Archive for December, 2007

firstly poetry

Posted in Prosage on December 30, 2007 by Mike Rosales

so, what of the potentials of poetry, extending beyond verse and stanza like the path of a child running into the traffic.

allow poetry its due, the play of color, form and shape. allow a domination over notions of artistic perfection and accepted modes of appreciation, and succession over interpretation of meaning and critical discourse.

the silencing of transcendental ideas.

this avoidance of the detrimental command of language.

rilke first stated, “enclosures around the limitlessly wordless.” the obvious contradiction that takes place within them; a contradiction appreciated and employed by true poets, showing limits and pervasive style functions.

beauty, it seems, is not enough for poetry. it must rise to the ideals of itself, and all the paradoxes contained therein.


the grieving lecturer

Posted in Prosage on December 26, 2007 by Mike Rosales

easing the aim and nutrition of defecation and response with running water, pooled in cupped hands, and then drained and now staring at veins which make me think of the worn old picture frames we used to fascinate over, me and sis, me fascinated while she just watched, sympathetic towards learning.

leaving the bathroom now, i could only remember him as a memory when i awoke. this time he had a heavy beard, was tall, and had a crumpled linen suit and he was holding a brick, in tears, at the front of the lecture theater. if this doesn’t stay as an image, nothing will. he will be different tonight no doubt, but still dying of loss like always.

friend expenditure

Posted in Poemage on December 24, 2007 by Mike Rosales

paid out our furious evening duplicating ourselves
across town pulling transport and we, fleeting, making it
through doors and around tables donating the good words
and laughing just as loud as the rest,
they were quick to forget that we had arrived,
because we were just there.

the poetics of conversation held stunned in eager mouths,
while revolutions appear on stage, ever altering musicians
aligning upon a axis of longevity and tribute
raising glasses and tempos in the name
of the anniversary of a naming ceremony,
we two had something to celebrate that night
because we were just there.

incriminating inactivity

Posted in Prosage on December 20, 2007 by Mike Rosales

there have been decades of failure contained within the flat recently. drawing the curtains is a cause for celebration, and this keyboard has been left unhammered, the table legs unmarked, the housemates unruined.

i have plans. i coast.

literary dreams of coagulation, sedimentary ideas, several stories laced and bound, layered and bound. the talk will be of the debate, the neurotic documentary, the balding ambition, the stock novel response (eager eyes wait), the shrinking circles i dance in, the plasterboard friends i provoke, the influences stolen away in the breath of night.

i do a lot of reading and always wake with a headache, foundational migraine but i catch it in due time. the blue notebooks achieves a repetition and i sleep when i am hungry, for the food costs. a rescinding pallor–that word again–heightens the nutrient drain of accessible health.

if only i had a blender and you. for my health and well-being of course, i’m not plotting a death or anything.

distractive prowl

Posted in Prosage on December 15, 2007 by Mike Rosales

creatures of the night are creations.

followed home by twelve illiterate boredoms, past the people letting off dogs into the park, from the perimeters, like stares.

night falls as a witness upon the boy wrapping paper round the lampposts. everyone i walk past is smiling, perhaps they know tomorrow. it feels innane.

ignore the organized violence that appears to be happening down the slope in the tennis courts. people scuff their shoes to hide the noise.

the bus shelters keep moving, maybe they have no money either.

my friends have all gone away, their rooms hanging like inverted commas without a word.

there can be no everyday without me, it can belong to no other.

the most direct route

Posted in Prosage on December 13, 2007 by Mike Rosales

all in all, i cover a wound through words. i will only disappoint you, our friendship is an impossibility. if i am calm or infrequent or detached over the next week and month it is because i am viewing lives as bridges, and a relocation to a new timescale and task ordinance always scares me.

i remember traveling along the motorway, in the deep light of late summer, exhausted from visiting an unknown location where my father had to meet a man. looking back, there were reasons and purposes deliberately secreted within the journey, but i prefer not look back. as we strode down the outside lane, holiday-making traffic easing into the dusk, my father changed gear, slowed and maneuvered into the slowest lane of three. without taking his eyes from the road, a stifled technique for a revelation, he told me they were going to migrate soon.

i cried a bit. he sped up and careered back across three lanes into the fast lane again.

“why are you crying?”, he shouted above the noise of the engine and the road. “what’s the point? you are supposed to be happy. you’ve got to be happy. i slowed down to tell you that. we could have both been killed. now we’re going to be late.”

angel house

Posted in Poemage on December 12, 2007 by Mike Rosales

day hungry is hell
on the twenty sixth floor

we’re eight in nine
lady says getting
there isn’t easy
careful not to
touch her as
she hands me
the paper sheaves
of block capitals
here’s a biscuit
don’t eat it

your address
your name
five times
just there
no there
yes five times
no i don’t
i’m not sure
five times
and here please
that’s right
nearly finished
just this one
then you are free
free to go
do as you please
no you can’t

take it out please.