{"id":856,"date":"2013-10-14T17:36:20","date_gmt":"2013-10-14T17:36:20","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.turtlepointpress.com\/traveltainted\/?p=856"},"modified":"2015-03-15T13:02:11","modified_gmt":"2015-03-15T17:02:11","slug":"poems","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.turtlepointpress.com\/traveltainted\/poems\/","title":{"rendered":"New Poems"},"content":{"rendered":"<div class=\"poetry\">\n<p><b>Easy Chair<\/b><\/p>\n<p>Brushing up against a body of water,<br \/>Her hand moves gently through the cool.<\/p>\n<p>Though we stayed awhile,<br \/>We couldn&#8217;t keep each other dry<br \/>Following a silk road to a minute of joy.<\/p>\n<p>In increments we arrived<br \/>At phase two of the covenant.<br \/>Elliptical machines, frank hopes<\/p>\n<p>And the gradual rust of apartheid.<br \/>Languid, it\u2019s a done deal.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><b>The Soft Touch of a Controlled Mass<\/b><\/p>\n<p>Her lips ostracize.<br \/>To her credit, I myself am<br \/>The quality of roses in bulk\u2014<br \/>Manipulated by a hand-held device<br \/>Notched at the nexus of clutch<br \/>And gear.<\/p>\n<p>Though never lacking in appeal,<br \/>The shuttle bus brings fewer<br \/>Devotees from base camp as the days go by.<\/p>\n<p>The collected pilgrims huddled slightly.<br \/>Around them cotton clouds became<br \/>And became.<\/p>\n<p>Nobody chose to retire there,<br \/>Which is why smoke from the plateau<br \/>Never meets the sky\u2014is nobody&#8217;s son.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><b>Death of a Quiet Place<\/b><\/p>\n<p>The suburban north, clutching exhaustion,<br \/>Dies in silence.<\/p>\n<p>Whereas together we met on the hillside once.<br \/>A helicopter, then another helicopter.<\/p>\n<p>Spineless in the streets, the stars are like<br \/>Every avatar we ever barbecued. Indelible<br \/>Streaks of charcoal and resin.<\/p>\n<p>Shock is a lifeline to a message<br \/>We&#8217;ve been trying to read.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><b>Sky-Lighting the Steel Industry<\/b><\/p>\n<p>It looked to us<br \/>An ambition to be garrisoned. Moses<br \/>Unspined, points to our glistening inroad.<\/p>\n<p>Our stems required time to rise, joining pleated<br \/>Lemons of life&#8217;s pit.<\/p>\n<p>Worry, forked evenly, reminds Bristol in the dark<br \/>Virginia gratitude.<\/p>\n<p>A mattering ordinance called for agents<br \/>Never to enforce. Rosy lots of mineolas trimmed in unison.<\/p>\n<p>Shimmering, lost in our newly-wedded toxicology,\u00a0<br \/>We are starry ranges on the brim,\u00a0<br \/>Delphinus braced in the expectation of agony. . .<\/p>\n<p>But our man on the inside, roused by chorales<br \/>Ejected from the depths of a mineshaft,\u00a0<br \/>Skips theology altogether.<\/p>\n<p>He, our forthright paginated invention,\u00a0<br \/>Suits up against a backdrop\u00a0<br \/>Of candy canes and narcissism.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSoon the moon will rise. If that interests<br \/>You, do so.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Desecrated, our integers live on, held in pairs of<br \/>Hands cupped against their will.<\/p>\n<p>Soon the moon will rise again, if that interests you.<br \/>But for fratricide, the implastic art, you needn&#8217;t recommend us.\u00a0<\/p>\n<p>Heavily, she galloped past me where I lay\u00a0<br \/>And I counted the grains of a stone.<\/p>\n<p>A tree hovers, disguised in facts<br \/>Designed to rock with ease.<\/p>\n<p>On the well of sod, the vines are<br \/>Being pulled down<br \/>And cogitated: antecedents on the bluff.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><b>GW<\/b><\/p>\n<p>An unspecified \u201cthe orpheum\u201d froze<br \/>on a<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 30px;\">leaf&#8217;s descent, whirling like a<br \/>Japanese paper flower which<br \/>ne&#8217;er a rogue, disparaging instant\u00a0<br \/>knew in the order of its neat folds.<\/p>\n<p>The quickening attitude, a miscellaneous lark\u00a0<br \/>on a<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 30px;\">branch. Lines on a great<br \/>sphere yield to matrimonies<br \/>drawn to the extant voice of<br \/>a hibakusha.<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 30px;\">\u00a0<\/p>\n<p><b>Unauthorized Vehicles Will Be Towed at Owner&#8217;s Expense<\/b><\/p>\n<p>I<\/p>\n<p>The wayward stare across a distance marked by a star.<br \/>The border\u2019s a language jacked on a southerly wind,\u00a0<br \/>A platform of sterile compartments.<br \/>Long shadows remain, objects of the harbor, moored to the rise.<br \/>\u00a0<br \/>In time, the tide will drive us back, splintered beams carried<br \/>Down the leverage pile, but for now we collate folio&#8217;s of borrowed time.<br \/>Part trick, the morning adhered to the domesticating verve of the manufacture,<br \/>In the desperate heart of which organic fixtures hang beside.<br \/>A Sybil&#8217;s song shall provoke a fragrance that completes the species,\u00a0<br \/>A welcome erasure of our manipulative bank book stare.<\/p>\n<p>Through the shared space I sat discouraged,\u00a0<br \/>Stealing glimpses of a child to be, a reoccurrence\u00a0<br \/>Of elliptical kindness sutured to the bottom of a municipal reservoir.<br \/>Fruits gutted to reveal the pasty light within,\u00a0<br \/>Rhymes wrapped around her ceramic<br \/>Cob begin to spar\u2014the pollenating thorax begins to warm.<\/p>\n<p>Unformed tasks called back to them,\u00a0<br \/>A steady shade under the massive elm.<br \/>We would staff the houses of the young with the rags of worship.<br \/>Then, brushed with juvenilia, tugboats in kettles of steam tend the rows.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>II<\/p>\n<p>Suspicion is a place of renewed ruin.<br \/>Stick a catheter in it.<br \/>Circus tents of blue and gold,<br \/>Some iron-clad world made coldly flesh.<\/p>\n<p>If the past will collapse under the population\u2019s weight,\u00a0<br \/>Do new chairlifts mean that we are the next?<br \/>From open windows came the drone of mowing.<br \/>Softly, physical love burns a magenta hole in the sky&#8217;s coat pocket.<br \/>Regions used to give themselves a people for the natives to become.<br \/>We warm the tanks of methyl bromide and the sun is whom.<\/p>\n<p>Most deployments are dialed up and shortly forgotten\u2014we\u00a0<br \/>Collapse into time&#8217;s elapse. This wisdom is now called television,<br \/>And stands for love, a lucent blue is waiting out there,<br \/>Visible from all streets after dark. And this alone became the new<br \/>Normalcy, discharged to grow the mountains green yet taken in<br \/>By the past, a layered composition scattered across our geological earth.\u00a0<\/p>\n<p>Then a zero comes back, accompanied by irrational numbers.<br \/>Life on a drop, cured with a salty lisp.<br \/>Hickory nuts fall from the eaves, the children<br \/>Guard themselves with a clinical stare.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>III<\/p>\n<p>The astronomer\u2019s daughter pours her latest challenge into a<br \/>Ring of dixie cups, a careful flip guards the day&#8217;s events.<br \/>A closed door behind a saturnine moon,\u00a0<br \/>Nobody drinks, though all are pleased.<\/p>\n<p>Attendant to the honeysuckle, he hovers above,<br \/>Pursues a purple said to arouse. But groom&#8217;s an angry brass,\u00a0<br \/>Pivoting to throw his game of catch and release.<br \/>In time, they sell us preoccupation and horny walks waist-deep<br \/>In the games of a cold planet. Time creeps along in a feathered headdress.\u00a0<br \/>Whispers of a digital sunrise; we, finally, a blemish that stripes the bloodline.<\/p>\n<p>The glasswork in your hands, a tropical fish,<br \/>Smoking, turns. Hips point the way to the redemption center,\u00a0<br \/>Sewing machines in a line without direction.<br \/>The local industry is sailboats and penny candy, but everyone reads the internet.<br \/>They divine a Doric ancestry steeped in material examples:<br \/>More to do with luck and wherever luck is sold.<\/p>\n<p>Corporeal hieroglyphs notwithstanding, the woven-tied sects,\u00a0<br \/>Nick-named \u201cyellowjackets\u201d, puff on trade secrets.<br \/>Have we no choice but to move along, look upon goldfinches, and cook a batch?<br \/>\u201cNobody teaches you how to hibernate, rules are rules.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><b>Enough Green Soul<\/b><\/p>\n<p>The avarice\u00a0<br \/>That confronts\u00a0<br \/>What in us aspires<br \/>To be kept tidy\u2014ants<br \/>And pin grass each undulating<br \/>Down to the corpuscle.<br \/>A hardened pound of<br \/>\u201cForget about this\u201d<br \/>Choked with figures<br \/>Dislocates itself from a grid.<\/p>\n<p>Now cornflowers<br \/>Fill the depression as fast<br \/>As it expands.<\/p>\n<p>Even so, we imagine fans blowing air<br \/>Across the beginning.\u00a0<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><b>The New Embrace<\/b><\/p>\n<p>Perhaps her lament is jovial<br \/>When spun around to face her.<\/p>\n<p>Perhaps Ellen is a beautiful thought,<br \/>Like a mild, rose-scented mutiny<br \/>Wafted under the mass.<\/p>\n<p>They are different now,<br \/>Different from how they once were.<br \/>Body language is\u00a0<br \/>The cleavage that sequestered them,<br \/>Differently localized, decorated from afar,\u00a0<br \/>Not as it once was.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><b>Nineteen Ninety-Seven<\/b><\/p>\n<p>We used theologies<br \/>Of forgetting death.<br \/>But, as whistle sounds,<\/p>\n<p>The unsteady eyes<br \/>Of lady luck began<br \/>To draw the harm:<\/p>\n<p>She met me at the steeple&#8217;s base<br \/>And I braced for the supernova<br \/>And she smiled and reclined.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Brushing up against a body of water,<br \/>\nHer hand moves gently through the cool.<\/p>\n<p>Though we stayed awhile,<br \/>\nWe couldn&#8217;t keep each other dry &#8230;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":933,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[83],"tags":[67],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v21.1 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/wordpress\/plugins\/seo\/ -->\n<title>Traveltainted | New Poems - Turtle Point Press Magazine \/ TPPM<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.turtlepointpress.com\/traveltainted\/poems\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Traveltainted | New Poems - Turtle Point Press Magazine \/ TPPM\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Brushing up against a body of water, Her hand moves gently through the cool.  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