Friday, January 07, 2011

poem: syllables ooze

veiled threats
skimming the pot

saturnine equestrians

ogling the sweetish hills

backyard frenzy round

the riotous bibs,

caterwauling misses

in the fields

of plenty, i wish I may

& all the variant nonsense

Ventures hit lists

in the green gra-doo

of tangible dividends:

the eventual run-off

guarantees results

at ten & all the rest,

obliging winners to vary

the digitals until wipe-out

relearns its memory

code, & the blue syllables

ooze southward, disturbing

peace & plenty,

shaping nasal opinions

while the vagrant

avalanche saturates beyond

all hope of

savage beauty,

riparian waste.



Blogger Teresa said...

This is quite cool. I love the picture, and it seems that your poem is channeling the movement of the spectogram. A multisensory poem!

1:31 AM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Teresa: Channeling it would have to be, since the pic was chosen after the poem's making. But, as we both know, convergence is all around us, "and so the feeling goes."

8:18 PM  

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