The Hawk Above me Soars

Pain universal
I mourned you Carmella
I mourned a year
and a day

You sailed through
on a whisper--
You returned
a Hawk fisher
oft' a'flight
a wind storm fissure.

Forgive the living kind
I see your frights are over
And my grief is crazy.

Not a day more spake
not another sob I break
no more tears, no more tears
tracing my eyes...

Good bye Mom
You soar God's thermals
fly free to Dad
above trees
Love cannot wait but eternal.



Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell 2006

Folk Song

Tall unbending
Leaves un-lending
to the call of the wind ...

Nature 'round us
still astounds us ...
Beauty found within.

And, in the shade
A figure laid
Cool and so calm ...

Look at our world.

Let it be
For I have seen
With Truth,
What it is
To find beauty.


[Author Unknown, Folksong from the 1970's]

Rise Here; Lower There

We know when we must write;
When we do write more often
our thoughts gather faster
we become practiced writers.

Tendencies of our poet
of our artist, of our painter --
our own agent --
Who could conglomerate?

Free to explore, scavenge,
race, multiply, score,
etch, cantor, euphor'--
So that want of our kin ...
... is no more.


Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Ho Hum

Marriage of convenience,
lifestyle; my manifest --
chosen availability
rather than question

Hit home; Comfort zone
I rarely leave it to anyone
acceptance dictates
economy of means
with similar results always
unrequited main stream.


Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Shop till You Drop

Repeated entry in a space
create required excitement
for certain peak performers

Make many stops
for persons are continually
advancing through many portals

Oriented to drive the sexes
who are tough to secure ...
low ratio aisle to shelves
perfecting human elicitation

Coy accidents in new environments
for manipulation, exacerbates
shoppers' time references;

Thus,
could be infinite
the time spent
to shop till you drop.





Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

A Song Act

Impulse to see
Zero where we
impulsed to hike
some scuba gear
and ski boat alike
as the upside
of irrational fears

Dive! Dive, ye men!
Don't you have a yen?
Dive! Dive again...
Give it all you can!

Trillion is spent
to make contact
and prove that we
as a people
are totally
unprepared to act
So burly ones:

Dive! Dive, ye men!
Don't you have a yen?
Dive! Dive again...
Give it all you can!

Contact is our faith;
a self-reinforced
Illusion-ary tact
otherwise journey
that never took place,
we are all alone
as a proto race.

Dive! Dive, ye men!
Don't you have a yen?
Dive! Dive again...
Give it all you can!

First contact might prove
we are not ultra-individualists
some might need sent
corrective surgery
betraying a vindictive
with temperaments surly.
C'mon altogether now, yowl:

Dive! Dive, ye men!
Make new friends...
Dive! Dive again...
maybe to ascend!

Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Humility

What badge
do I wear
for you to spare
my life?

What element
do I use
to make sacrifice?

What do I pierce
to break through,
Savior, to You?

Why do I still dispute
the greatest is the servant?
Explains who dominates?

Leading is stewarding;
before GOD ...



Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Eternal Materials of Construction

Sand castles...
above sand animals,
before high tide,
no respirators, nor,
foundation sound enough
to lay our life's' on

look for Jesus mud ...
maybe day will bring
it to light,

belief is reality ...
serious builds of bodies
need only apply, within ...

Hearing words...
to put them in actions,
build on rocks.

Rising water will not
destroy, nor move,
your dwellings.




Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

2 Minute Dream: Youthfulness

Melchi ...

Melchizedek
was King of Salem

he was Priest
of God Most High

And he might've
straddled the line
concerning the fate
of Poland ...

but he knew what's right;
Melchi was one of two rabbits

Most decorated
in colors of Heaven

Next to a fake name
and fake hare
in fake colors of heaven

And as all waited
by the Gate ...
...
the farmer with a pole
chased the fat fake
rabbit away.


Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Do Tell

Tinker Belle
does not live here now
Her comforts,
here do not dwell.

But if she visits
with her graces
let me know.
Do tell.




Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Are We All on the Same Side

To experience
counter-culture
in an extremely
out-patient
sort of way;

She simply removed
the choke chain
about her neck
and scurried
in a flash to hide from
any continuum of sanity

She said, are we on the same side?
but often left
those she had asked
before they could
answer;

And her trilogy
has no ending for the third book
only liabilities
of quickly written chapters
out of frustration
to put it to an end...

For others to read,
but others do not read
because it runs on,
looking like a
twist of a very old story.



Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Personal Dark Matter

Dark matter, dark consequence,
dark knowledge, dark phases
dark torment, dark energy
dark light, endless correlations
dark prey,

filamentous
without color,
unlit universe,
-- all of relics
of my non-existence

Rudiments, eh --
crude, low, rude, primitive,
this is who I am ...
would you destroy me

I relent,
you relent too?
My quest, self-brought test
discovering
what goes wrong?

Can frozen sleep
be an option?
... help yourself,
leave me alone.

Dark extinction, dark distinction

I am only mirror
with one firm thought
in my head...
In this disconnect
I play mad ...

Am I touching, really, really,
touching dark matter?





Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Studio

When you finally build out your sound studio, do it just like this... four metal posts spring bed, chenille bedspread, wood burning metal pot belly stove, and stovepipe, ... Singer foot pedal sewing machine, wood plank floor, cord rugs, shelf with tins on it.. glass hurricane lamp on a small plank table, a hook to hang your hat and coat, screen door for air but keepin' bugs out ... wood library chair, storm panes on a double slider window ... a mirror with a ghost image in it, a chalice and a beaker for libation... a ceiling covered in tin, and lap and gap wall boards. Okay?



Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

GAZA

A Rock Operaepic ... [using the Yiddish Dictionary Online]
by Pat Darnell

-- Act One -- Scene One
[Jolly Old Hamas Boys singing and lobbing missiles and mortars into Israel during Hanukah from the Gaza Strip]

Lob a missile, no one will notice
Lob another, on Israel's hagode'spice
Hamas says "Aim it at Jew pop'lace
like barrels of fish loafs'es gefilteh ..."

We Hamas bully you at khosedl
and invite you to the prom
Here's another aerial bomb
for your gay dreydl and opshtel

Nothing personal, Ehud Barak,
but your infidel protector ally
is soon run by o'bama Barack
with his house slave slice Hillar'ally...

Hama think you unwieldy
Here eat this knuckle shnitke
Another cease fire missile on you Israeli
Quick... quick, take a picture Al Jazeeree!

[Flashes of blinding bright lights going off all over, with poparattzi figures all around in top hats with cards in them that say PRESS... and CNN, MSNBC, FOX, AJ, G4]
______________________________
-- Scene Two --
[Chris the Swedish Narrator from a country so well known for its military prowess in all the years of world war, Sweden]
Swedish Accented Gay Man's Voice Over Speaking English: "Israel has just lost its right to exist! If you first steal a country, then kill and expel their rightful citizens just to follow them and kill them in their refugee camps outside your stolen country - then - you've passed all humanitarian lines and wherefore lost your own right to even exist. Sorry to say, but Israel must be terminated for the sake of all humans right to international peace."
-- fade off --
[Israeli ground troops take up arms, and sing, and march to a tune of old origins. Helicopters, gunships and tanks are rolling and flying into the night...]
Kibutzim to the left
Kibutzim to the right
this is not a soccer match
its a regular army fight

You sakone lobbed 6000 missiles
in 1000 days -- day and night
you Hamas' flatulence
its December twenty eight
It's time to come to
mamehloosh'n Israel's defense

To Kamran, Maradona, and Xenia
and Taher al-Noono
"I invite you and especially your families
spend some days in the Israel arena
where by a few rockets every day
we are attacked for years, yorn la'nga
you devil lickin' Hamas hyenas

Surely your Fatah's will now rejoice
as we pound your Hamas into matsah toast
while US and Brits sing in one voice
"Your Hamas-run interior ministry
of Gaza Strip, well, they are toyt'z."

Oh yeah... weeoooweeooo
Mousa Abu Morzouz,
deputy leader of Hamas people
What did you tell Al Jazeera?
Something about your lost knipl?

Oh yeah... weeoooweeooo
Kibutzim to the left
Kibutzim to the right
Ehud Barak says tonight,
"Any Hamas target is a target"
"Kick 'em hard in the buttockz..."
"Boot 'em thusly in their tookhes..."
"Sweden boy, know this, you are a putz...."
[End of Scene Two]







Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

New Song by Jack Pribek :: "The King"

the king is
feeling very bad today
the king is
feeling very bad today
he’s indisposed
Got something up his nose
take shelter best
stay out of the way because
the king is
feeling very bad today

The King smells
danger on the vine
The King wants
Everything spit and shine
Lock away pride
Keep it inside
beg mercy on your knees
and pray because
The king is
Feeling very bad today.

by Pribek, [HERE], watch the Video [LINK]

[... plus one unsolicited verse by PD ...]

the King hurts
Down in his blister'ed feet
the King spats
All over the cobbled street
rain pisses down
soaking the town
quit dancing and singing
toll bell is ringing
the King is
feeling very bad today.

VOGON POETRY :: Discourse

[Picture LINK]


Poetry Discussion LINK 

Vogons are described as officiously bureaucratic, a line of work at which they perform so well that the entire galactic bureaucracy is run by them.

On Vogsphere, the Vogons would sit upon very elegant and beautiful gazelle-like creatures, whose backs would snap instantly if the Vogons tried to ride them. The Vogons were perfectly happy with just sitting on them. Another favourite Vogon pastime is to import millions of beautiful jewel-backed scuttling crabs from their native planet, cut down giant trees of breathtaking beauty, and spend a happy drunken night smashing the crabs to bits with iron mallets and cooking the crab meat by burning the trees.

In the movie, the Vogons seem to smash the crabs for no apparent reason besides pure pleasure at killing something.

The Vogons' battle-cry, and counter-argument to dissent, is "resistance is useless!"

Jeltz reading poetry to Arthur Dent and Ford Prefect in the television series, is a construct by Douglas Adams in his Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.
Vogon Poetry is described as "the third worst poetry in the Universe". The main example used in the story is a short piece composed by Jeltz, which roughly emulates nonsense verse in style (example below).

The story relates that listening to it is an experience similar to torture as demonstrated when Arthur Dent and Ford Prefect are forced to listen to the poetry (and say how much they liked it) prior to being thrown out of an airlock.

"Oh freddled gruntbuggly
thy micturations are to me
As plurdled gabbleblotchits on a lurgid bee.
Groop I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes.
And hooptiously drangle me with crinkly bindlewurdles,
Or I will rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon, see if I don't!"

Guide description:"Vogon poetry is the third worst in the Universe. The second worst is that of the Azgoths of Kria. During a recitation by their Poet Master Grunthos the Flatulent, of his poem, Ode to a Small Lump of Green Putty I Found in My Armpit One Midsummer Morning, four of his audience members died of internal hemorrhaging, and the president of the Mid-Galactic Arts Nobbling Council, survived by gnawing one of his own legs off...
The very worst poetry in the universe died along with its creator, Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings[2]of Sussex... in the destruction of the planet Earth."

A second example of Vogon poetry is found in the Hitchhiker's Guide interactive fiction game that was produced by Infocom.

An unused extended version of the poem is also excerpted in Neil Gaiman's book Don't Panic: The Official Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy Companion, in Appendix III.

A third example appears in The Quintessential Phase of the radio series, again written by Jeltz.

A fourth example appears in And Another Thing..., the sixth book in the trilogy written by Eoin Colfer. The poem is also written by Jeltz.

Facebook Friend

One of my faceBook friends
Crafts couplets in her Status Change;
What she begins, she always ends,
A brief flash of fervor in genius range.



Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Jousting at the Cross Roads

"Patient horseman and husband be
…If you’re joustin’
…down in Houston vicinities
"With your spit-fire hard hittin’ horse

"At cross-roads danger lurks:
…crossing foes’ lines
…times of the signs
…dark dusky skies
"Pay attention, you’ll stay alive
as Patience is virtue of thine's...

Thus:
...at cross-roads
...you stay on course.”




Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Face
by Pat Darnell

Why is it so hard to forget the Face of one's enemy?
Eh?
Is it correction of our spirit as we ponder menaces that pervade our existence?
Could be.
Does one feel stalked and tracked down in every turn of the screw;
surely peace will endure,
but remember,
our patch of face is enemy to others we will never know.

Otherwise, how can we explain our enemies.
Do we say: "Don't shoot till you see the yellow of their eyes?"

One's face is his life:
the face of newborn,
face of his identity,
face of his game,
then the face of his senility,
and in the end it is his face of death.

In a universe far far away
that parallels one's own home,
one's enemy, it turns out, was no enemy at all.
Your FACE is a miracle.
It is a map of one's sensors,
and a target of all that is human.
meditate vastness of ruminative FACE.




Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Modern Warfare

Show no Mercy!! 

by Pat Darnell

Graphics that inhabits
Our house and lawn
... do the best
... to calm the storm

We are an uproarious crowd
And we usually get very loud;
Because the cute Avatars in us are proud
Of our techno-cosmic shrouds ...

The thing that is new
is 'Modern Warfare Two' --
Seems it is too fun for Pat 2 and his crew;
They go to their various homes
and boost each other's gnomes

And laughingly slaughter each other
 with their sisters and mothers at home;
Murdering each other with machete
... with daggers, machine guns, and curette
Virtually, they do, while hardly breaking a sweat.

So, certainly, we are not complaining ...
... for this strange techno loop remaining ...
In our homes, gardens, and glade;
No, we are pleased, satisfied, and gratified;
Their virtual blood-soaked battles are ratified ...
...
We just wish Mid Eastern heads
could learn also to play war instead.

Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

MooPig Graphiques and ReWildings :: Nigel Pulit Says -- HERE

Style

A poem by Rudyard Kipling might not go something like this:

Rowely, Rowely

Rudy is his name
Twerpdom his domain
And his kin flourish truly.
They run to his camp
Their eyes so damp,
They claw to capture his sight;
To see as he does -- unruly
That the stars of the night
Do millions number
Hanging in order and harmony
Rudy's lack of substance
and pseudo-rebellion
Could rip constellations asunder.
With no one stopping to ask: Why?
With not one person asking why.






Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

I Remember Sail Cloth

Tuft of thundercloud trailing anvil head,
For a moment dove eating crumb of bread
From bronze rail before flight
With point on horizon to sight
Full wind, full rudder churns freshwater white.

Out to quiet sailing had set we
With jib and full sail cast
As have sturdy fellows past.

I could hear almost the Old Salt
From his boat in briny harbor forgot
Talking as frapped his rope
'... Bloody Lake Mich, choppy old moat,
'... Choppy when the wind blows,
'... Meaner'n a blistered nanny goat.'

Leaning with gaunt arm bare
Upon bronze gunwale, pushing aside thick hair,
Squinting ignobly in bright sun-glare
With meaty fingers tugs at pipe there
Aboard chapped lips points to east horizon
Of inland mare, fashions scowl for his next quip
As great barrier of clouds form at fast clip

'... Tha' water my life did I impart,
'... Not much left for Almighty God to sort.'

Flipping pocket flap open like a hatch
Wriggling fingers while digging for a match
To strike against all that scratch
Of a standard jaw, put he then pipe to pucker,
Match to pipe bowl, sucked he flame to tobacco;

Returning to his task murmuring just audible
Pipe clenched tightly in teeth and jaw
Spatted he to indicate his final card
Whispering as puckers he a humid draw:

'... Wha'cha gonna do ... Wha's one to do ...
'... Wha' character does she reflect when tide low
'... How can tide pool stand for long
'... in ancient thirsty sand?'

Calm smile now on his face in half shadow ...

'... To where my life depart; to live a mariner
'... For what did I impart these hands?'

I remember sail cloth masted, trimmed taut
To gather wind for friends at steady knot
A chance to depart on lake large as a sea
And to cross horizon in time eternity
With promise for life, love and for loss.




Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Before the creative spirit departed
They spoke in their childlike voice
To breathe the gift of life or not
Is a personal note of choice

I breathe the stone of life
Remarkable it stays unknown
Have mercy Lord over my soul
Indeed it is a poem.






© 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Pianissimo

To live
Silvery string
Ivory key, brass pedal
Power of sound resides
In taut potential beckoning

Foot upon one stanza
Soul lingers yet
Broadcasting message to hand
Tenders the fingers...

Soul ... sparks ... from arch
to digit, to the toe --
Pressure of sounds on forehead
With timbre ... melody unfolds.

Once to inhale ... twice to exhale
Crescendo ... decrescendo
Outlast physical sense
Phrase lingers ... open mouth.

Let fly spirit
Hammer weighted stones
Upon granite marble perch
Music soothes passion searches.

Piano... of music house fame
Launches spirit to heights
Only spirit can measure
and fades to pianissimo.

That above stony paths fly
Footfalls beyond human heart
Mastery of soul-feet's cry
Release all that is inside.



© 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Dream Futures

Window to view a soul
Mullions stacked six over six
And mullets for panes
Frigate birds circle to poll
Zoftig female ling to eat
By warm gulf craft yaws
Chance to embark for talk...

Today journey ended yesterday
In circumspect... clouds glowed
As embers in ashes
Against sky with no flaws
In constant com
With the one I love
Sky beautiful in back drop.

Unable to photograph hugeness
Resigned, I take photos
To my mind, to my mind ...
Scene remains ever there
Vision for some dream future.




© 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Lost Boss

We have to get to Whitehurst!
Tuaca, Liqueur.
Cryptomatic
Rikki Likki con Nikki

Wait ...

That has merit!

Craft-o-matic
Anchormeister
Dart-inspection on her blouse
FAST FOOD ZEN
19:56 You only remember wha' cha'
Need to rememba', Atlanta.

Jones Beach
Long Island, New Yoik. Watching

The Sunrise.

The desert is your toilet, Jack.
Yarn Shoppe?
Grits and ... See you don't really
Have to pray for toilet paper.

20:20 blatantly cute...
Big A's!

Poindexter and the Metal Benders
Peggy snorted again.

Czech is in the male.
Vocal gender switching.
Lost boss.

Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Golf Man

Muttering to his own mind distance and wind measurement
While Falstaff-tans approach, they are
Consuming and spreading out along borders
Some things one must take in faith ...

That miscreants, hellions, and twerps
Cannot prevail beyond the number seven,
And what is it they consume? Besides
Culture, their diet demands, gorging morals.

Wherewithal of deepening fracture,
Could tempt the perfect par eight to sway?
He, Golf Man, might at Fall be perfect in game
... perfect in stature,
In judging turf men's perfecting grass grain -
In conquering swells, grade and drift in gale.

Winter wave, late tee, lengthening shadow ball,
Perfect arcing hook at 300 pine tall
No meager male shall stall his golf
For love of tempestuous, herald par -
One cannot assume big boys tote and play here -
The association is more intimate by far.

Tyrants on steel horses cough,
Can come only so close to the life in golf.

Absent of guile,
Golf Man has a two lie --

Hardly noticing at all
... staid he cogitates the ball,
Hairy hands reach deep to putt
... heeds he no earthly call,
No wall of wind to overcome
... he putts to bird
Finally to golf god
... speaks he the third:

What a swing --
What an up lay --
'nift, the brass cup is stirred.

God, oh what may be asked
... more of any Golf Man.


Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

I Miss My Children as they Dream

I miss my children as they dream,
In value times oft' it seems
Escape they to finer place
As clouds gather over landscapes

My children wax in Summer's grace
Cry not while in their place
Roam though I a babe as old
Battling too till I'm aloft the world --

That then is conclusion
my children's dreams ...
They ride free a'stride stallions
Claiming pastures for each's scheme

I've but purchased my bare plot
I have called in my delusions
Articulated on high things
Given to do lower; my illusion.

Primitives would gather to my grave
In stiff fog of dreams I have,
Scoffing unrelenting ...
Crying not, nor laughing they.

Yet I come not in spectacular times
To biddings of forgotten souls
I strive for shelter ours
Before grave in life's unfolding hours

I miss my children as they dream
For I alone can know them to value it
Wanting each their right to my spirit
A portion my children rightfully redeem.




Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

In Che Direzione le tue Lacrime

In che' direzione le tue lacrime?
Dove vanno sempre, in preoccupazione o per bene?
Singhiozzi di incoraggiamento ...
Il messaggero di dolore
Visitando gli amanti separati
Che il loro affetto andra' via domani.

Questa casa e' vuota!
Non c'e' nessuna vita, potra' essere perche'
Non c'e' nessuna promessa e il dolore e' profondo!

Quando ti sei svegliata in terrore e hai parlato
... " No, per favore, No " ...
E' questa la paura di sbagliare
Nell' amore cosi' profondo
Nell' oscurita'
Senza fondo.

Abituati nelle tue lacrime
E le mie. Col sapore di sale.
Le preoccupazione del presente
Di essere da soli e senza dell' altro.

In che' direzione le tue lacrime?
Dove vanno sempre, in preoccupazione,
O per ill bene che' ha creato.

[For Marinell | 1991]
Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Remember the Future

What is; what isn't
Is better than
all linear systems up for review.

Omniscience capable brains
with linear existence

I can now remember the Future
And an infantadolescent creature

Harvester of language
not for even an outline
but for what I sense volumetric

Snow drifts expire ... summer wind
for as long as the earth is
do seasons follow one another?

Tree talk ... sun path
They have memories
to reasons of gravity on one another?

Baby ... become mirror
When head out, head to head
will be overworked as she becomes mother?

Thunder storm ... simpler fright
of clouds and vapor and thinness
and breaking up of dreams?

Forgive me ... answer me
for I remember the future
and then why again is this so important?

Harvest not language for even an outline
for what I sense in volumetric
What is what isn't.

And, now on ... on, on.

[Pat to Ali and Matt | 05.18.93]
Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Frenzy

Tattoo about 50 bucks
for luck, Maw, and Paw

Livin' just other side
of the law

Tattoo don't come off.

Tattoo stays with you
Says "your name here"
stays there forever

Tattoos come before
the heart is broke

Got one that says:
"Hit and Run"
costs 20 bucks, thirty-one
runnin' out of luck
in a frenzy

Just this side of the law.



Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Not in to It

Things we love dearly
go often astray
cold drinks clearly
won't right the day.

Love is mild sunstroke
nausea, throbs and pain
night terrors afloat --
volumes of water retained

Love is a blue heart
dead in its blood toll
-- to make it restart
will leave gaping holes

How love changes us
accidents happen
-- bloody dangerous --
... like walking in Manhattan.

Go we through motions
creating at best
no good solutions
we all know the rest

Love is our vintage
all bottled and stored
how we live and age
with those we adore.



Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

en Fuego'

I was en fuego
when you found me
dying on a doorstep

I was intaglio
as I crawled down
to the river

that river went up
and covered my feet
and my heart leapt

But I could not spring free
I was ridiculed
so I slept

Water does not hold
it soaks or boils
so I was free

I was braggadocio
but another tagged me
and I was inept

I was then saggio
for knowing my own cry
so I finally had ...
... eventualities.

And silenzioso,
by my doorstep perch,
with no reserve, you crept.






Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Hai'can't

Water
barnacled pier
crab grabbing bait
net


Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Parlays

Mesmerized, crustal being, I
-- being without gills
but, however, full of guile --
Side-step, step-aside,
side-step, step-aside
rainfall ridden
footfalls
and chase to
dry pockets
or a den
to reward paper
with pen.

I step in
from unto the rain
revealing ancient phrases
again

While other details
taught me to expatiate
I delay

For impressions such as
this rain-soaking
it parlays.


2000
Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Blues Simple

Open the door --
... I don't know
where I'm going to go
... anymore.

But I will leave
and I tell you now
I'm not going to grow
anymore ...

That was all I had
for you, the kids,
the dog, and the cat,
that we adore...

I've run out
of emotion
of regret, and,
of chances
to be more ...

Once I go
out the door
I can't say
I'll be coming back
anymore ...


Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Understand

Ponder the other half
-- the other side,
of a tear drop
shaped planet.

Spheroidal hemis-prison
to some, do not go there
with romantic notions
isss ... isss ... isss
murmurs the pasture rain.

This is difficult to bear.

Flashing of cloud borne arc
strobe-ing gelled walls
on loading docks
heavy in their lakes.

No hump-backed moon
lasts in the dense yoke
of humid emotion
rocking a cradle
of newborn troubles
as droplets that stream down
the glass ...

Rains down onions
scupper'd to the ground
-- understand --
... that for a whole life,
Time is eclipsed by
its reluctance
to experience
this moon-raked drenching,
as walls look like wax,
and flat roofs are un-pardoned.


2000
Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

About Love to my Teenagers

Love is bigger
than you and me
It is an ocean
of surface
and, depth
and, weight
pressure and temperature.

Love is gravity
that pulls the ocean
to ebb and flow
rise and fall
make waves

Love is a place
where life thrives
teeming multitudes
competing in tide pools
a place of no folly
a humble abode

Love is time
of kind-patience
of long-suffering
caters not to weak
it carries forward
faith and hope
in changing tides.

These are just words
frail and thin
from an old man
who felt it again and again
drowned in that ocean
crushed in that gravity
put in my place
and found time cruel
until love awoke within.

Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Blues

Up 6 days

Five nights alone

I feel like a blues

Subterfuge

-- Can I go home?

Momma, dear --

Was I born

on dry land

'cause I feel seasick

almost every day.


Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Restorations

Spoken

A blessing
Upon the world
Fast to fasten
Quickened spirit
My friend

Spoke to face
Cheer of creator
Answer

Relent
Foretell
Deliver
Reveal

Comfort hasten
Forward
Spirit left to me.

Open
Ear and mouth
Clap hand numb
Call our names
Each one.

Incise sin
With word
Spoke clear
Iron sharpens iron
My hope sincere.



1-19-95

Portrait Eyes

Look’n through portrait eyes
See’n clear-wise, all un-wise
In their blatant disguise;
In my habitat domicile,
Pigment stays; oil expires
Feelin’ thin, I oxidize

I seldom move my mirrored pose
That sobriety hath imposed
Ponder the half burnt ash
Claiming my wall mate’s nose
Facet, surface, shell, indoors
Her face too a wanton repose

Upon stair wall aspire
Breezed past me those
Up stair scale much
Petulant haunts a’ flush
Ascending in feral rush

Lie vertical, cast no shadow
I feel none their touch

Portrait eyes
Seldom cry
From dusk until dawn

Yet lovers above
At full tilt, begin to weep
When sheath of night
Is gone



Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Restorations

Still the Gentile

Still a gentile,
I say goodbye

And flee
To wilderness,
Escape mankind

Woe this city
Full of faux wilderness,
swallows, trees, and all.
Besides, a well ridden
Dustman, named Joachim,
Became proprietor roiled
Of the disparaging peat rim.
Through a duster’s style
Does he not repair seed
Left behind indeed by
fully leavened gentiles?

Large numbers, droves,
Th’ big city proves.
Create collective science
Stranger than fiction prose.

Emerge anyway heroes, Who
Boys and girls playin'
Follow close the game,
Neve’mind their names,
Wi’ rules e’en to their graves
Bad seed, up to speed
Relentless in faux wild
Just knaves, the same,
Brought to their knees
Final rest where the dust pile leaves.

That is my detail
From road of denial
Wise as me, still the gentile.


April 23, 2007

Lonely as a lighthouse keeper

Lonely as a lighthouse keeper
-- Third generation keeper that is --
Witness many shipwrecks
Stand of stones and cairns that is
Hidden midst panes of light
‘midst uncertain sea life

When the sea froze
Was it safe to walk under?
Relying might we with
Boots as boats
Frozen toe and guts
Alone as a gusting wind
Nature christened Bad Temperament
Was it safe to christen
Other souls let go
Bodies mashed on wall
Of water at toe of tower
Turning in a bearing
Signal friendlies
Friendlier, friendliest peers
Neighbors looking into vapors
Looking at sea wave bombs
-- Some frightened; some calm --
And ask ‘What can we do?’

Where built a pier
To tie me froze boat
We sank down below water line
And towed it
Till we froze and float

Yet to yonder on
Dry patches pavement
Scant puddles left
Like toed nails appointment
Against weather’s addled temperament
On piers by soldiers’ wives
And children’s wails
Crying, bereft against torrents
And ignoble swales

Uncertainty
Eternal pathos prevail
Abundant trouble
To die, turn up one’s toes
A chap should be what he can do!
24 Jan 06

Folderol

Move the dust
Move the dirt
Turf allover earth
Good and plenty
Good and contented

Drive bayside surf
smile like pappy
say goodnight
Listenin’ t’ crickets’
Who abide alight
Long way to domicile
Slick escape maybe
Environmental selection
Condescension apprehension
Of virtual annihilation
No room in No-room Town
No room in NosmoKing Town
Plenty of Hey Baby in Boomtown
In heyday groups of 3 thou
Lackluster homely Crowd
Clankingly with no culture

Stomping grounds disappeared
railroad sank
what delivered rich from poor
re-rooted, re-routed
starting to stank
feels jaded
hardened, less luminous
once unashamedly cradled

Boulevards float trucks
on roots of ancient oaks
and chariots swerve
‘tween turrets of viaducts
Rarefracted, distracted doles
Flagged and pooped – sun struck

Language-barrier’d panic polls
baseless numberings and loud sounds,
Perverse logic destroys logic,
Places lost to mummers’ tolls
Cast down in hot summers
Amidst mob of sweat bolls

Monotony marmalade
There’s no room in No-room Town
Just for Faust and troll trade
No more room in Boomtown
Just seduction for Gretchen
In a How-Town folderol

PD | ©Darnell 2007

Patrick

by Patrick Darnell


Numb nuts
Buns, four-eyes
Pitter patter
Draftsman
Two-minutes
Barnsmell

Pete,
... Pat-er-ick
Patick Zio
Cognato Grandioso
Cuolo grande
Poindexter
P-Hole
Pitiful Case

Store Planner
Great-Gran’daddy of funk
Naked Party Chairman
Wanker less Tosser
Fly Half Rugger

Guard, Nose Tackle
Deep center
Specialist tugger
Engineer artist abashed
Advanced token
Donor self-harassed
Big Bird
Patrick

Pander-monium

It turns out
I was right
'n my microcosm
of pander





Copyright © 2010 Patrick Darnell

Basement

Water dripping
in a basement
smell of grout
smell of wetness




Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Out Patient

A case
too tricky
and anti-science
anti-logic
too clever
rolled up into
a bale of hay
captured energy
from glistening trays
of uneaten buffets

Vikings of Geisha boys
riding curved headed ships
paddled into mock joy
black-guarded low gips ...

Days of doggerel fashion
Fran questioned and found
only pain as
truth serum.

We are on the same side --
this a question
from a freak
who wants to
circumcise his own fingertips
Fran ran away
-- checked out.

To experience
Counter reality
with anxiety
in an out patient
sort of way.




Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Crazy Voice

[Impromptu Lyrics for this song at Guitar Ramble :: PRIBEK -- LINK]
by Pat Darnell

Crazy voice
I can’t tell
what you say

Your screams and cries
will make fruit bats
stammer, stagger and die.

Your creepy howl — please –
Don’t scare me now,
Later I gotta’ sleep.

Crazy voice, please cease,
You burn my lungs
When I breathe.

It’s okay, Crazy voice,
your chatter instead
is waking the bitter dead.

Crazy voice, it matters,
Your voice stabs me
like a thousand daggers

You’re causing here
a crazy stew —
Oh, yes you do.

And, Crazy voice
I can’t tell what it is
That you say …

It’s just possible
maybe I will …
but not today.


Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Living Vicarious through my Friend

I woke up this morning
could not remember my dreams
but ...Something was on my mind
and it made my feet move

When I woke up this morning
I said I had to get goin'
Get goin' outta this bog
Yes, had it on my mind.

I was tired of looking
out each and every way
for gators and wild hogs, and
snakes around shallow lakes

Diamond D and Circle K
got no more lure for me,
All those bog secrets
ain't scared of me ...
... sure 'nuff ain't scared of me.

Hopped in my Chevrolet
to see what I might see
and followed the rail
put my hair in a ponytail

Packed my axe and muscatel
drove to Tunica Mississippi
drove till I find a casino
while Blues spun on the radio

I woke up this morning
not a memory could I say
but knew I could not sit a spell
had to get on up out down this way

What happened next, you see,
In my mind I'll just keep it
what went down in Mississippi
Well, that there's top secret.





Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell