OH.  the shit in my pockets...
Text here...
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4014163/solid-objects/

solid objects

Solid Objects

His feet carried him there with no plan but to see.
Beyond that, the damned appendages were fucking useless.

But he can't blame his feet for the failures above:
In the brain that is always awash in a chemical storm
Not of it's creation,
But, rather, from failures up higher,
Where angels throw darts and roll dice with God
(who disdains such a sport)
But, anyway...
So, here he is again with a mind full of wonder,
When he wants, only, sorely for this:
To have something to say through the fog and the chatter,
To find that within,
Which is real.

Useless Feet

wesley reads "the House of Asterion" by Jorge Luis Borges.
Painting detail from "the Minotaur" by George Frederic Watts, 1885.
Apologies for flubbing the pronunciation of "derisory".  It's a long "i".

the House of Asterion by Jorge Luis Borges

Wes reads his original work, “I, Anathema”

I, Anathema

Serious or frivolous, an exchange where neither fare much against laughter, forgetting, and just experiencing.
(text:)
I said, "God, I love you".
She smiled and said I'd do in a pinch.

I said, "but I need you to do something for me..."
She looked into my eyes and said, "What's that"?

I said, "I need you to tell me something".
She said, "All right.  What's that?"

I said, "repeat after me"
I said, " 'wes...' "

She stared back into my eyes and said, "wes..."
She laughed a little chuckle in her throat.

I said, "no, this is serious..."
I looked into her eyes.
I prompted her:  " 'wes...' "

She smiled, saying "wes..."
I said, " 'stop fuckin' around' "

She said, "stop fuckin' around"
she laughed again, adding, "wes".

I smiled and said, "no, try it seriously  now"
She said, "wes.  seriously.  stop fucking around..."

She laughed.
I said, "want to go back to bed and fool around?"
She laughed.
I laughed.
We went back to bed.

back to bed

Whenever I have the chance to swim in the ocean I am compelled, beyond my will, to swim out past the choppy stuff and float, limp and contemplative, upon the rise and fall of Earth's seawater.  I clear my thoughts and drift.  Invariably, though, thoughts arrive.  Then this kind of shit happens.  I wrote the start of this back when first exploring things that appear in "force of Nature", that submission to natural forces, free of judgment.

the water was a woman

"I just want to have sex", you said.
An unexpected non-sequitur.
We had been sipping tea or coffee or something.
We had been reminiscing about the old street,
Back when none of us were single.
"yeah, I miss it, too", I said.

"No.  I mean right now", you corrected.
As I turned to see your face, it betrayed little.
Impassive but alert.  Warm but not intimate.  No passion. 
I was willing, but remember: this never happened to me.
Something seemed wrong about it,
But was there any harm?

I asked if I could think about it.
You thought about it, too, as we watched a movie.
Halfway through some Ridley Scott epic, we held each other.
We touch-explored and memory only tells me this is true:
With no further reason beyond the will to be,
I soon lay naked there with you.  
It wasn't love but, then again,
This never happened. 
Awkward, at first, we found our place,
Our touch and pull, our rhythm and pace.
"no kissing", you admonished, speaking only that.

Though I rest spent and full inside you,
That was your concern.
Too personal.
Too intimate.

We held each other for a while,  you left within the hour,
Saying, "this never happened", and my only thought,
My only answer to you,
Was a solemn confirmation, 
That nothing could be more true.

http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1045361/this-never-happened-she-said/

"this Never Happened", she said

young Lucas singing to himself one day...

Leaving the Room (my son singing)

Reading notes from when I tried to write what it was like walking my infant son at night before laying him in his crib.  Forgive the halts and stutters in the intro, it was all first-take, top-of-the-head doings.


LeavingTheRoom

I asked a poetess friend for a title.  She sent me:
"It was, just the once (and then in every memory and moment after), an expansion of  time and a color something like sunset reflecting off of high branches".  She likes long titles.  Thanks, @earthboundpixie, for a great spark.
Text is below and more info on hellopoetry.com http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1684983

"
The reflecting pool lay long and flat, a massive mirror door...
I stepped up to it's concrete edge, and looked down to it's floor.
I saw pale tiles beneath the water, some pennies, a dime, a nail.
I dropped my thoughts beneath this sea, which quickly grew in scale.

One foot of water became, thus, ten... A hundred... thousand... more.
My view was that of one who's soaring many miles above some shore.
I was, at once, consumed with fear at how this made me feel,
That is to say, I convinced myself that this height was truly real.

That was when I dreamed I fell, but before I'd be no more,
I had much time to think awhile on what had come before.
I had much time to regret the past, and dread what was yet to be,
Saw images of fortune, ruin, the dust of you; the ashes of me.

Small joys helped to bridge the gaps where fear eroded hope,
The terror of  my empty room, the makeshift hanging rope.
My thoughts of death reminded me that the moment should be much more,
I opened my eyes to the rushing air, my throat felt raw and sore,
Looked down to see a blaze of leaves and the fast approaching forest floor.

Asleep, I fell, through sunlit leaves that seemed to fill the space,
Awake, I stood beside the pool when you had touched my face.
Something in your eyes was telling me you were concerned,
You somehow knew the man who left was not the man who returned.

We stood at the shore then, you and I, expressing futures yet to pass,
Fishing out mythologies and illusions that might last.
Our mouths were full of histories and secrets that we bared,
The reassuring comfort that illusions can be shared.

Look east and see the brightening sky, but not yet see the sun,
Look west and see the shrinking black,
The place where last night's stars have run.

Look up and see the limbs and leaves of the high forest canopy,
The ones above the gloom that's half obscuring you and me...
A bright gold glow suffuses them, but only way up high,
Where they already see the dawn, and the guiding star that fills their sky.

I'm reminded by these tall trees rising high into the air,
When shadow darkens my small world, but light is everywhere,
You do not need to see the sun to know that it is there.

So as I lifted up my face,
To where sunlight paints the highest tree,
In this expansive time and place,
I felt the same; beautiful and free.
"

SHIT, HE WROTE

"It was, just the once..."

Another example of what happens when the musically hopeless wesley plays around with loops in a sequencer like Medly or Auxy.   If you do make music and have some guidance, feel free to lay it on me.

pensando en ella

My first attempt to make something musical.  I like it, simple and pedestrian as it may be.

up by Down

Up by Down

http://hellopoetry.com/poem/724205/but-still-she-said/

if you prefer poetry via your eyeballs...

"but, Still", she said...

"but, Still...", she said

There were encumbrances

Animator by trade with a lifelong love for language and all it's beautiful and heartbreaking vagaries.
Sentimental fool and father of two.

I'm open to collaborating with other writers or musicians.  If you're inspired to integrate something of mine into a piece, drop me a line so I can hear it.

warmphase

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