Tag Archives: experimental

Trailer #1 (of a real book coming soon): WVP Sampler Number Three (FILE UNDER BOOK COMMERCIALS 2016)

by

WEST VINE PRESS BOOK RELEASE DATES (Fall 2016) October 11th. West Vine Press #3 Sampler October 25th. Slow Living by Kenyatta Jp Garcia. November 1st. Poetic Poverty by Andrew K. November 8th. As…

Source: Trailer #1 (of a real book coming soon): WVP Sampler Number Three (FILE UNDER BOOK COMMERCIALS 2016)

Tongues for Days

by

purling this timidity into

cities translated by clouds

as forever rests

on gossipers’ tongues.

*

gulls been fending for

and fending off

longer than this shyness

ever existed.

 

electricity’s been static

fingertips

discovered nothing

but an experience.

*

didn’t go / didn’t get

mad

but took in a tear

on receiving news.

 

sheltered sadness

fostered it

for sake of something.

 

parrots had nothing to repeat.

mockingbirds eased of mimicry.

 

quieted, calmed –

reflecting on the essentiality

of being

another animal.

*

instinctively,

descent comes closer to home

to find the core –

bypass wounds, scars, sore spots

to dismay of symptoms

distracting the cure

*

in fear, death rises again

within

 

breaking out

heaven from hell

fury from fate

–

injustice amused

*

with a distaste being mutual between

needle and cloth

thread – the only common friend –

binds both until

the job is through.

*

aloof

crammed into the corners of the mind –

holding up the walls of theories never to be

a fly holding back the boulder

telling Sisyphus

give up the task

 

what worse could possibly come?

*

rain hungers for a face

tongues for a drop

 

New Work in Inferior Planets

by

New Work in Inferior Planets

“when I say we sometimes I mean I and the voices I’ve heard or the voices I’m searching for. and sometimes when I say us, you can join in. and sometimes when I say you, I can’t imagine who I’m thinking of. and sometimes when I say they, it’s about me. and sometimes when they don’t like it, I revert back to I and start again.”

Read the rest here: http://inferiorplanets.com/issue1/2016/02/10/garcia/

Now Available: Playing Dead

by

Now Available for Kindle

Playing Dead

an epic poem
playingdead

When Truth

by

when truth does not lie enough to feel safe, then there’s always faith

to fall back on,

bestselling belief

something to fill up on

as all else burns away.

desire exchanged its wings for lead feet

one last kiss was just another undefended explanation.

tender affections cried out for shoulders to rely on

to lift up from where illusions begin

uneasiness travels

even as it is

held back

struggles escape

give themselves away

.

what charm hides

is severity = sincerity

of situations

slight, slimmest hints

(c)overt flirts

something to imply

before honesty finally comes through.            Ends it all.

 


 

Transmission

by

What is happening

is the job

of hyper-real

suffering

poetry

of natural

and experiment(al) following

method

through idea into its truth

and history

being created

as it breathes

as its fog of being makes misty

eyes and ears

sensing

a reality to be beyond

recording but ready for

transmission

On behalf of those throats

by

On behalf of those throats

with voices

aimed at ears

too full

to receive

anymore news.

Here,

the spaces left amid the lines

and print

is there.

Let fall those songs;

overlap these stanzas

Let these movements

twirl and twist

and cross fingers

for next time.

* * *

Adults need imaginary friends too.

Nights passed

on pillows

with or without

a mate

are still and long

in December.

 

But another’s perspective

can whisk

dreams and reality

together

to stiff peaks

for the climb.

* * *

Nutmeg flecks in béchamel

As ants cross the sand-

utilitarian laborers

and jarheads

burrowing-

putting in a hidden

palace

for a queen.

Skin speckled,

cinnamon on cappuccino foam.

Hopes and reality

are not

as childhood plaits

anymore.

Pulled and peeled

away

penny candy

licorice

The knock-kneed girl

is gone.

* * *

Foot-staring

turned from moments

to nearly a decade.

The intricacy of the shoelaces

never loosened

nervousness

and never bound

anything but the tongue.

* * *

Tight.

Two braided kids

on schoolyard concrete

with but a chainlink fence

as a third hand

to hold

the Double-Dutch rope.

Harmonizing

as breath gets heavy

in the jumper’s chest.

Singing all those skipping songs

while the cord whistled

past ears

and ponytails sway

and cornrows

become frizzy

with sweat.

* * *

Out to sea-

crest above the ship

rivers mingle to ocean

drop

to

drop

till puddles form.

But can’t drown here

where the whisky’s

not neat.

* * *

Raisins, peanuts,

assorted seeds

almonds

filberts and the rare macadamia,

granola too

fishing for chocolate

as the trail gets longer

behind than in front.

Trees turn forest

eclipsing light,

raindrops

and the endgame.

* * *

Never meant to crease your pages-

leave no mark

on the dark green hill-

no dog ears

in life,

as space and time mingle

to separate

mate from mate

from

all those co-occurrences

that aren’t ‘posed

to happen

as talkers talk.

Code-switch

stuck

so trains

run

right at each other

Splinters, metal, moneyed-passengers,

conductor and caboose

combine.

Well, now it seems

they’ll all be going to the same place

As even God likes

his potatoes with corn,

gravy, cheese

and meaty bits.

* * *

Pigeon-toed boy

hoping to knock down threes

-lay down the assist.

The folding chairs

spread

-drills

weaving on a loom

a silk

orange scarf

in the hands.

Then comes the hero,

with thoughts of the net

and an elongated

endless

sign of infinity

to wrap around.

No points for this endeavor

so when

it’s time to begin

and trips,

instead of getting up

stays down –

decides to see what’s there

in that grain

in the shellac

among the legs –

why there’s millions of bucks

in the sky

and new shoe deals.

* * *

Null accents

from moving around / living

with all those kids

(some of which struck a nerve

not a good one).

Down and across

melt in crosswords

and mean nothing

removed from the clues.

Japanese number puzzles

place Arab numerals

one to nine

in disarray.

And every once in awhile

letters clog the brain

until

it’s forgotten that with fractions

you cross-multiply.

* * *

Never take water for granted

nor anything else

either,

air or the second person

(becoming third).

Imagine the sea off Southern Spain

centuries ago.

Ostrogoths, Vandals, Moors,

Castillian, Basque,

the Church,

Islam.

The Latin vulgar

and Arabic

a chanting wine song,

Koranic verse

and our nuniya.

Intertwined

in a verbal form,

a lengthy poem,

us.

Lost individuals

wrapped up in the grammar

of the captors-

it was worth it,

then swept up in fits

of a larger identity

all the dust

collected in handled pans

Mixed –

forever

for always,

the tongue

the accent

the stanzas,

the prisons,

the questions

not destined

for answers.

 

 

The power and ownership

shifts

and all that remains

is ‘nos.’

* * *

There is no coincidence

as the fly finds itself

in the spider’s web.

It was just an intersection

of persistence

and curiosity.

* * *

Twisting and twisting

ladder

scaling

evolution

on double-helix.

All that happenstance

was DNA

and thousands of switchbacks

up the slope.

And even more so,

it was

the mingling of laughs

as one audience

with the greatest joke.

So, some came from the sea

and some stayed right there

And the cat stayed asleep

over the Chinese sky

as twelve others assembled

the zodiac.

Now, he’s just a another soul

staring at the door

of a restaurant.

* * *

Don’t think for a second

it was only

the Portuguese who had navigators,

All those maps

with carefully

placed X’s

and coastlines

a few miles off

read by cross-eyed sailors

and sent up

to the crow’s nest

as sails and oars

were adjusted

under the supervision

of the cartography

and calligraphy

of so many sources

near and far.

* * *

Straight lines

pierce the O’s

of tic-tac-toe

which would be no game

minus the crosses.

* * *

Scurrying country chipmunks

Don’t dance with city squirrels

that’s probably just because

they like different pop songs

and neither likes a liar.

* * *

Just then,

the puppy  had a change of mind

turned back the circle

but for all the eddies,

dust devils,

and cyclone

he ain’t never gonna

get that tail.

* * *

Divisible by 4

and then by 2

now it’s prime.

It’s even

so even

skaters trace its figure.

Endless flat

or raised to Mobius

strip

follow

follow

the path

it’s basic string theory

with one twist

and then that’s

when serendipity comes.

 

HANDMADE

by

Come stripped

Enter nude

Without nuance

Pretense of support

*  * *

Beyond honest

What’s most superlative?

* * *

The tabletop has circles brushed

into its whatever-it-is

surface

to feel

handmade

* * *

Virtue is tugged

by its opposite

to see what dolor

has been painted.

* * *

Dull and moist

city streets-

what does urbane

mean?

How is it used

today

not as in Verlaine’s

day

 

Not Victorian

but currently

in the post-contemporary

sense

 

After the passing

of the Avant and Van-

guard?

 

Where maybe

question marks

shouldn’t be used

or capitalized

(meaning turned

on its head

for preguntas)