Something Dreamy, Something Gross

Some of you may have noticed that I am not the witty quirky type of writer who usually writes blogs, although I claim to have been that type of writer in the past. Bear with me; I have yet to hit my stride. But before that happens I will apologize for wasting all you people's time. (In any case, I think that NO ONE reads my blog anyway. Who reads blogs anymore these days?)

Okay, a poem or two or three. I'll start with something mild, then move to the relatively tough stuff.


Clouds Of The Moon
--------------------

Jagged are the clouds of the moon. Oh, I
Look onto their ghostly curvature, look onto this
Humid thought once destitute. And I enclose inside
The glass this crescent, enclose these wisps of
Silhouetted breath. And I stare into that glow
Unseen as the daylight, stare upon the delicate
And topaz inexistence in which I am secluded. Oh,
There above us is that lingering eclipse, is such
An eye watching our human obscenities, is that
Tapered sky both blasphemous and yet strange. For
Jagged are the clouds of the moon. Yes, they have
Become earthen, have become dim in this ascension,
Have become equal to the void beheld, equal to
Those denouncements of just what cannot surely be.


The above poem is one of a few astronomy-related poems I have written. Stay tuned for more later, perhaps.

And now for something completely different...
Here is a poem inspired by a dead animal I saw on my walk. Actually...I think what I saw was just an animal part, not the entire dead animal, as I recall.


The Slaughter
--------------

Once, I was but equal to my own self, as I stared
Upon my shimmering life. And then, then I heard
The shouts of whispered evil. Then the monster came
And surprised my shy imagination. Then that beast
Grasped me, tearing into my tender thoughts with
Its horrid claws. And I never before had known
That I could ever understand such intensity,
Such misery, such anger.

Oh, then, as if infinity was simply zeroness, these
Fists and talons pulled at my flesh and its extremities.
And, thus, I grew sick as this devil tugged
And then -- exerting a force far beyond any I
Could have resolved -- it, despite the screams,
Shredded my being, rupturing my soul.

Then, thus, therefore, our viciousness wounded me,
Dissecting my body into an inexact and bloody existence.
Then I became that mangled conflagration, as I
Gazed onto my innards strewn and ghastly.
And then I became rancid. But surely, certainly
My naive dreams dispelled themselves until
Death resorted again to its haphazard euthanasia; for
Now I am shapeless, I am putrid and delicate
In my abbreviation, am delicate in my transmutation into
Yet the miniscule fodder for such carnivores each
Ironically beautiful, strange, and timid,
Each grotesquely asinine.


This next poem goes well after the previous poem.


This Carcass
---------------

Dead. It rested horizontally upon our meaninglessness.
Its mouth gasped, but then so did its skull.
Its flight was mortal; its ascension had been
Darkened by that sad truncation of purpose, of
Purity currently vain. It withered as the flower,
Its shell equaling just a skeleton; its guts
Had become rotten and unidentifiable. And this carcass
Has stained such beauty, has remade each atom
Of concavity into that wind inside where it once
Flew. But now the silt overcomes it. Now
That flower is without shape, is without
Perfume. Now it is the amnesia of a forgotten life,
Of a simple noun seemingly haphazard,
Certainly dissonant and callously vague.


Well, aren't you glad I didn't post a picture related to the last two poems?!

Thanks,
Leroy Quet