Society creates the stories it tells itself: factual, specious, apocryphal, dishonest; by any rendition, that according to Wallace Stevens, will still be a fiction. Myth wears the clothes of its culture, will always be a social fact, and those who would eschew these basic facets of humanity, will prove to be the poorer. There are […] Continue reading
One day, mid-day, maybe noon, not before, there came a loud crashing and thrashing at door. I was resting from reading an old poem of Poe’s, and I’d just laid back when I started to doze. The noise now awoke me, and my senses still slow, a flutter then flapping, would stop and then go. […] Continue reading
~ Sometimes I go out, my fly, wide open; most times, I won’t catch it, at all! ~ perhaps, it’s a stretch of old imagination, or hoping, it’s a Freudian Slip – not Fall. ~ But aging is different, by old and tired bodies; raging Young archetypes spring forth and then fall. ~ And a […] Continue reading
…. Once, we were soldiers, Boys of eighteen; Intrepid and stupid, One just sixteen. Some were rock stolid, Caught-up in fraught; In rightness of action, Righteous, we thought. We were the children Of the Great War Our fathers had fought in, So there’d be no more. Dearer to children, O Lord! Give us pause – […] Continue reading
Oh, come now, Virginia, why look so dark? Why not just smile, and be out? The day’s not so long and soon we’ll be gone, in short time, Virginia, no doubt. So what’s that you say? For me, a short stay? For you, it’s been a long while? Well, that may be true, but what […] Continue reading
Twenty-Four people . . . two rooms apart; Jury Selection, a Criminal Court. Each one, a stranger, another won’t know . . . but after some hours, affinities show. Everyone hungry by mid-afternoon . . . Sitting . . . Just sitting, Inside a locked room. “You look familiar . . . “Have we met […] Continue reading
Each time the mirror mirrors his face, the old man inquires his ominous fate – How has this come, from young to undone? How have I come to this time in space? Time has just taken my life away in drips and drab trickles and plopped down in place This Face! This Face! The face […] Continue reading
How! Thou art strange! One day, sound fabric; Another day, change. Some say by havoc Brought out in fringe – O Tempora! O Mores! Thou art, impinged! What would thee, common, Follow, instead? The dictates of Mammon? Whose body, thy bread? What now dost thou wear? What skin to be current? Again! Thou has changed […] Continue reading
once in all time of time immemorial back to the day where day immaterial beyond all of history before there was story even before ever was something first out of nothing came number four four was the number no whys for why four but first just this word and the number of four four was […] Continue reading
~ There’s just so much non-sense a soul can endure, From trivial minded, decided, obdure. I met one, one time, demeaning for sure, The current machine as debase and impure. Oh sure, they still do it, again and again; Forever and ever, and on to no end. Things just get bad for whoever is in. […] Continue reading
~ Who am I? What is my Purpose? What is the Meaning of Life? How should I know my Role in the Cosmos? Why do I have to die? What is this Love, and Sorrow and Laughter? What is this Yearning to Try? And why does it Turn, all that we Learn, Back, into Dust […] Continue reading
~ By its shapes, how it smells, and by looking to tell all the whats, wheres and whens to the senses, a poet survives by bringing alive all those thats, theres and thens to the pensées. And all, by deceit! Word-verbiage feat! Ah well. What the hell. What’s the metaphor for, but conceit. And you […] Continue reading
~ I am so happy, safe and content; a self-made man, I am provident. Long on my laurels, I’m short in the gains; where fate shares the fortune, I’ll take all the blame. Though now I am here, I’ve been somewhere else; on every occasion, I’m not the same self. A self-made man, but I […] Continue reading
~ William H. Bonney had nowhere to go, But history, written in pages. So, memory serves the moment to show What’s hot at the moment, some moments ago. But nobody knows who must be chosen, When someone must stay in history, frozen. Strange be the phases of changes by stages, Where memory stays and no […] Continue reading
~ Does your Mother know which things, that you were into? How could she know, when you’d up and grow? What names would your friends eventually call you? The red hair you had? That comes from your Mother; The seeds to be bad, from your Father. You did your three years, and then you got […] Continue reading
Tink's ChapBlog ~ Tales of the Tribe. Mythopoeic Verse 
You must be logged in to post a comment.