Wherewithhoweverwhomwhateverwhy

On By NW FilbertIn Writing3 Comments

I drink

[and] I read poems

[and] I write letters

[and] attempt to acknowledge every feeling

Advertisements

Drunk Like a River in Flood

On By NW FilbertIn creative writing, Experience, longing, Patience, Poetry10 Comments

Swelling my banks,

perturbedly turgid,

effervescently carbo-

nated, almost,

(or perhaps it’s entire…

depending on who

&/or what you believe,

with their reason…)

Swollen, in flow,

a thundering racket,

flotsam and jetsam

I wail at the bends.

A “bender” they call it.

I’m here, all the while

passing through. 

Drenched (or “besotted”) –

the rain.

I am home

and I’m rushing

to-ward and away,

instinct with desire,

for which fire

is no  match,

only patience…

I’m a patient

and ill to the bones…

you will see.

But I gurgle

these songs

as I pass..

filled with belches

and farts,

it’s unseemly…

Drunk

like a river

in flood

[too apparent] –

here’s

where the poem

begins

Some Kind of Elegy

On By NW FilbertIn absence, Language, longing, Loss, love, Poetry5 Comments

Great grandeur of light

Your laughter tinkling its tent

A poet has died

Like a raven

We watch him pass

Rivers and trees

There’s probably more

Words

Are like that

– suspended –

Over silence

You’ve heard her

Read the dictionary…

Everyone disbelieves

Only I drink it in

 – sufficiently –

Everyone’s doubt

Grand Canyons

are like

the unknown

we feel

of any other

(or each)

–

I put clothes on

have hairs trimmed

appear

and once again

guess at meanings

In other words

I “care”

insofar as an organism

hopes to live

Which I continue

to exhibit

because I think

I love

you

–

And no one knows

Not-knowing (yet)

What “love” is

“Yet” such an

Empire-ical promise

(some day our greed

will pull through) –

you hear it:

“I love you”:

that evil

devoted

inspired

and diabolical

urge, disturbed

and ravishing

–

As long as

we win something

we’re almost happy

Deconstructing Definitions

On By NW FilbertIn absence, being, Confusion, desire, Experience, Language, meaning, Poetry4 Comments

Perhaps “work” means something must be done, regardless of desire,

and signifies felt effort.

If “to love’s” “unassailable affirmation,”

something verbal, and not only.

“Education” as “familiarity with thoughts of others” (K. O. Knausgaard),

entails “experience” as “familiarity with itself”?

And what of “wisdom”?

I wonder if “deaf” implies “not-listening,” or/and, “our forgetting of the body.”

and who defines “republic”?

Or “nowhere” and “now here” in all their differance?

Frere Jacques (yes, go and sing it)

suggests impossibility fuels valuation –

negation requiring its positive with –

terms all ways relative in their contexts,

indeterminate and groundless,

yet term-in-able, undecided, written-in.

I don’t know.

But I sense it’s indefinitive,

de- and con- structure something else,

like trace or foggy margin,

the space between the sounds

that continues (us and them).

Reduce (‘to lead back, to bring back’)

On By NW FilbertIn being, change, Experience, Fear, Language, life, pain, paradox, Poetry, Writing1 Comment

https://www.etymonline.com/word/reduce

Thrum –

that is the hum of the liveliness

the phrasing which your voice emits

the charging of rememory

the shock that members monsters

–

Thrum spark! –

the difference between hearing

and listening-for, anticipation.

Or expectation?  and its careful ache

awaiting every painful jolt

–

The fear involved –

an awful angst of joy –

timbre re-minding the body,

bodies, of things that surge

–

Like language –

what’s drawn out

and quartered

into inestimable more

–

So like-wise, the idiot

breath and ready veins

fill up with begging

bursted already in the mouths and hands

–

and far beyond.

Reach in, reach out

one motion as touch

the no-one-knows-where

–

Leading back,

bringing back,

reduce:

our introduction

Being something

On By NW FilbertIn being, human, Living, Perception, Poetry, Writing1 Comment

This is how we see:

a set of brackets, dark,

moving across wires in the sky

(that we placed there)

because of the angle of light

and it’s changing

– perhaps –

and perhaps it’s the change

and the angling,

and perhaps it’s involved with the light

Writing

On By NW FilbertIn Writing3 Comments

Image result for weird happy holidays

This is the path I take every day.  I get lost.  And name it “home.”

I am not a good father.

I am not a good son.

Nor…a good lover.

I do not know what it means to be a human.

I do not know if what I do is what is called ‘thinking.’

I assume (PRE-sume) I’m a-live.

This is what I do.  Again and again and again… (ad infinitum)…

I try, errr, perhaps… I am.

 

She said.

 

I was working.

 

Things happen.

 

Perhaps.

 

Every day.