Empty

Awake, is all.

Rising without inspiration, revelation, recollection, premonition, venture, horror, or scripture is a gift. I like to wake up empty & dull.

I like waking up with a soul of ice, undripping with dreams sloshed over the sluice of sentience.

You don’t see Jesus prancing around the flight deck when he rose.

I like to awaken blank and bare, without mother or father, past or future, book or speech, laurel or thorn.

° ° °

The orphancy of waking, the umbilical cut from a dying dream.

The poverty of sunrise. Last night evicted yesterday, dropped its shit on the street.

Yesterday is morning breath.

° ° °

The screaming poverty of birth. Every time I write, I’m born again.

Yesterday is afterbirth.

° ° °

The poverty of resurrection: even the grave is empty.

“Trill” are my Twitters. Tweet suites from @slowreads.

Photo “Denver Sluice” copyright Nick Ford. Used by permission.

By Peter

After stints as a trial lawyer and a church worker, Peter Stephens has settled in as a Virginia high school English teacher. Peter has read several books and poems. He wrote none of the posts below filed under "Passages." Click the link at the end of each post to see it in the context of the author's original post.

View all of Peter's posts.

Categories

Passages

Hypethral

2 March 2021 - Luisa A. Igloria

Halo of stutter- light in every window Signs lettered with the names of streets that once weren't chained to any one particular destination As opposed to how at dusk my mouth is a cave in which a hundred bats will not stop careening In the park horses wait to be led through paths thick with tourists and camera clicks That sound isn't rain but dry pine needles They too are looking for openings in a field of breath [Read more...]

Water bearish

2 March 2021 - Dave Bonta

Up, and to the office, where with my clerks all the morning very busy about several things there wherein I was behindhand. At noon home to dinner, and thence after dinner to the Duke of York’s house, to the play, “The Tempest,” which we have often seen, but yet I was pleased again, and shall be again to see it, it is so full of variety, and particularly this day I took pleasure to learn the tune of the seaman’s dance, which I have much desired to be perfect in, and have made myself so. So home with my wife and Deb., and there at the office met to my trouble with a warrant from the Commissioners of Accounts for my attending them and Cocke two days hence, which I apprehend by Captain Cocke’s being to go also, to be about the prizes. But, however, there is nothing of crime can be laid to my charge, and the worst that can be is to refund my 500l. profit, and who can help it. So I… [Read more...]

DISIN-

1 March 2021 - Tom

Disin-tegra-tion, themind fails.You watchas ithappens.The Middlewesterner [Read more...]

March funeral

1 March 2021 - rbarenblat@gmail.com (Velveteen Rabbi)

The hearse got stuck in the mud-snow. I watched from graveside as they tried reverse then pushing -- finally backing down to approach from the other side. Mourners in inappropriate footwear struggled in icy mud. I thought of Mom -- her yahrzeit this week. She died before covid before masks and distancing, before half a million dead. Would she understand how everything feels uphill, our wheels spinning in muddy slush? Like the hearse all we can do is retreat, bearing grief's heavy load. [Read more...]

Woodcock Spring

1 March 2021 - Marcia Bonta

Shortly before dark last February 10, our son Dave walked up the driveway and heard the “peenting” of an American woodcock. He raced up to our house to alert our son Mark and me, and we joined Dave on our veranda to listen. A woodcock (Photo by Don on Flickr, Creative Commons license) A couple minutes passed before both sons said, “Listen.” That’s when I heard the whirr of the woodcock’s wings as he flew overhead. I also saw his distinctive, chunky silhouette. In the nearly 50 years we have lived on our west-central Pennsylvania mountaintop, we had never seen or heard a displaying American woodcock before March 15. But last February was warmer than usual. After heavy rain the previous night, most of the snow had melted, and by evening it was 45 degrees. At least one male woodcock had migrated north early from his wintering grounds in the coastal lowlands from the Carolina’s south and west as far as Texas. Or, more likely, because the winter had been unusually mild, he may have… [Read more...]

OH, YES

1 March 2021 - Tom

Oh, yes --joy bringsanother morning.Let us liftour eyes,let us seewhat sings here.The Middlewesterner [Read more...]

Haplos*

1 March 2021 - Luisa A. Igloria

The river and its hem. Magnolia trees holding in their creamy cocoons. An egret dipping one leg into the current. All around us only the things originally belonging to this world are allowed to touch. * Caress; Tagalog/Filipino [Read more...]

Poetry Blog Digest 2021, Week 8

1 March 2021 - Dave Bonta

A personal selection of posts from the Poetry Blogging Network and beyond. Although I tend to quote my favorite bits, please do click through and read the whole posts. This week: signs of spring, political and philosophical reflections, loves and deaths. There’s an air of springexamining the frozenearth by touch, shyly.We’re not ready yetfor happiness, the heavycurtains are still closed.At least the winterwould not lie to us, would notsay all will be good.One doesn’t know now.Magda Kapa, February 2021 A teetering peregrine at the pinnacle of an iced tree. But chickadees. Orioles? Nuthatches. Voices changing. “I can smell the leaves under the water, under the ice,” I say. “Not spring, but evidence of it. Can you?” Amazed, he cannot. The infinite distance. Animal. He says please don’t give up on me. The time of ice shatter and mud seems never to end, is always beginning and beginning: it’s nearly March again. “The sap is up in your willow, did you see?” I mention. He hadn’t, but now that I point it out, he can.The horse is mad… [Read more...]

TEN OLD MONK POEMS (4)

28 February 2021 - Tom

THE OLD MONKREBUKED THEM:You make up wordsas if you canmake up meaning.~I WOULDN'TI wouldn't say these thingsif I didn't have to,the old monk said.Help. Get me out.~DON'T ARGUEDon't argue with it,the old monk said,if it won't argue back.You'll just sound silly.~WHEN SHE TURNSWhen she turns aroundand makes that face,the old monk says,just do it.~SO YOU LIKESo you like thePOUND POUND POUNDof the line?You must play bass,the old monk said.~THE OLD MONK / LOOKEDThe old monklooked at his handsand saw his father.He looked in the mirrorand saw him there too.~IS ITIs itthe stars talking,the old monk wondered,or the cicadas.Do we evenhave cicadas?~THE OLD MONK SAIDThis is alwaysthe most peacefulmoment, now,just before I goto sleep, or die.~THE OLD MONK'SFIRST NOVELThere are more charactersthan I have timeto introduce, he said.So just imagine them.~THE TASTEThe taste of it,the last of the old wine,the old monk said.There's alwaysnext summer.~The Middlewesterner [Read more...]

Feed a fever

28 February 2021 - Dave Bonta

(Lord’s day). Wife took physick this day, I all day at home, and all the morning setting my books in order in my presses, for the following year, their number being much increased since the last, so as I am fain to lay by several books to make room for better, being resolved to keep no more than just my presses will contain. At noon to dinner, my wife coming down to me, and a very good dinner we had, of a powdered leg of pork and a loin of lamb roasted, and with much content she and I and Deb. After dinner, my head combed an hour, and then to work again, and at it, doing many things towards the setting my accounts and papers in order, and so in the evening Mr. Pelling supping with us, and to supper, and so to bed. sick all day at home my books depress so I make room for more leg of pork and a roasted head setting my paper supper Erasure poems derived from The… [Read more...]

Ambush

28 February 2021 - Dale

Von Tal says:Left out of the conversation? The fact that, for nearly all of our evolutionary and historical time, we have been surrounded or neighbored by predators, animal or human.The possibility -- probability -- of sudden death or capture, by sentient beings that desire our death, or our absorption, is not our abnormal state. It was our normal state. And we patrolled our boundaries, or helped each other to escape, and that is what made the social bonds we most trust. We saved each other's lives.And although that is not the world we live in now, you can tell it's our normal world, because all our stories immediately return to it. Countless narratives of banding together to defeat predators. Despite the fact that most of us will never meet a creature that means to kill us in our lives. In the absence of predatory enemies, we experience, paradoxically, much higher levels of anxiety, because we do not know -- push come to shove -- that anyone will come to our defense. In the absence of predators,… [Read more...]

IN SOME LANGUAGE (13)

28 February 2021 - Tom

In some languagethe word for praisealso means snake.The Middlewesterner [Read more...]

Every Line Intersects the Line at Infinity at Some Point

28 February 2021 - Luisa A. Igloria

"Out of nothing I have created a strange new universe." - János Bolyai (1802-1860) The optometrist asks you to look into the autorefractor: two dark lines form a road that stretches from where you sit to a red barn at the horizon. If your brain tells you that you're looking at a point at infinity rather than just mere inches away, it helps the eyes focus. Things have to end somewhere, don't they? In projective geometry, you're told two parallel lines will intersect, will meet at a point in the line at infinity. If you tilted the horizon up or down, it would remain what it is. If you turned around, infinity would still be there as an infinitely beckoning horizon. But what a strange idea: how in that world, another traveling along the same line as you at parallel distance will arrive with you at the edge of the world. Maybe you can't see them now or touch them. Maybe they haven't spoken to you in months, in years. Maybe you move along, uncertainly:… [Read more...]

The true people

28 February 2021 - Dave Bonta

Up, and to the office pretty betimes, and the Board not meeting as soon as I wished, I was forced to go to White Hall in expectation of a Committee for Tangier, but when I come it was put off, and so home again to the office, and sat till past two o’clock; where at the Board some high words passed between Sir W. Pen and I, begun by me, and yielded to by him, I being in the right in finding fault with him for his neglect of duty. At noon home to dinner, and after dinner out with my wife, thinking to have gone to the Duke of York’s playhouse, but was, to my great content in the saving my vow, hindered by coming a little too late; and so, it being a fine day, we out to Islington, and there to the old house and eat cheese-cakes and drank and talked, and so home in the evening, the ways being mighty bad, so as we had no pleasure in being abroad at… [Read more...]

WE NEED

27 February 2021 - Tom

We need eaglesthe way we needthe wind, to cleanup emptiness.The Middlewesterner [Read more...]

02.26.21

27 February 2021 - James Brush

second dosewinter rages deepinside me [Read more...]

SNOWY MORNING

27 February 2021 - Tom

Snowy morning.No one knowswhere hawk has gone.The Middlewesterner [Read more...]

Prime Cause

27 February 2021 - Luisa A. Igloria

Who knows where anything begins: if seed, if stock, if accident lays the ground for what manifests after decades of quietude— One day, a body thinking only of walking itself home takes a small detour. Takes a leap, as if to clear a fence. Hopes to take the moon but needless to say, inherits only the steadfast earth. What remnant of that hard encounter with the truth lodges as bone, as breach, as shredded endoneurion? The body after all is mass and also its own residue. A tremor scales the walls; vines hold to the trellis. After a while, it's hard to tell if the foliage moves, or is moved. [Read more...]

Library

27 February 2021 - Dave Bonta

Up; and by coach, with W. Griffin with me, and our Contract-books, to Durham Yard, to the Commissioners for Accounts; the first time I ever was there; and staid awhile before I was admitted to them. I did observe a great many people attending about complaints of seamen concerning tickets, and, among others, Mr. Carcasse, and Mr. Martin, my purser. And I observe a fellow, one Collins, is there, who is employed by these Commissioners particularly to hold an office in Bishopsgate Street, or somewhere thereabouts, to receive complaints of all people about tickets: and I believe he will have work enough. Presently I was called in, where I found the whole number of Commissioners, and was there received with great respect and kindness; and did give them great satisfaction, making it my endeavour to inform them what it was they were to expect from me, and what was the duty of other people; this being my only way to preserve myself, after all my pains and trouble. They did ask many questions, and demanded… [Read more...]

NOT LIKE DAWN

26 February 2021 - Tom

Not like dawnor dusk, thesuddennessof it. Allthe autumnleaves fallingtoday, alltheir blessingslost. How totell you morethan that inwind like this?The Middlewesterner [Read more...]

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By Peter