Friday, December 28, 2012

Mag#148 "free from the palor of death"

The Jeep
 
Harkening back to our many happy road trips
in the distant past
it was on the backroad country
a foggy, rain-swept road
my mind now slip-shod
remembering
now simply a red tack
pinning me to the spot
where my red car spun out
 
 
i wholly surveyed the dire
 situation
within a moment by moment
mindframe unwind
all mind-chatter ceased
a cause to appeal
to the jury of one;
 for
myself
I would have no finger-pointing
or lay seige to my own inaction
there was no time for self-incrimination
so thoroughly dismissive of all charges
that I,
the captain within
claimed complete command
and subsequently dropped all injurous charges
renounced all ego 
suddenly the winds picked up
as it was
a dark and stormy night
again
the shadowy figure of
Edward Bulwer-Lytton
like the black dog
Lincolnesque
in his Edwardian morning suit
partially lit by an antique Victorian lamp
as he shed his light
at night
to show himself alive in effigy
as the convener of mystical marriages of
spirit-bound magicians
here 
the place
indeed lit up although time forgot
all about the soon-to-be quickening
who, but I could
make a 360 donut last in a centrifugal centrifuge
a fuge
rather than a dirge
 three times times minus zero
~O~O~O~
the outcome?
 a perfection of reactionary time co-efficient
The Co-Creator
who's skill saved our sorrowfullness
 using the only skill
which neccessitated the
honed her high cheekiness
so far beyond the outer limits
in the Twilight Zone
she, an experienced driver
and as such, I said as myself
would save all souls
repealled this fated day
from the peril of certainty
the nonimportance of ncecessity
with undesired plastic-means devices
and issued the non-prevailing winds
concurrently serving back-to-back sentences
becoming the centre placement of spin
a most peaceful place
where the calm meets the storm
where something unknown is bound to happen
probably something horrific had been waiting
2012 lurking like death
as in
the Mayan Long Count Calendar
21~12~12
all our lessons
learned in the empty mall parking lot
doing donuts whilst eating them
many winters ago
spinning counterclockwise
recalling the memorex
kept intact 
the timelines
free from the palor of death
and
the day
which
could have been our last
save it
the meet and greet with Michael
on the roadway to heaven
and in the killing fields
the deadly nightshade ditch
the highway to hell a gapping wound
the spiral unwound
left flat-faced and embarassed
who would  not intersect this midheaven
 in rhe way described
it was by the book
by my way of knowing all about
know-how
Chilam-Bilam
I saved your skin
sorry
 we've already
crossed-over
just don't know it as yet
 
chiccoreal
 
http://magpietales.blogspot.ca/
 
 
 
 

Mag#147 "as in"

nakedness
covered
in
Carto-porno-graphic
maps
unknown
territory
in
uncharted
lands
those who
need maps
may lack
sexual
direction
as in
how
naked
does it get
without
a heart-on?
~O~
chiccoreal
 
 
 


Sunday, December 16, 2012

Mag#146 "METRO-GNOME-EYE"

METRO-GNOME-EYE
REMINDS ME
OF
 SISTER'S ENDLESS
RECITALS
 AS
MISS TUFFMAN EVER WATCHING
THIRD EYE
ON THE METRO-GNOME-EYE
AN OLD MAID PIANO TEACHER
WONT TO
CARRY AN IVORY BATON
CONSTANT AS
I SHALL CALL HER WOLFIE
TAPS IMPATIENTLY
HER
SPIDER-LIKE FINGERS
RAPPING
 BLOODY
MURDER ON
RAW KNUCKLES
NOW BUTT-TUCKED
AND WAR-READY
TO
SUCCUMB
TO THE IVORIES
SACRIFICIAL ALTAR
TOO REAL
THIS
"KEEP TIME"
OH YES
 YES, TIMING IS EVERYTHING
MISS TUFFMAN
BEATING OUT
LATENT FRUSTRATION
ON AND ON THE DREAM
OH BE SILENT
ENDLESS NIGHTMARE
"NOT AGAIN"
 FROM THE MUSIC ROOM
A SHRILL SCREAM
THE MUSIC STOPPED
HORUS' EYE GREW LARGER
THE PRESENT NEED TO GRAB THE BRASS RINGS
THE HEINZMAN
A FOCUSED
SINGLE-MINDEDNESS
EXACTING CONSERVATORY STANDARDS
BLOWN-AWAY MINUETS
AS
THE WILD EYES OF MISS TUFFMAN
GRAY HAIR BUN STIFF
LASER-LIKE BEFORE LASERS
ENOUGH TO FREEZE TIME
IN A COLD WAR
THE DESCENDING SCALE 
ASCENDS ONCE AGAIN
 TO FULL CRESCENDO 
BEETHOVEN'S 5TH
RETURN TO MAJESTIC CALM
TAP TAP THE MUSIC BEGINS
BACK TO BACKS ERECT
SWITCH'S WITCH
HANDS CURLED
AN AHEM AND JAW CLENCH 
THE SCENT OF PERFECT DECORUM
ROSE DOGWOOD PAWS
 CLAW THE BLUE BERBER 
THE CREAKING STOOL
MIMICS
8TH GRADE OF CLASSICAL MUSIC
HOLY TAP
ONE CAN'T STOP
HEARTBEATS
SAVE THAT ONE IRON MAIDEN LOOK 
LICKETY-SPLIT
OUTTA HERE
SKIP TO MY LOU
PRACTICE IS OVER
AS I WAIT IN THE VESTIBULE
WATCHING THE FISH SWIM
AROUND DIVER DAN
MINE IS A FREER VERSE
ONLY THE INNER DRUMMER HEARS
KNOWING INTUITIVELY
A THING OR TWO ABOUT
THOSE WHO HAVE
 KNOWN ONLY HOW TO
ENDURE
THE INCESSANT CLICK-CLACK
OF THE INFERNAL CLOCK
 THIS NEEDY NSTRUMENT
THAT DULY MEASURES
OUR INFINITE PAIN