tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52964842011-12-08T05:02:41.417-05:00HistrionicsVariety is the splicing of life and love.David Weinernoreply@blogger.comBlogger151100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296484.post-1085110612784420712004-05-20T23:36:00.000-04:002004-05-20T23:36:52.783-04:00Panorama of Paris David Weinernoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296484.post-1082506197007909962004-04-20T20:09:00.000-04:002004-04-28T14:24:41.810-04:00UnfinishedToday,
the 29th day of Nissan, 5762,
the light was blown out
on another year.
The flame and the fire is absent,
the deafening pain is suffocated by
the lack of oxygen,
the back of my mind,
and fleeting memory.
I blew the candle out today -
just now -
to mark the second year
to bear the brunt of loss
to remember the gravity of trauma
to see again
her lying there
her black curly hair.
I blewDavid Weinernoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296484.post-1079229719958056692004-03-13T21:01:00.000-05:002004-03-13T21:05:08.966-05:00Anatomically Object
Despite common knowledge
and insidious behavior
we protagonists strive on.
Incompatible with orbital operating systems
our dekstop is cluttered and grounded in
an insulting reality. Version 2.01(C)
My brain is wired so that
it is easier to take evenings off.
Except tonight
tonight
evening's on. Whiskey
helps dilude time.
Its feral grasp felonious
its nubile intentions David Weinernoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296484.post-1074105918041185142004-01-14T13:45:00.000-05:002004-01-14T13:47:08.013-05:00With our knees on the dirt
palms down
face wet
This is how we mourn
With our bodies cold
her's colder
and absence far from fond
This is how we mourn
A landslide of guilt
has covered our house
This avalanche of surprise
is why we mourn
David Weinernoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296484.post-1074105446024407002004-01-14T13:37:00.000-05:002004-01-14T13:39:16.090-05:00I sang you a poem
with your man near once.
That spinning dress I wrote of
in this ode and that.
There was the awkward departure when I left.
Goodbye outside my apartment
pregnant pauses near the alley way to your place.
You hugged me several times,
hoping that each one would end in the kiss
we pictured for months;
your honeycomb lips
anticipating.
David Weinernoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296484.post-1073144429236791402004-01-03T10:40:00.000-05:002004-01-03T10:43:08.293-05:00Language Has Lost a Little
Instead of pleasing invisibility
our friend Corporeal was sought for advice.
"Never snort the yellow blow,"
was what he said
in passing.
Quotes like that
golden and tactful
instill logic and reason,
like if and then.
Metaphor used to be used to
personify;
nuns gathered around
praising ambiguity and wit.
Language has lost a little.
The battle between Grammar
andDavid Weinernoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296484.post-107306230140309382004-01-02T11:51:00.000-05:002004-01-02T11:57:41.483-05:00Vermin
Scurrying along
serenity took the form of little feet yesterday.
Dust trails
and scent are detective's crutches,
rely on senses seemingly numbed
by nauseating and circumspect speculation;
apropos and infuriating.
Fleeting is the feeling of importance
and relativity. I need a new lease --
Variety is the splicing of life and love.David Weinernoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296484.post-1072553356654355392003-12-27T14:29:00.000-05:002003-12-27T14:30:43.153-05:00I.
Some semblance of confidence
explains the propensity to ridicule.
As a child
I was quite mean to other children. However,
I have not made it my business to apologize.
Numbers are disconcerting when considerable.
Being inconsiderate has nothing to do with it.
I recall a tattoo that was Chinese for No Regrets
and promised to have it etched
on my body in Hebrew.
This recollection melds David Weinernoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296484.post-1072552042439773362003-12-27T14:07:00.000-05:002003-12-27T14:08:49.216-05:00(Was this a poem)
I have obviously
not written any
poetry in a while.
I can't even call what I am
about to think of poetry,
because I haven't thought of it yet.
That would be counter-intuitive. David Weinernoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296484.post-947012682003-05-21T16:04:00.000-04:002003-05-22T14:26:45.000-04:00Insignificance
Sensitive to all movement,
my richter scale loves to measure waves.
The frequency of such events dictates smiles.
Greetings earthlings.
Whether it's high or low, hello or good bye,
a wave retreats with unflinching earnestness,
unapologetically.
I usually leave places quizically, quick gestures of assurances.
Mesmerizing movements of hands,
unreal hopes of grandeur.
David Weinernoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296484.post-941070302003-05-10T11:33:00.000-04:002003-05-13T16:27:25.000-04:00Leaving disclaimers to rot
maybe and sometimes relieved yes and no.
Indecision veils itself under rudimentary suspicion.
I can't make up my mind.
Which is it...inveterate deference leads to welcome mat disorder,
chronic fascism leads to being pulled apart and paraded.
I prefer large crowds over dust-filled shrouds.
David Weinernoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296484.post-937164052003-05-03T15:49:00.000-04:002003-05-22T14:32:42.000-04:00'Eavesdropping on six packs,
bar hopping IS overated. Trickle down ergonomics never applied to bar stools, imprints seem smaller.
Avoiding frivolity is easier than it sounds. Audible cacophonies envelope chaste ears. My tympany senses a symphony of empathy coming from you. But why? Has it been five years? David Weinernoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296484.post-937070852003-05-03T11:21:00.000-04:002003-05-03T11:21:05.966-04:00I recently read
a piece of
and I had almost forgotten that
people still think poetry
must rhyme.
It's unfortunate,
this sans battle tested testaments,
this enveloped shadow of ignorance.
The cross-section of public poetry seems to be
collections, pieces,
by "songwriters," rappers, and the deluded.
It's all diluted, and even that's too easy.
Leave it alone Earnest,
your poetry's no David Weinernoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296484.post-937069082003-05-03T11:17:00.000-04:002003-05-03T11:17:06.073-04:00These days,
when tyrants use temerity to
incite dissidents
we, noblemen, fight with words.
If it weren't for this insidious nervousness
all would be lost for future's sake.
Unctious war mongers passing themselves off
as resolute utilitarians is a sure sign of things to come.
The melting pot of partisanship, the byway of legislation,
goading innocents with frivolity and lip service
David Weinernoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296484.post-928514432003-04-18T15:00:00.000-04:002003-04-18T15:00:37.513-04:00It hasn't been so longDavid Weinernoreply@blogger.com