A short poem inspired by intense feelings of anguish I felt after watching the opera Madame Butterfly by Giacomo Puccini for the first time last Fall.

A seppuku kiss farewell
	To seal a life of rancid pain

Poor, poor Madame Butterfly:

Your cocoon shall be the grave…


Poor, Poor Madame Butterfly

A haiku I wrote a little over a year ago and just came up with music for a few days ago. Just about hidden beauty.

A swamp looks like death
But harbors abundant life
Beautifully ripe

Beautifully Ripe

A poem inspired by the conflicts I (and I'm sure countless others) sometimes encounter during the creative process. I'd like to believe there is transcendental value to art and self-expression, but sometimes I can't help but feel that cynics and skeptics are right, that this is wishful thinking and that self-expression is simply an organic or social function that we have anthropocentrically attached artificial meaning to in an attempt to define our existence in friendly, comfortable terms.


"Self-expression is a regurgitory tribute to our existential vassalage"

"Stagnant cynic. What's wrong with you? Your muse is a prickly old woman with saggy tattoos."

"Well go on blind abstract, I'm listening. I know your metaphysically meted edicts like to travel in groups of two."

"That's very true. But for effect we will need a better view. Let's climb this tree. I can smell the freshest breeze while you try again to gauge how far your eyes can see."


Swinging nimbly from the first branch, the abstract didn't wait around for me to agree. Almost to the top I nearly slipped, but before losing grip, the abstract grabbed my fingers by their tips and said:

"Soon you will die, while I thrive, and one day, our children will surely meet."

Saggy Tattoos

When I get bored I sometimes look in the Dictionary (not sure if I should be self-conscious of that here or not?) and this poem is the result of two new discoveries. The music is a synthesizer, a drum machine, and various samples.

As the Moon distracts the Sun with 
A crooked salute from his left hand, 
He seduces, Earth, the Sun’s fertile wife,
With a pointed caress from his right

Indulging an acquiescent quim, 
Earth submits to her favorite of the
Incurable Incubi, as he slowly 
Flows up her coastal skirt 
With his pulsing lunar tide

Meanwhile, overconfident and surprisingly gullible, 
The Sun plays an unwitting cuckold, 
Even giving the Moon his light!
The constantly shifting, chronic consort, 
Our ancestors have humbly named 
The Day and The Night


Incurable Incubi

Sort of an ode to the last decade or so of my life. Pronouns interchangeable as is certainly necessary!

Raw, Abusive Beauty

I have
Danced with insanity
And let me tell you
(S)he's a terrible lead

(S)he'll step on your toes
	Smile
And then trample your feet

(S)he'll talk your ear off all night
	Be silent
And then hush when you speak

Seductive?
	Yes

Receptive?
	Well ... 	
		No...

But then again
This kind of raw, abusive beauty
Has no need 
For its story to be whole



Raw, Abusive Beauty

Another one I took down while I submitted the poem to a couple places.


I wrote the poem while sitting in calculus and then into next class which was like an intro Art in Society class. The music was a result of too many hours spent fiddling with various samples and a synthesizer, but fortunately seemed to fit with the poem!

Buddha Bait

And another one I am re-posting after trying to get it published.

I had just done something pretty bad, and that I knew full well was bad and instantly regretted. This poem was a sort of stream of conscious result of me starting to realize what the consequences might be.

Came up with music about 6 months later I think.

Raskolnikov

I write poetry and music in my free time to make sure both sides of my brain stay active so I don't start thinking in circles.  

I love SoundCloud and am very thankful to be able to rub virtual shoulders with so many incredibly talented people. Collaborations welcome!

Knot Neck

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