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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
May 17, 2005
Blackbird by =venturus
Simplistic language and complex meanings, familiar patterns and odd subversions, old images with new twists: =venturus fills his poetry with all of these. Blackbird is well worth a look.
Simplistic language and complex meanings, familiar patterns and odd subversions, old images with new twists: =venturus fills his poetry with all of these. Blackbird is well worth a look.
Featured by ndifference
Suggested by demonlight
Literature Text
I've told you I'm staying in tonight,
you, as usual, haven't listened.
Negligent out of pain, perhaps –
a thorn lifted off some nightmare
flower. You ask me to remove it,
have tried a shower. I'm thinking
if the water can't free it, how will I?
Besides, I've seen a bird, which,
as it starts to trill, suggests were I
such a thing, I'd rather be dumb.
Still, my not singing like a bird,
does it mean you can't call me one?
Again, you're not listening. And
it's flown off now into that gloom
where everything feels heavier,
but I don't suppose is. It presses
like the sloping walls of a Gallic
town, spied from an odd angle.
you, as usual, haven't listened.
Negligent out of pain, perhaps –
a thorn lifted off some nightmare
flower. You ask me to remove it,
have tried a shower. I'm thinking
if the water can't free it, how will I?
Besides, I've seen a bird, which,
as it starts to trill, suggests were I
such a thing, I'd rather be dumb.
Still, my not singing like a bird,
does it mean you can't call me one?
Again, you're not listening. And
it's flown off now into that gloom
where everything feels heavier,
but I don't suppose is. It presses
like the sloping walls of a Gallic
town, spied from an odd angle.
Literature
umbrellas
I.
A boy putters in the hotel
corridor, leashed
by a single thread of duty--
it is wound
twice around the doorknob,
pulls taut at his wrist.
Recede through the keyhole,
and his keepers are weary,
sprawled like dead
leaves on bedspreads,
and fading
into sleep.
II.
A small girl wails, maybe three,
her teethy pitch escalating
by years.
In the rented night,
her last cry strangles,
undone by hands
on wrists.
III.
A forty-foot red curtain separates us
from the amphibious stage.
At the cirque du soleil
(i squint to see the sun),
clowns chase leaks
with patchy umbrellas.
This is a present, a moment
like a birthday. But
Literature
Selectivity
Why a word? This is no particular thing.
It can't be defined in an objective way.
The unstated dangles by half-open mouths,
a yawn like a cat stretching blithely at noon
as silence leans back on an unbalanced stool --
let it fall. The moment suggests it should be so.
If I see that your eyes project pictures behind
the irises, protean circles and spires
of curious leadings in lines of blank swaths
of colour, then I should say nothing.
But I
now find my lips quaver with verbiage amiss
and I fail to a sentence, or rather, this kiss.
Literature
Your Poem
On the twentieth day of July 69,
For the first time in history,
The moon landed on a man.
The first time such move had been attempted by a celestial body,
A great feat of precision,
Didn't crush the man at all.
You see, we see things from our eyes,
And everyone knows our eyes see upside down.
Or is that the right way up?
I could tell you about walking through deserts,
The beauty of running water, of rain,
You'd be thinking of TV shows.
When was the last time you were challenged,
Walked away from a conversation stunned.
Who are you listening to, me or yourself?
If beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
Is meaning in the eye of t
Suggested Collections
edited. the original version was published in Aesthetica.
© 2005 - 2024 venturus
Comments81
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Have I told you before I think this is quite Leonard Cohen-esque? But that's a compliment anyway.