Wat Poems and Poems' Wat . . . .

[Wat_Tyler]

Breathe


It spoils what it has
With its unceasing clamor
For what it has not
Nor does it realize
That what it has not
It cannot have
Capability creates possibility
But if nothing happens
Then nothing has happened
And nothing will happen
Do or do not
No try there is
Spoil not what is yours
Perhaps - cherishing
Appreciation
Breathing

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Silly human tricks


Hello there, person, random human
I am not inclined to trust you
I am disinclined to believe you
I doubt your very judgement
Have no idea if you have good sense
Can you pour urine from a boot?
With directions on the heel
And a hole in the toe?
Listen to me
Practising contempt prior to investigation
Or is it just experience?
Rearing, it’s ugly head again
Reminding me the last time I trusted someone
Who did not merit it

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Out Of My Head


Meat computer natters in my ear again
Like it does all the time
Have you ever noticed?
That you awaken sometimes
In what we call the middle of the night
And you do so mid-thought?
For me, it is a way of life
It may not be well formed
Nor may it even be valid
But it presents itself, nevertheless
And demonstrates that there is
No off button on my brain
I was afraid of this
But it is beyond my control
Many times the thoughts
Are of people passed or present
A few are bits of unfinished business
A couple are lingering resentments
The memory frequently is in the form
Of a conversation yet un-had
Stillborn in its form
Words which will never be born on breath
Nor form sounds to bounce off eardrums
Save maybe for my own
Spoken to no one, now or ever
Maybe that is how strong feelings age
These were people with stature at one time
Now gone for some reason or another
Finished business with unfinished bits
Many of them, these memories
For want of a better term
Space thieves in the meat computer
Were it only like ones and zeros
And formed in files to be placed in folders
Then to push the "delete file" button
And then to empty the trashcan
That is the memory created by humans
Not the one created for humans
Perhaps our penance is to remember
And in not forgetting there is immortality
For those whom we remember
Some were that and some distinctly not
Yet here they are at midnight
Nattering in my brain
Thankfully, they do not bring demons with them
When they come to visit uninvited

 

[kathyisgr65]

Out Of My Head


Meat computer natters in my ear again
Like it does all the time
Have you ever noticed?
That you awaken sometimes
In what we call the middle of the night
And you do so mid-thought?
For me, it is a way of life
It may not be well formed
Nor may it even be valid
But it presents itself, nevertheless
And demonstrates that there is
No off button on my brain
I was afraid of this
But it is beyond my control
Many times the thoughts
Are of people passed or present
A few are bits of unfinished business
A couple are lingering resentments
The memory frequently is in the form
Of a conversation yet un-had
Stillborn in its form
Words which will never be born on breath
Nor form sounds to bounce off eardrums
Save maybe for my own
Spoken to no one, now or ever
Maybe that is how strong feelings age
These were people with stature at one time
Now gone for some reason or another
Finished business with unfinished bits
Many of them, these memories
For want of a better term
Space thieves in the meat computer
Were it only like ones and zeros
And formed in files to be placed in folders
Then to push the "delete file" button
And then to empty the trashcan
That is the memory created by humans
Not the one created for humans
Perhaps our penance is to remember
And in not forgetting there is immortality
For those whom we remember
Some were that and some distinctly not
Yet here they are at midnight
Nattering in my brain
Thankfully, they do not bring demons with them
When they come to visit uninvited

Of understanding

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Of understanding

I know, obviously . . . .

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Thighs and thinking


Come to me and be my hussy
Flesh companion for this night
Share autumn oxygen with me
Lie to me that I’m not a fright

Regale me with tales of your youth
When hope still kept you company
Whispering dreams into your ear
Of things you might aspire to be

When love and money ruled your thoughts
And failure did not rear its head
Before disappointment moved in
Until your dreams all lay there dead

You sold them cheap, one at a time
Your aspirations tossed aside
Character building sat ignored
Pushed away for this night’s joyride

Charming men or so you thought
Whiskey and drugs, oceans of beer
Not what your mommy hoped for you
When she could be arsed to be near

She raced about to fill the hole
Remains from when dad packed and split
Lives don’t derail in a vacuum
And in the wreck we’re left to sit

So each new thing that came along
Was a bit lower than the last
We don’t care to pay attention
And hope the memories stay past

So prattle on about your life
Cover the crap with the veneer
Of needed justification
While I fetch you another beer

Declining to fracture the air
With what might be competing tales
No my dearest this night is yours
For you to say that Life grew stale

Come lie with me and lie to me
Tell me I’m not as bad as you
Or tell me that I’m worse by far
Tonight we’ve chosen this to do

To share our flesh, booze, and pathos
Perhaps making the shadows smile
For this tonight we’re not alone
Life sucks less for this little while

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Creativeness is the overcoming of the world, not an adaptation to this world, to the necessities of this world—creativeness is transition beyond the limits of this world and the overcoming of its necessity.


The human spirit is in prison. Prison is what I call this world, the given world of necessity.

~ Nicolas Berdyaev

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Sing your song


I saw it written once
That everyone has a novel in them
But that the vast majority
Do not possess the second one
Along the same lines
Everyone has a song in them
And probably many more
If they can overcome the fear
Of rejection and harsh judgement
That somehow they will have
Rattled someone’s cage
You know what?
Let the cages rattle
Sing your song
Tell your truth
And let others sing theirs
You don’t have to like it
If you give it a chance, you might
Like trying green eggs and ham
In singing your song
Perhaps you can get free
Freer to do new things
And meet new people
And rattle new cages
Cages which need to be rattled
Comfort the afflicted
And afflict the comfortable

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Cuban mahogany


What is that? No previous idea.
Large green trees
Stately spreading
At the East End of the pasture
Fenced from the horses
And just beyond their reach
But branches overhead
Remind us of the futility
Of artificial human boundaries
Capricious in their nature
Artificial at their core
The trees were there when we got here
We may outlive one or two
The ones fallen in the last few years
In that little batch of woods
Sloping ground, well drained
Long time undisturbed
Perhaps the fallen trees
Could be milled and planed
And made into the boxes
Where they would lay our remains
In preparation for planting
A waste of resources that
Perhaps better made into tables
Or dressers or chests
Something to be used by coming generations
If anyone pays attention
Something to cheat the bugs
Of their sizable feast
Let them nibble elsewhere
Silent trees, nearly eternal
Reminding us over and over
Because we continue to forget
Or to ignore
Or to become consumed by our self importance
Exactly how insignificant we are

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Miss Judy‘s house


Massive live oak tree
Stately, owning the side yard
Where it has been since forever
Huge, spreading, perhaps beginning to die
As manifested by a couple of bare branches
But hell, that will take a good long time
Miss Judy meets us on her porch
On a rainy mid May afternoon
Received with the gentility
Of a long bygone era
Accepting, exquisitely polite
A picture perfect hostess
We are here on business
But one would think
That we are long time, family friends
Received at her great grandmother’s house
Situated in the middle of 5 acres
Manicured lawns, lush vegetation all around
Stereotypical deep south
On a rainy subtropical afternoon
Miss Judy talks and shares
Her great grandmother’s house
On what was once a very large plot of land
40 acre parcels dolled out to the children
Her grandmother gave her that which is hers
And she passed it to her granddaughter
In the family method
Women of substance
Leaving the boys to fend for themselves
Creating women of substance
No big cities here
No industries or businesses
That would speak to capitalism as such
But people taking care of their tribe
In the old manner, in the old ways
Tribal unity and tribal loyalty
It can still be found
In spite of urban Mish Mash
Tradition. The old ways.
Change is inevitable
But some bits are not broken
No matter what they tell you.
Business still done with a handshake
We look each other in the eye
Taking measure of one another
Smiling and meaning it
Humanity still means something here

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Machines


You’ve been sitting
I connect your battery
I removed the ground cable
When last I parked you
You still have juice
In your battery
And you start right up
Except when you don’t
Then the fun part comes
Figuring what isn’t working as designed
Or are you being difficult?
Idiosyncratic as human beings
Of course, I checked your oil
Oil is cheaper than steel
We have things to do today
And all of you
The trucks and tractors
The saws and compressors
And drills and drivers
Engines and motors both
Mean that I get more done
For I am neither
The engine nor motor
Some of it, yes
You do the grunt work
While the horses graze
And watch with wonder sometimes
At what the human is working on
At the end of the day
The steel does not ache
It will be warm
As if it breathed
Warm from running
Making contraction noises
As it cools
Mechanical sighing
Resting until tomorrow
When we do it all again

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Baby wheat


Little wheat stalks
Lush and green
Celebrating spring
Rebirth and new life
That time of year
You are not very tall
It seems you are hybrids
Bread to be shorter
More wheat in less time
Another mutant variation
Better living through chemistry
You can lead a horticulture
And so on
But wait, look at that
There are little group groups of tall wheat
Which got mixed in with the short ones
How did that happen?
The tall ones are hanging on
They will not go quietly
Some have sprouted here and there
And some are in small tufts
Like small groups of people
In a strange neighbourhood
Feeling they don’t fit in
They can see for what seems miles
Watching for deer
And listening for the racket
Of the harvester
Coming to reap
Reducing their green lushness
To the green of currency
That is why they are there
Once they are cut
The many short
And the few tall
The field will be retilled
And the beans will be next.

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Out West


The air moves more here
Than it does back east
So even the hot days
Annoy me less
One cannot help
But appreciate
The rolling terrain
Hill and holes
Creeks and foliage
The red soil looks like home
When you dig a hole in it
But the rocks have different character
Different effects of water pressure
Different minerals
One must check the pasture
In case more rocks have appeared
So the horses don’t get stone bruises
Nice boys, keeping the grass cut
Their relatives are everywhere
And other livestock too
Every third field seems to have
Something large grazing there
And every third has been tilled
Corn, beans, wheat, tobacco or canola
Or maybe just the next hay crop
Is in the third
The ancient job of human survival
Of feeding our kind
And in so doing
Feeding other kinds as well
Ancient and current
All at once
We could use a bit of rain right now
Another ancient wish
Meanwhile, the breeze is blowing
And late spring heat
Does not seem so hot after all

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Emotions and Agonies


The way you loved me
If we can even call it that
Showed me that I am very tough to hurt
Oh, it hurt in the beginning
It usually does hurt intensely
When someone rams a hot skewer
Through the depths of your soul
What’s a little pain among
Family, friends, and lovers, right?
As if it really matters
Well, it matters to me
If love were a time of day
And I depended on other people
The way I have done in the past
It would always be
The wee hours of the morning
The darkest of the overnight
Some of these times of day
Were the drunken fighting
Turned into drunken brawling
Oh, not physically
The really painful kind
Emotional evisceration
Why do we stay?
Because fear of being alone
Overcomes fear of being
In a shit eating destructive relationship
When the cat loves you better
When the dog is a better friend
When you talk more with coworkers
When heavy drinking re-emerges
When other women merit more than just a glance
When those things are happening
I am shopping for your replacement
And will have placed the order
Before I move you out
Or before I move out
At least that’s what I used to do
When I did this behaviour
Over and over
In spite of being hurt
And of all the hurting
The bucket of scar tissue
The open hole in the soul
That the wind blows through
And it is never a summer zephyr
But rather a polar vortex
Mind-numbingly frigid
When I think about this too hard
I used to push it from my mind
Because I had my next prey cornered
And the seductive subjugation
Was well underway
Dripping with enthusiastic charm
Just like the last time
Because it worked so well then, too
Nothing changes if nothing changes