breaking containment,
spreading
deep into October.
was missing some words
she knew
she had packed.
Troubled about humor
that once flashed like lightning
but now too often,
sat in the dark part
of her father’s shadow.
she decided to use…
grabbed it,
forced it
to fill her balloon.
reduce the weight,
found herself
lifting
drifting
high enough to fully see
the petty snarls,
the jealousies,
the loving touches that never tire,
a forests reborn
from it’s own fearsome fire.
Fascist…. Socialist
Choose your color,
Gangs don’t wait
forever.
Worship dichotomy
simple clarity.
Shun complexity,
a deformity
of the spine.
totalized in slogans,
easy on the brain.
Easier for me
to fill with admiration…
if it wasn’t for all the holes
where French words
sneak in.
Yin Yang duality,
Or
be the girl
a showcase for red….
…except when they’re not.
proud, exclusive,
praising loyalty
to a cold wind,
warmth
by invitation-only.
at what it takes
to castrate
every foreign spirit.
But they don’t ask,
don’t speak
or even scratch
the rash they get
looking through our peephole.
holds us in,
waving flags,
waving guns
waving goodbye to the world
.
I’ve heard that it tires
from the daily grind,
gets off-duty at ten
and wants a change of pace.
It cranks up
John Lee Hooker
hits the street
with enthusiasm
for needles and spoons
bleached barely enough.
….I’m reminded
of hot afternoons
walking train tracks,
testing each other with
only one rule…
“Eyes ahead, trains behind”
Wondering,
how close the beast?
Who cares the least
about staying alive?
Who will ignore
the unseen horn
that warns,
and warns,
and finally screams
that you’ve been seen
by this world.
That you are at least
a small smiling problem
when you finally jump aside,
still blind with enthusiasm.
ceded territory to
the serape of Jalisco.
It owns my wall,
snags my eye,
fills my ear with
crimson castanets,
goldenrod trumpets
magenta jazz
that drowns the sound
of mud-brown speech.
Serape fired the synapse
to my dreams,
just to snarl
“pendejo”
at each blue wall without
a periwinkle pulse.
Last night
It pulled that dream
down
to the workshop of
busy death,
carving yet another pale mask.
Serape slapped me yellow,
spit my green regrets
against the wall,
reminded me
to wake up
in color.
as long as you are living,
as long as you use
dry ice language
to freeze the experience
that is splashing you,
refusing to hold still
long enough to be a river
for the sake of your story,
But don’t try it
with potato salad on
a hot August day.
A delicious experience,
even as microbes feast
and it slowly turns the corner
toward some new adjective.
deliciousness for another hour.
kept death right there
on your shoulder,
allowed suffering
to give you
the directions home.
It must be time
to go
even though
We both know
you wil die
and die
and die
to this world
along the way.
We all will miss you
for a while, and
reflect on the choice
you made,
and wonder
about the catalyst
that must have
burned so very hot.
Or
was that you,
finally,
burning your self away?
always wore a hat
beaten brown brim,
wilted flower,
exotic.
here much longer
than the word suggests.
Features blurred
by the jerking
of my eyes
away
over
around
all the questions.
transient,
like the golden finch
who pass through
briefly,
en route to
summer homes
__________
alive in vivid tints,
comes to my dreams,
“pendejo”
periwinkle pulse.
pink aplomb
magenta jazz that
drowns the sound
of mud-brown speech.
busy death,
carving another mask.
spits my green regrets
against the wall,
to keep waking up alive
until the dyes fade.
with Pharaohs’ honey,
forever sweet and useless.
this morning,
refused to answer
when I faced the conundrum…
a stained and unwilling saint
who loved more
than the world deserved.
scented of myrrh
and tender bees wax
too much of her
always be a verb
that she had Indulged
in a bit of sainting.
and trained
to never escape
the warrior fate.
No bloody sword, but always,
always against.
As if climbing a hill or
swimming the lake
invites enemies
from a world waiting
to pull down my pants.
The warriors want
lonely loyalty, even
against a fresh air wind
I have learned to love.
I wait to see it
wink the curtains
dance the leaves.
We whisper treason
to each other.
“You are not alone”.
sage, sand,
chestnut, taupe
saddle brown too
a snake among leaves
in all the right hues
can slide past the hunter
or approach on the hunt
unseen and unheard,
but undone
by a tongue
announce him as
sommelier
of the air
before slipping back
up the nostral groove
with aroma chunks
to ponder.
each flicker leaves
flashing red reprieve
for mice with color vision.
ancients, who drank early water,
never knew life without goats.
They spoke certainty,
recorded in eternal stone
that could never transition
to living form.
I listened all day
to answers, answers for
every question I ever had.
Shiny bright
seedless fruit.
This time, tell the truth
about goodness:
Survival has consequences
that remain unknown,
remain ominous
no matter how closely
we follow
the circuitous trail
of carbon footprints.
Even our love for this world
has sharp edges for
someone else.
You could know already
some of their names
and stories.
They might as well
have been killed
by a homeless tiger,
buried with it
in a common grave.
Don’t tell me yet about
ions or charged particles,
nor the runaway breakdown
of cosmic rays
without first,
some other things.
I want to know
that a thunderous call will
wake me in time to see
lightning teased from the sky
by the energy of lusty earth.
I want to feel a Southwest wind sharpen
the edge of experience
and remind me that I belong here
every time I stop doubting.
Feeling Crowded
about goodness:
Survival has consequences
that remain unknown,
remain ominous
no matter how closely
we follow
the circuitous trail
of carbon footprints.
has sharp edges for
someone else.
You could know already
some of their names
and stories.
They might as well
have been killed
by a homeless tiger,
buried with it
in a common grave.
A Storm in June
ions or charged particles,
nor the runaway breakdown
of cosmic rays
without first,
some other things.
I want to know
that a thunderous call will
wake me in time to see
lightning teased from the sky
by the energy of lusty earth.
I want to feel a Southwest wind sharpen
the edge of experience
and remind me that I belong here
every time I stop doubting.
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floating about,
shaped and propelled by
noisy dogs, or morning sky.
I might change in mid-sentence
if the dog barks more …or less
or clouds move in, …or out.
But colcannon sticks me in place;
cabbage and onion, butter soft
red potatoes, half mashed, squished at least,
where they receive a bacon sprinkle,
and on some lucky day,
the extravagant fried egg.
settled on top like my bride in her gown,
our world burnished in yolk glow.
