Sunday, 18 May 2014

The Haste of Yellow














Summer took the first bite.
I recline, a bruised mushroom
Peeling shamelessly in this musty kiln 
Of faceless wasps. I threaten to explode.
To inflate to the size of a Roman God, all red-eyed
With the sale of Pompeii; but the bite was non-committal,
So I retreat. 

Again.

Only half-awake 
As It bloats recklessly along the suburban midriff, 
Arms clouding a malarial sun that buzzes with the epileptic frenzy
Of a light-drunk cicada. 

It’s always been like this, 
Us sitting eye to eye, 
As ugly as the other and skinless in a souring garden
Where the day is a butterfly-eater
And August is a hallucinogenic rash
That paws at the inchoate peace we've built
On dust caught out by prying sun-threads. 

We have a difference of opinion you see;
I wear my religion like a hand-plucked sheepskin, 
While it prefers to keep its in a loose jar that tolls
On the hour. We’ve come to an agreement of sorts... now.
But I dare not sleep, for once a year Winter feeds 
Its securities into the mouth of this obese child of heat
And it once again dips its toes into the unchartered waters of 
Our contested sovereignty. 

One simply cannot underestimate the haste of Yellow.
See how it stalks the scrawny tide-turners as they drag
Their little pieces of sea across the land. 
See how it disorientates the lowly fireflies as they impersonate stars 
Around old whisky bottles. And see how it scratches
At my nuclear skyline of half-eaten curtains 
And vacant window-lickers. 

This will not do, this flailing treaty of disarmament.

I will raise an army - exonerate the dissidents, and mobilise 
The curious little bone colonies that live like overfed lichen,
Gnawing on the shallow warmth of 
A noxious rockery. Have you heard them? 
That despondent rustle of 
rock         upon         rock 
In earthy mimicry. They know too well the 
Realities of a world where you learn to cry
Before you talk.

Then we will rally, 
A chain-smoking march of the Empties, 
Arm in arm and sewn together as we scale the shoulder-blades
Of a foreign mountain and take Summer while it sleeps. 

And then I will turn on them
Where all can see
And gobble them up 
one 
by 
one.

For this is a one thing.
We are a one thing. It is I, and I alone 
Who will raise this kingdom of white noise
And compulsory sedation. Who will reinstate a monopoly of grey
And paint a night that cloys like toffee.
For grey sets the scene for a most panoptic introspection, 
And I’m afraid our displacement is far more guaranteed than I’d hoped.

39 comments:

  1. Good grief... This is like a voice from the grave! Just had to say that to still my beating heart.. Now going back to read.
    ;-)

    ReplyDelete
  2. Confession: I read this with such a large smile on my face - the dystopian landscape notwithstanding - because I feel a not altogether humble sense of vindication. I know you have places to go and people to meet, but whatever else you are, you're a writer.

    Short of quoting everything I love about this poem back to you, I will say that it resonates on so many levels of understanding, from the visual impact of your images, like those scrawny tide-turners dragging little pieces of sea across the land and the nuances of half-forgotten summers that were too hot for reason. Yet there is a whole other exploration of psychological associations, which will make this piece relevant to every reader in a slightly different way.

    In all, I am never so satisfied as when I have had the opportunity to read your brand of abstract poetry.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Rich and dense writing here. A pleasure to read this morning.

    ReplyDelete
  4. This is a stellar write OT ~ I am taking my time to savor each and every line ~ Good to see you again ~

    ReplyDelete
  5. I'm exhausted...and none the wiser :-)
    maybe that was the purpose all along.

    ReplyDelete
  6. OMG!!! i thought i didn't see well when i got the message of your new post!

    you write no less wonderful, but much too well to wait for a year and a half until the next text!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. haha thank you Lily. Unfortunately I'm unable to string a sentence together for most of the year...

      Delete
  7. its raining fire here in our part of the world

    ReplyDelete
  8. a chain smoking march of the empties...the kingdom of white noise and grey....you pain reality as it is...not in the wash it is painted...i think our displacement is rather assured....

    welcome back. smiles.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. already been here...but thought i would say hi...
      happy openlinknight...
      hope all is well with you

      Delete
  9. A gritty urban reality that would make one happy to live at the bottom of an ocean in a submarine:)I live near an extinct volcano which is the next best thing.

    ReplyDelete
  10. This is a remarkable piece of writing, full of spectacular imagery and ideation. Wow. I could quote the entire thing back with favourite images but will just say: you did a fantastic job with this one. When you write a poem, you blow the roof off!!!!!!

    ReplyDelete
  11. so why not let yellow have its way...? smiles... tight images... surprising images ... in the end she will make it in you know... welcome back

    ReplyDelete
  12. What a splendid set of images.. I see gardens filled with wasps, I see silence like nettle rash. Extremely vivid read...

    ReplyDelete
  13. The juxtaposition of the opener and the end is very good. They relate but are almost separate.

    ReplyDelete
  14. This is so rich in language and vivid in imagery. I love the image you chose to go with it. Thank you for your nice analysis of my poem :)

    ReplyDelete
  15. I am so glad to see a new piece over here. I do miss your distinct voice and ability to craft the many layers of meaning into a stunning tapestry which none can repeat. This is stunning and I look forward to re-reading it many times over, enjoying the sprigs of inspiration it brings.

    ReplyDelete
  16. i love the vivid, intense images...thanks for posting..

    ReplyDelete
  17. glad to make your acquaintance, OT. and *this* is a great start to a pen:

    Summer took the first bite.

    Looking forward to reading the back catalog; I see from Kerry's comment (and she is one of my favorite persons) and the dates that it's been a bit of time.

    cheers - M ~

    ReplyDelete
  18. This is . . . . ummm . . . . humbling! I rarely have to look up that many definitions. Still a little unsure about the content but the tone and rhythm are mesmerizing.
    I'm printing this out so I can read it a few more times. . . .

    ReplyDelete
  19. whoosh! that is all. oh and also, great GREAT to see you, read you.

    ReplyDelete
  20. The haste of the yellow can never be underestimated. It flows beyond the limit, enveloping all that is there to be and to tame it is improbable but it becomes concrete that you can overcome all and manipulate your environment into becoming one where you find that space for introspection. Extremely vivid with startling array of images and the cadence of your verse is like the marching of the comrades of war.
    Powerful, unsettling but believable, thought-provoking and exemplary work.
    -HA

    ReplyDelete
  21. This chugs along on the rails of a vibe -- a yellow one, color of the summer sun's bleary cast as things sicken and bloat past their prime. I wasn't always able to ferret out the sense of where things were going but the ride itself was a hoot. The landscape for me was equal parts Dada and "Howl" though it could have been Passaic or any dreadful suburb with too few trees to shade the sun. A sun ghetto, a summer in hell. Alchemical yellow hastens the work toward putrefaction, a necessary evil in the work of bringing forth something whole. Look forward to seeing where this goes. - Brendan

    ReplyDelete
  22. Yellow doesn't get much respect, does it? I mean, ask people their favorite color and you'll get pink or blue or green, but not as often yellow, and yet it's the color of the sun, for god's sake. The sun, that'll kill you with an overdose of life, if you let it. I read this as if coming from a source drunk on language and so, Cheers!

    ReplyDelete
  23. Such a powerful surrealistic poem.

    You're writing definitely reminds me of "Federico Garcia Lorca".
    A style of wonders and visuals for humankind to indulge and feel inspired for something new and beautiful. You sir - have captured my attention and everyone else in the blog-world. Greatly written my friend. :)

    P.S I'd very much like to thank you for stopping by my blog and giving it a chance. Your comments brought a big smile to my face. :) You are always welcoming to stop by my page anytime. Stay tune for my next madness of poetic words that will blow and twist the mind into a deep subconscious. :)

    ReplyDelete
  24. I read it out loud to myself, alone in my bedroom and it resonated with me, this poem is powerful. Though I'd have to go and look up some words in a dictionary (English is not my first language), even these words are inspiring.

    Lines that touch me include:

    It’s always been like this,
    Us sitting eye to eye,
    As ugly as the other and skinless in a souring garden

    ***

    Realities of a world where you learn to cry
    Before you talk.

    ***

    Then we will rally,
    A chain-smoking march of the Empties,
    Arm in arm and sewn together as we scale the shoulder-blades
    Of a foreign mountain and take Summer while it sleeps.


    Oh my, this is beatiful. <3

    I'm really thankful for your visit and adorable comment back on my Exercise on existing. I'm humbled. Thank you muchly OT.

    Answering your question, it's not exactly a new blog, I mean, it's been there for a few months, I wrote Poesia Torta for 4 years and then I closed it down and I'm only on the Exercise now.

    Kiss.

    ReplyDelete
  25. Oh. My. Goodness. I cannot believe what I have just read. My eyes are still sticking to the words. I had to peel them off your words to come and comment here!!! From bruised mushrooms to the imagery of August to the idea of window lickers and bone colonies... I got the sense of a whole other dimension in your words, a sense of a post-apocalyptic multiverse almost beyond death and dying and purgatory. I am blown away into absolute fandom.

    ReplyDelete
  26. i like the rich nature of your words imaging layers and layers of meaning flowing into new meaning as such...
    And you take words to task..and do not avoid ones..for simple clarity...

    i'd rather have the deep myself..like this..instead of shallow...:)

    ReplyDelete
  27. there's so much i love about this poem...perhaps what stands out for me the most, my favorite, would be the 'kingdom of white noise.'

    great writing!

    stacy lynn mar
    http://warningthestars.blogspot.com/

    ReplyDelete
  28. Oh my goodness OT--I hardly know what to say to add to the praise already said by others. It has been far too long since I have read a piece of your work--you take us on a journey here--and though I hate quoting lines---and there are so many superb ones here--the hate of yellow quite takes my breath away

    ReplyDelete
  29. Wow. This is so dark, so many-layered and the final line seals it perfectly. Your imaginings are quite stunning.

    ReplyDelete
  30. Wow. This is so dark, so many-layered and the final line seals it perfectly. Your imaginings are quite stunning.

    ReplyDelete
  31. This was quite the poem with many deep layers. I had to read it a couple of times to really digest the words. Remarkable really..

    ReplyDelete
  32. Ambitious writing which I found to be a stimulating read . My favourite part was:

    "It’s always been like this,
    Us sitting eye to eye,
    As ugly as the other and skinless in a souring garden
    Where the day is a butterfly-eater
    And August is a hallucinogenic rash" That seemed to me to deliver real impact... With Best Wishes Scott www.scotthastie.com

    ReplyDelete
  33. Hey

    I get the same rare buzz from reading you as I do from writing my own
    and this is a treat and a lazy way of buzzing!

    'One simply cannot underestimate the haste of Yellow.'

    Is just one line enough for me to lazily get that zip tingle.

    Reading your work isn't a passive activity
    and the boredom of conveyance isn't an issue
    as I scan with my nervous system

    DIRECT!

    best

    ReplyDelete
  34. Yikes--a rather scary poem--the haste of yellow is a great title--one thinks of cowardice among other things-- your close describes a kingdom all to close to home. k.

    ReplyDelete
  35. I burst out laughing when I read that first stanza! Who hasn't been there and felt like that but the doubter in us all keeps the fists flat in our laps once again.

    And as always your introduction hooks like no other.

    "SUMMER TOOK THE FIRST BITE"

    Deceptively simple, like a tiny hand but it packs a mean punch that knocks you off your feet. And it was simple phrases and perfectly place thoughts that caught me throughout the poem.

    "It’s always been like this, 
    Us sitting eye to eye, 
    As ugly as the other and skinless in a souring garden"

    Simple wording but the statement is eye-opening and reasonable to the point where its simplicity and sensibility leaves the heart that ate the registered thought in awe. But it is a shame that most won't read this with searching eyes and hearts and scoop up little gems that are more valuable than a "nice reading." Ah well...

    It is truly amazing how time can change a great deal of things, including our creative writings. I read the previous poem before reading this one and my how things have changed. There seems to be more anger and hostility; more exasperation and restlessness. There is no more "OT the Observer", there is "OT the Experiencer"..."OT the Challenger" and it is scribbled in hard, defiant and POWERFUL letters. But I don't think that is without explanation. EVERY MAN has his reasons.

    Perhaps there is impetuous haste with the yellow. Perhaps the warmth that it sought to impose is immense heat that scorches everything it touches. And perhaps that "scorch" is coercion and enforcement. But if the grey attacks by that same strategy, what makes it superior?

    Perhaps it is not the color or the season that happens to be the problem but the failed acknowledgement of the important role and proper role that they all play. What good is the heat of the sun without wind and shade and rain? What good is fall if winter and spring are not there to rejuvenate?

    Sorry, my brain does this thing where it thinks and reasons out loud, even when it shouldn't be.

    There is a quote that speaks profoundly to me, which states:

    WISDOM IS THE PROGRESSIVE UNDERSTANDING OF ONE'S OWN IGNORANCE

    And as I sit back acknowledging my own worthless 30 years of knowledge and just how insignificant it is comparatively - and how my thoughts and perspectives are reshaped with every turn of the earth and every spin of the galaxy - I also watch with astonishment as every man with an answer to the next man's problem fails to acknowledge that he isn't quite sure how secure his next step will be. Man is funny that way.

    But to describe this "superior thought" this "reasoning", not as the sun or something celestial, but as the simple color yellow or the flashing season of summer tells me that slight wording holds something of significance there as well. And yet you hold your line of reasoning as a monochromatic grey. No elevation or degradation. Just every man concerned with and making decisions for himself and himself only. And then I think...

    Aaagghhhh!... Either my thoughts are entirely too deep or this poem is...lol! I'm going to stop and go on to the next poem before my rambling gets out of hand. Geez!

    If you demean this hard-hitting, image warping paradigm of a poem and fail to treat it with the respect and honor it deserves I will punch you in the face! You know I'm violent.

    And if another person uses the word juxtaposition in their comment I will kill myself!


    ReplyDelete