the sieve and the sand » life

Winds of Change

beighartman — Thu, 10 Feb 2011 02:41:28 +0000

There is a place between where I was—
Geographically straddling home (and where home will be)
Intellectually flailing at what I know (petrified of what I don’t)
Emotionally committed this cause (a compelling enigma)
Romantically ready, so ready (so far from prepared—but ready)
Spiritually tender and ready to be transformed (more than I can imagine)
And where I am going—

Like a flag buffeting in the wind
Declaring an identity which has been attached to another foundation
For as long as memory recalls

Flings loose

Willingly—terrified.
A movement begins.
This house grows wheels, bears the weather—no apologies, howling.
Purpose served, shingles tear up, await replacement.
A new roof—trappings intact.
The old precedes, but now concedes.
One is silver, the other gold.

The summer storms usurps a leaf from his stagnant perch
And for a moment—though turbulent and unknowing—
Deposits him to transformation of life yet untold.
Greatest mystery with only the promise of a seed intact.

Change and I have never seemed to get along,
But if it’s like they say and, “opposites attract”—
Then I suppose I’m right where I should be.

October is over

Julio Chapluzki — Mon, 01 Nov 2010 13:54:41 +0000

and once again I’m alive,
seeing the waning light
at the end of the fall;
gaining strength
from rotting leaves,
dying grass,
general decay;
hoping that i’ll survive
while watching everything else die.

Descent

beighartman — Tue, 31 Aug 2010 06:03:45 +0000

From the brow we point—
‘Aye, they’s many a sea monster in the deep,’ we say.
Waves loll and rear-end one another.
‘Got to keep a wary eye out,’ we acknowledge, ‘they there.’

From cabin we clink beverages,
Jangling prisms refracting in the light.
Drinking down and never knowing until we go down.
Gazing between bars and goggles, our self-imposed captivity
Descends.

Down, the water swarming our feet.
Down, the green hues grow darker.
Down, the shattered light suffocating.
Down, the fading briny hull forename—Bliss.
And we are swallowed.

There are no more intermittent fins to marvel at.
No glimpses of accusation to position our supple fingers.
Consumed by teeth of an insatiable, blood lusting hunger.
Surrounded by sharks, swirling in a spectacle of slaughter.
Engulfed in a liquid grave, should we have stayed any longer.

And upon reemerging—gasping not for air,
But release from this elevator into a living hell.
‘They is monsters down there’ we say,
But it’s different this time.
‘Almost got me, almost plunged.’
Fins carve the waterline like serrated knives.
‘Them poor souls. You’d never know they was like that.’

Boy attempts to swim

tynedaile — Thu, 29 Jul 2010 07:13:26 +0000

You threw your whole body at the icy lava
But it spat you out like a cork,
And all the little fish drank champagne
And danced the rumba because
They thought you’d given up
And they thought they had won.

The big green-eyed octopus down there
Skated along the soft ocean floor like messiah
Each day the slimy grin on his face,
That fatty enclave of salty grime,
Grew wider and wider, until the sea
Started to shiver at the thought of its size.

Months passed in the oyster-grey soup
Of the swelling Atlantic Ocean
But every morning you hear the
Broken-backed barnacles whispering your name
Your time is coming my darling, I can feel it
Put your goggles on, it’s time for a change.

florida monday

David X. Hugo — Tue, 18 May 2010 03:48:50 +0000

i get my fix alone
in my grandfather’s shoes
in my grandmother’s home

he left his shoes and tore
out his heart
she left her home and drowned
in perfume

i make my way to the
old sea
churning up sludge

i stand there and get my
fix again like all beasts but
think something of it

or think something will
come of it

i write with his pen
i whisper in her words

i let the sun asphixiate my anxiety
i shake the dirt off my skin
like a rug
i run head first into the sludge

i swim

technology, entertainment, design

David X. Hugo — Mon, 03 May 2010 08:27:53 +0000

i posit that all of this gas
and carbon nonsense is
the molecules within a falling
raindrop, electrons and
other scientific things popping
and fizzing as supernovas in
a black abyss. that chances are
we will be crushed on an umbrella,
that man will have spent all
of his time sitting in front of computer
screens, watching geniuses blabber,
positing about carbon and raindrops,
and plop,
right on some 9 year old’s hannah
montana umbrella. she’ll be livin’ like
us, ears closed, just like one big
epic irony. for feelings,
i guess.

my tombstone should include “wide-eyed” on it somewhere

David X. Hugo — Fri, 02 Apr 2010 05:52:33 +0000

i am wide eyed and high floating
above rivers of happy
philistines and i find that
everything is funny because
it’s all so very grave.
waves of irony end their journey
from: our massive sun-god
to: my face and
amplify my smile;
coloring all things in their
deep, deep comedy.

i smile and graze over the
earth with my eyes lightly
so as to not break a thing.

“humans are bad balloons”
i think and
look down
as i deflate
the crumbly breaky surface
giving way at the thought of
my come-down. sunshine
turning into heat
bird chirps
turning into traffic
smog
all things blackening and
crumbling as i come down.
i grab at the comedy but
cannot hold anything,
not even the air.

My Daring Yet Untimely Demise

beighartman — Wed, 31 Mar 2010 18:50:29 +0000

Full speed ahead!
We whooped raw tracheas,
Clambering to conjunction,
Zealots plain and outright
Marching unstoppably onward
To inevitable rave and accolade,
That is, until the bottom fell out

compost heap

Julio Chapluzki — Sun, 14 Mar 2010 02:28:21 +0000

yesterday’s fruit and vegetables
sitting, mounded together
in piled putrescence,
attracting fliesbeatlesgrubsworms,
slowly rotting,
slowly decomposing,
slowly disappearing;
such is life.

And So Begins The End

beighartman — Thu, 31 Dec 2009 21:17:15 +0000

Our lives begin anew again
at 12 o’clock tonight.
Will this be the year we live our lives right?
What’s it going to take for us to realize
We’ve got to make this night count?
Resolutions commence,
As the time ticking between this year
and the new year thins.
Will they be to not sweat the small stuff,
because it’s all small stuff?
Will they be to walk in someone else’s shoes,
take a look through their eyes?
Or just get dedicated to something,
go out and take a risk,
a leap of faith?
Take a chance and love someone?
Find meaning and answers?
Shed a bad habit? Inherit a good one?
Brush off all the little inconsistencies?
Begin to see life from the other side?
But even perhaps tonight we’ll realize:
Life is too short to even be concerned
with all these resolutions,
and maybe we should just resolve to live it.

wally’s world

David X. Hugo — Tue, 22 Dec 2009 02:51:15 +0000

on the way to the
vee eff double yew
i saw dereks in the
cornfields
and i can see why you’d
not want to be here.
i hear they sent you
in to cash-for-gold
and got a settlement
from a white house,
overnight,
postdated for two years,
and i see what the govern
meant. side-note:
my baby she is a cow in
the pasture,
all four of her stomachs
filtering the asbestos-grass
(have you seen the commercial
for the new tree ants?
delicious, i hear).
my friend denny, see, he lives
on every corner,
he puts syrup on his bread
and sells you awful puns for
10 a piece.
and, i suppose, i’m glad as hell
you finally walked out of wally’s
world, we’re all still unsure
as to why any of us bought
tickets. ’till then it’s midnight
in the living section.

kind of like puppies

Julio Chapluzki — Mon, 21 Dec 2009 14:43:35 +0000

sad eyed
and anxious to explore,
yet trapped in a box
atop the day’s news
and remnants of urine,

this is the life.

Essence

beighartman — Wed, 02 Sep 2009 02:45:20 +0000

When considering the final conclusion
The closing stages of a blaze soon to be extinguished
Embers glowing their brightest before at last they fade
Heartbeats ebbing to an even rhythm amidst the hearth
Radiating undulations and ashen remembrances
Furrowing to heights unknown
Trembling to hushed rest unseen
After everything the trajectory revealed
Cremated powder remnants
Charred and stained against time
But the legacy of its warmth still burning
More brilliantly than ever before

more than meets the eye

Julio Chapluzki — Sun, 28 Jun 2009 22:37:26 +0000

is my constant hope
surveying my transformed life;
is there more than this?

life and then

Roger Mugs — Sun, 12 Oct 2008 15:01:13 +0000

streets painted with
blue lights glowing up through
mortar cracks through brick
holes next to old houses
mansions perhaps once filled
with concubines or slaves
but we stop for a nice
dinner at a ‘french’
restaurant just like life was then
red lanterns and all

now gone again

A Man for and With Others

Tucker J. Collins — Sat, 06 Sep 2008 04:06:51 +0000

I am no longer a student
But a scholar A follower
Of the teachings of Ignatius
My life is changing rapidly
To transform into a new
Being of competence
To show the world my best

What am I to become?
What am I in four short years?
What am I in my prime?
What am I when I move on to the other half of life?

I answer you now

I shall become
A Man for and With Others
I will be
A Man for and With Others
I shall succeed as
A Man for and With Others
When I leave this place I’ll be still
A Man for and With Others

meh

rcribay — Fri, 05 Sep 2008 22:37:17 +0000

you pour your
time
energy
life

into something hoping to give it life
hoping it will give life

only to find
most of the time

it remains as dead
as
the words on this page.

My Father and the Reaper

freakynewchild — Sat, 09 Aug 2008 03:49:18 +0000

Part I: My father shot me, bang bang

I was created a girl, you see, and
wantin’ to be genderless was my sin,
“My daughter, I’m send you back to your maker.
Only he can make you whole for you’re unnatural.”
Steadfast was his resolve as he pointed the gun at me,
I didn’t wish to be a boy, you see,
but he shot me before I could tell him;
I wanted to be genderless.

I was the garbage can
rolling empty on the side of the street
one shot through my wasted heart,
nothin’ but pungent darkness.

Tell my father, he fostered and killed an empty vessel.
Tell him,
Tell him,
Tell him, I had yet to be born.

My father is not an evil man, you see
he is a simple man with ordinary values
uprooting all he doesn’t understand.

I wanted grace
a heart, not bruised or calloused
a mind, pristine and free
and eyes, innocent and clear.

So that I could feel like it wasn’t too late,
So that the day I’d finally be born and alive, I could say :
I am not my mother
I am not my father
I am not a girl
I am not a boy
I am human

***
Part II: The Reaper

Dark
Dark
Father, it is so dark.

Ah, 17 years old…
life had the promise of a bebop dance at the neon lights.
I thought there would be more days
Days when I’d breathe stardust till the break of dawn,
Days when freedom would cost 10 cents a piece at the farmer’s market
Days when I would needn’t stop for the rain or wait for love.

Fly me away
Fly me away from my own mind
Father, it is so silent.

my beautiful mom took the night train,
she promised to come back,
when the night is beautiful again
when the passing wind needn’t flirt with the outside, with damaged stars,
and plastic bags that always float one step further.

The reaper came from the bullet
and into darkness it took me,
to the place of the unwanted children-
dark and desolated.

The fabric of life and death is too coarse against my soul,
it rubs the good stuff away,
and soon I will fade into darkness.

Wish me back
Have Mercy, Father
wish me back
alive and well
So I can finally rest in peace.

My Sieve and Sand

Tucker J. Collins — Fri, 01 Aug 2008 03:19:58 +0000

My Sand is my emotions
My Sieve is my mind
My Sand moves through the motions
Whilst My Sieve looks behind

because sometimes we think microchips and nukes make us pretty tough

Roger Mugs — Wed, 25 Jun 2008 17:39:18 +0000

your torrential downpour -
wash us clean from our pride
to remind us
of things we cannot control

your voice alone is the thunder
your grace alone is the rain

no matter the price of gas
you will not cease to send your rain

people dying in earthquakes
those who will drown today in oceans
they’re as real as this house
this street, this page, these words

and my wife.

you created life
we try so hard to harness
you alone create.

how small i am and how big you are
to strike down,
create
destroy

remembering that you are not safe
but you are good

your rain
so thick i cannot see
you remind us who you are

and who are
we.