Lovelorn Poet in Brooklyn, NY: Just Waiting

Just Waiting

Just Waiting by brooklyntomars.com

I’m not a religious man. But I can see things that tell me I’m connected with all and all is connected with me. And I love because it’s my most natural state. And I remind myself to let go of anger as soon as I can remember to do that. And I believe I have a soul because I have smelled the first day of spring and I have listened to Aretha Franklin on vinyl. And the things I feel in those moments cannot be explained by science.

www.brooklyntomars.com

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the things I feel
tell me all
as soon as I believe
because
all is connected with me
I’m with, and, and of, I

But I’m not a connected man…

I have a soul because
I have listened to Aretha Franklin on vinyl
And I can remember to do that
love, it’s my most natural state
And I can see that

And in those religious moments
I have smelled anger
And the first day of spring
things cannot be explained by science

and I remind myself to let go

Lovelorn Poet in Brooklyn, NY: Heat Lightning

Heat Lightning by Dee Shark

Heat Lightning by Dee Shark

maybe I’ll head home and flip
through a few pages in some book

until the words become heavy, and
the page number is lost until morning.

eyes closed, breath metered, watching
visions of emotion. blue skies

turning to orange, flashing pink. im
craning my neck in this deep sleep. the

heat of the summer boiling, builds
perspiration, only to be cooled, wicked

away. the wind turns with the grass,
distorting the curvature of the landscape.

and by some nearby town, a thunderstorm
passes above, flickering, highlighting the

vanishing point. mountains like ant hills.
distant townships nestled like model

villages. there, windows glow with the
most perfect shade of amber, while people,

contented, sit by the window after
dinner, watching the light, heat lightning.

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watching the light heat lightning
sit by the window after dinner, contented
while people the most perfect shade of amber
glow

there, villages with windows
nestled like distant model townships
ant hills like mountains
highlighting the vanishing point

flickering, a thunderstorm passes above
by some nearby town and
the curvature of the landscape distorting the grass
with the wind
turns away
wicked only to be cooled

perspiration builds the heat of  summer boiling
the deep sleep craning my neck in this
flashing pink

im turning to orange blue skies
visions of emotion watching
breath metered,  eyes closed
and lost until morning

the page number is heavy
the words become some book
until a few pages in
flip through
and I’ll head home
maybe

Lovelorn Poet in Brooklyn, NY: Sun Day 2

mindgallery

Sun Day by mindgallery

Sun

The whole sky blue pie
in the sky
thing

was intoxicating before
it was healing
then

we hit the ceiling and
had to start
again

Day

Flowers from the future
will carry our
scent

our smile will become
part of the
sky

and when the hurricane
comes, we’ll live
in the

wind

* a fictional story – internet folk art – beatboxbliss tumblr

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sky ceiling
* a fictional story

sky and sun hit the day
the scent was intoxicating
healing our will

we had to live in it
become the thing before then
was part of the smile

flowers will
 – internet folk art

when the hurricane from the future comes
we’ll carry our whole sky blue pie
and start again

in the wind

~ a bumblr on the tumblr

Lovelorn Poet in Brooklyn, NY: Charles Olsen & The Orange Jellyfish Alliance

mindgallery

Charles Olsen & The Orange Jellyfish Alliance by mindgallery

Certainly we’re the only species that writes
in many languages, our own roads
to enlightenment

and sometimes it’s right
there in front
of us

simply waiting while
we were busy
learning

how to listen, so
we could
see

properly

* Note To Self

Charles Olson didn’t consider himself a poet or writer by profession but rather that nebulous
rare archeologist of morning, reminiscent of Thoreau.
He wrote on a typewriter

It’s to the advantage of the typewriter that due to its rigidity and space precisions
it can for a poet indicate breath, pause, suspensions, syllables
juxtapositions and even parts of phrases

For the first time the poet has the stave and bar a musician has. For the first
time, he can without convention of rhyme or meter record the
listening he has done to his own speech

and by that one act indicate how he’d want any reader
silently or otherwise to voice
his work

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Collected Prose
Selected Poems
In Love, In Sorrow
A Nation of Nothing but Poetry
Poetry and Truth

The Special View of History
In Cold Hell, In Thicket
This
Letter for Melville
To Corrado Cagli

Call Me Ishmael

Lovelorn Poet in Brooklyn, NY: Error

91 variations on a theme by Kevin Dooley

91 variations on a theme by Kevin Dooley

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