Category: poems

No Way To Last (Poem)

On By Alex V. WeirIn Alex Weir, Humor, Philosophy, poems, Social Commentary, Technology, The Fractal Journal, UncategorizedLeave a comment

asf

Yea.

I’m constantly wired.

Yea.

I’m hardly tired.

Yea.

It’s hard to the nth degree.

Yea.

This stream so fierce so free.

Yea.

Watch it hurtle me.

Yea.

Blur is all I see.

Woah.

Electronic.

Woah.

Pornographic.

Woah.

Everywhere.

Woah.

At once here and there.

No.

There’s not time to flip the page.

No.

There’s no time to feel my age.

No.

There’s no time to kiss.

No.

There’s no love to miss.

Yea.

Love takes time and love takes distance.

Yea.

It’s not possible in an instance.

Yea.

Load me up.

Yea.

More espresso in the cup.

Yea.

Carry on!

Yea.

Past today till life is gone!

Woah.

The screens don’t slow.

Woah.

I’ve got to go.

Woah.

Watch the updates flow.

Woah.

All at once all in a row.

No.

No time to sing.

No.

No time to give a friend a ring.

No.

No little notes on her doorstep.

No.

No time to prep.

Yea.

It’s all at once.

Yea.

It’s all already here ya dunce.

Yea.

One exploding instance.

Yea.

Can’t tell it’s static when it’s moving fast.

Yea.

There’s no past.

Yea.

Don’t linger.

Yea.

This pace don’t make a singer.

Yea.

This is the way it’s gotta be.

Yea.

One direction that’s what I call free.

Yea.

Over the edge.

Yea.

Don’t compose an adage.

Yea.

Don’t compose at all.

Yea.

Just fall.

Yea.

Fall fast.

Yea.

There’s no way to last.

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Stumble Schmaltz (Song)

On By Alex V. WeirIn Alex Weir, poems, The Fractal Journal, UncategorizedLeave a comment

 

 

 

 

Wasted days and golden rays of sunshine

When will I rise and tow the drowning line

Long blonde hair

Wicker chair

And

Summer wine

This malaise

The milieu

It won’t be fine

Wasted days and golden rays of sunshine

Dew is rollin by all the time

And

The crow it flies

And

The crow it lies

Dead upon the ground

I hear the sweet sound of Jenny’s laughter

All these pleasant things that we’ve been after

 

The browning in the sun

The warfare has begun

And

I’m getting on

As the days are growing long

 

Hours

Our

Hours

For miles

Of stinking pavements

And

dirty shoes

For miles

Of stinking pavements

And

Moody blues

 

Well now

Which path would you choose

I would ask the crow

He did not respond

He just laid there

And

His bones

They did sow

A recompense of sorts

He found his divination

In these cruel cruel desserts

 

Ah

Wasted days

Wasted days and golden rays of sunshine

When will I rise and tow the drowning line

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Time Feels (Poem)

On By Alex V. WeirIn Alex Weir, poems, The Fractal Journal, UncategorizedLeave a comment

Building Photo - 3031 Kline Street

I want to go driving round the city

Or something

Something like somewhere

Cause I got the ring

Of nowhere

Wearing my head

So step out

Step out on

The route

So well worn

In grooves

Of torn tattered shoes

Break pads are bad news

But driving

I’m driving I’m diving

Into paint stains

We left

In rains

Bereft of sorrow

Yesterday storms tomorrow

Makes these streets an ocean

That I ride on

In kaleidoscope wheels

Time is time was time feels

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Quartz (Poem)

On By Alex V. WeirIn Alex Weir, poems, UncategorizedLeave a comment

Image result for quartz oscillator watch

I’m waiting by myself

Waiting on the shelf

Listening

Listing

All of my days

All that’s held my gaze

Watching

Waiting

I’m waiting by myself

Waiting on the shelf

Reading

All the books you wrote

I hope you take note

As

I’m waiting by myself

Waiting on the shelf

Turning

Can you guess my name

While…

I’m waiting by myself

Waiting on the Shelf

I was here before you came

Can you guess my name

Why?

I’m waiting by myself?

Waiting on the shelf?

If you have a lime…

And you have a rhyme…

As

I’m waiting by myself waiting on the shelf

Maybe you can guess

Before the days grow less

What’s sitting on the shelf

Watching

Waiting

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Samarkand – Poem

On By Alex V. WeirIn Alex Weir, poems, The Fractal Journal, UncategorizedLeave a comment

Related image

The mezzanine

A half step lean

Out of summerland

Cold hand

Chilled by

Dry water

Thrilled to fly

From cradle to slaughter

Adapt to

The new blue

Amidst the stair

Half lidded

Between fraying hair

What’s needed

Is precious peace

Is precipice

A half step lean

Out of the mezzanine

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Tidy (Poem)

On By Alex V. WeirIn Alex Weir, poems, The Fractal Journal, UncategorizedLeave a comment

Image result for tides

So clean and so neat

Doesn’t it just insist

That there is a steady beat

That things persist

But the static on the screen

Seems less uncanny

Than what is plainly seen

All or any

Tidy

On the shelf

Tides are never tidy

You’re talking to yourself

Slip and fall into a pool of summary

Drowning for a grip

In a sea of solipsistic symmetry

Till there is a slip

And a billion points of light

Reveal the origin

The tidiness of sight

Complete in shattered pieces of a glass of gin

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Cheap Perfume (Poem)

On By Alex V. WeirIn Alex Weir, poems, Stories, The Fractal Journal, UncategorizedLeave a comment

Related image

Barely breathin

Through the incense

That’s hidin

The cigarettes

And the mysteries

of the Orient

Are just histories

Wrapped and bent

Dropping into ashtrays

Just behind the whiskey glass

Rouding days

Up with tallies made of grass

You’re dirt

My dirty cheap perfume

And you hurt

With your strange silver smile in the gloom

Can’t dispel

That memory

The smell

Is too deep in my skin and my hair

Now there’s nothing left to do

But sit in the rain

With a head full of you

This much is plain

Drink in the dew

Till the morning unfolds

Like the pictures you drew

Still that perfume holds

Till I drown just to wash off

Must become a river

With a life like a moth

Dusty waters deliver

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Invoking Apollo (Poem)

On By Alex V. WeirIn Alex Weir, poems, The Fractal Journal, UncategorizedLeave a comment

Image result for apollo

O you somber

There in myriad ringing notes

O

Cast forth from Crete

As the eleventh hour floats

Abdicate mere merriment

Be fleet

In bending sail with wind of sacrament

Angel of weeping

Mourn now Dionysus as his blossom wilts

Raise your crown and kiss Persephone

Her silver foots procession

Be friendly unto us for we have torn free

Our beards at a season that knows not youth’s possession

Gird our loins incline our ears to listen

To the subtle symmetry of spheres

How the tears they glisten

With the awry wearing of eternal years

Yet the heart is young

Beating fast

Thundering strong

O to last

Our hope is in you – your song

Thumos – hold fast

To you o minstrel at the gate

O solemn master singer

The hour is late

Give us strenth to ever linger

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Rings – The Meditations of a Mortal

On By Alex V. WeirIn Alex Weir, poems, Stories, The Fractal Journal, UncategorizedLeave a comment

Hand holding a cigarette with smoke rings, a stylized monochrome vector image.

You.
You there.
Yes, you with the hair so like the leaves that autumn brings.
Do you know why fall is my favorite season?
It is not just the hint of chill in the air.
It is because rings are made.
Yes.
I love fall because I love decay.
Because I love the evidence of life that has been lived.
The gentle descent of death into rivers as cool, and deep, and gray, as those eyes you’ve fixed upon me.
You shudder and wonder what’s so great about rot.
Well look at the tree’s hair that’s just landed on that delicate shoulder, so near your own leafy crown.
How I love the slight bend in your neck.
How tenderly the angle travels to the collarbone.
You know I see you as a skeleton,
Shhhhhhh… relax a bit,
you’ve drowned your cigarette in gin,
I’ve no desire to harm you.
Here take mine,
a famililar act should steel the nerves.
You know that such lovely lips should not be chimnneys.
But while we’re on the subject of smoking,
why is it that we love it so,
the wrapping of these dead dry leaves and their cremation?
We inhale decay.
And in rings the evidence of life’s passage curls round us.

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Rapt (Poem)

On By Alex V. WeirIn Alex Weir, poems, UncategorizedLeave a comment

Image result for i raise ebenezer

There upon the minute hangs a phrase

Summit of salvation

Dares a finger raise

Cardinal point

Full of form beyond dimension

Honey fountain angel lips annoint

Beside the aeon

In musty hall

Shining ray dispels the Eidolon

No more in thrall

Dancing now

Through electric gardens

Electing how

These rings of wardens

Would uncoil

To blossom through

The dusty soil

True as true

Rapt in the silence

Of eternal song

Yes the dead can dance

As far as long

Here amongst tobacco leaves and gin

Where porches bake

And ages grin

Her hand I take

To celebrate the passage

Of an aeon

As magnolia spills upon the page

The everpresent dawn

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