Tag Archives: time

slow light: a collaborative poem

slowshiningnothingnotathing but light space time enough to make Elvises of our selveses the secret is to be not to be like be-nothing-between-all-with-every-every-new-beginning-be-have-you-this-way-going-and-to-where-light-trembling-all-has-been-slowshiningnothingnotathing-but-lightspace-time-enough-like-the-beginning-of-every-end of every Jesus of every Elvis of every Nixon of every Zhou of every John of every Yoko of every Tom of every Dick of every Harry of every one of every end a new beginning a new head line a new head start a new head over heels a new Energizer Bunny munching fried Twinkie with pickles nothing under the sun same old same old atavistic ataboyism singing which of these things is not like the other... yes new a new a new and what remains… is the in-evit-able Abel so... and therefore Cain a new a new a new and what remains is ever ever just the worshipping the pleasepleaseplease oh see me see me oh see me on Facebook oooh see my updated photo see my new baby oh see my bod see my mien see my uncle in his basement see my 50 new friends see my heart attack see my 8 new words -- I am going to go to sleep now see my prayer oh Lord look at me! look at me! look at me just seeee me ElvisJesusGagaElvisJesusBieberElvisGod see me says Cain, so desperate to win by offerings of produce, ferGod’sSake as Abel offers bloody animals while prophets warn what’s really wanted here is MercyMercyMercy, boys and girls or everytime you turnaround there you are in Memphis once again reminded only of your own only image of the only real in true QUADROPHONIC… between you and me, Zhou, it was all downhill after that photo op with Nixon a handshake like the beginning of every end… produce offerings produce penguin dust, I need I need I need penguin dust bring me bring me peace on Facebook bring me all eyes on me bring me slowlight drowning in the water bring me the romance of me beginning that slowlight our givable… dance-every-turn-again-own-own-truesay… be-nothing-between-all... with-everynew… everyevery-newbeginningnew.. new-Twinkiepickles-new-whenever-meme… win-bloody-prophets-heretherebenot-bribes nor BribesOfFrankenstein.. new-next-haveyou...haveyouthiswaygoing-and-to-where ? no-slow-out-you-me-turn-tails-all… beingbeingbeingbeing...One...so-all-is-been-one-soon slowshining-not-a-thing-but-time-enough... or this is the way the world ends those cats just keep going and going, Mao, and the question Joe, is are you are.. or is you ever been… are you hey, ZhouZhou where you gonna go? whoa, no, Zhou, don’t blow shine on your innerElvis, shine it slow play out your best EastWest best WesternEast slow dance til you be me and me be u and conflicts meld like puddles tigers turn into from chasing one anothers’ tails tales told by (you know the rest… full of sound and fury, tale after tale for Music rises higher than money than our piratic age of Vampire Squids than a kid from Tupelo, you know? MoneyMusicVampireMercyNo...flower-nearest-light-light-rattled-go trembling-go-beyond-beyond-go-Zhou...ZhouElvisShmelvis-NothingToSayNow ButMercyMercyMercyBoysAndGirls… mercy! if you can’t dance without making an Elvis of yourself, why dance? --now be clear about it say it in 6 words on Facebook a couple of Twitters in waltztime and a finger to Buddha and Bo tell them it’s time out for jitterbugging to the John nothing more to say-- nothing to say but raise a flower astound the girl next door slowshining no thing just time --no time, no argument no time for argument-- just in time in the shadow of the nearest Bo in broken shadows’ slow light through the Bo through rattled branches of the trembling Bo shade/light and nothing/something, there they go… slow shining even though… beyond the Thus-Gone-One, the Buddha, Yo! Beyond all Elvises, all Nixons. So. Past even Zhou… just let it be. blow, Joe. --no time to argue, post your Bo & blow on FB, post your So and Go on Facebook, post your know on me-- me-- the nearest Bo casting a shadow may not be a tree and if it’s you you want to know play with Zhuangzi, butterfly --oh see me flutter on Facebook-- Just Quadrophonic Mercy, Let It Be! to be be be some and no thing to be the end and yet began the end working to say the sayable answer any never was there a question? any never was there as never any answer in light space time enough time and again… slow shining shining slow --see me shine on Facebook…. stop croaking, nobody, and dance for gods’ sake the secret is there is no (upper case) secret or cats that know don’t tell cats that tell don’t know and nobody knows who is dreaming I’m dreaming, love not I David Breeden, Minneapolis Helen Degen Cohen, Deerfield Charlie Newman, Chicago Steven Schroeder, Chicago Suzanne Seed, Chicago a note on the process
Share

nothing from the heart

1 ripples of colours racing hysterically against dark sky works of fire, smoke-flowers for the romantique the red one is a rose, says little prince from nothing springs out nothing a small image at first, always from the heart bursts from a point in time as if time actually existed from a tiny curl in the back of your head an explosion sets off down it runs to the nape of the neck round the tip of the nose down again to finger tips expanding into sleepless nights waking dreams, senseless pains no turning back like the growth of a rose it grows blooms, wanes, fades, like any rose is it really a rose, could be a drop of blood falling onto water, swimming out, changing shapes caught somewhere in time blood no more but not nothing anymore no turning back now that the flowers have gone traces of smoke and clouds then this part of the sky dark and silent like before nothing now nothing here but never nothing anymore a-rose-is-a-rose-is-a-rose_20x20_1920 2 nothing from nothing, no point in time, no singularity bursting ever after in a universe there before your eyes, before you make something of this and that, no turning back no turning no turning and yes, it could. nothing is the only thing that is the same always. nothing is the same, always nothing is ever the same, no rose is a rose alone, no rose is a rose is a rose by any other. where have all the flowers gone? nothing but traces nothing always like nothing you’ve ever seen. now no there there no then here neither here nor there, it could be nothing it could be that it rose yes, it could be that -- a rose rose red like my love, nothing like my love. Debby Sou Vai Keng, Macao Steven Schroeder, Chicago a note on the process

nothing from the heart

1 ripples of colours racing hysterically against dark sky works of fire, smoke-flowers for the romantique the red one is a rose, says little prince from nothing springs out nothing a small image at first, always from the heart bursts from a point in time as if time actually existed from a tiny curl in the back of your head an explosion sets off down it runs to the nape of the neck round the tip of the nose down again to finger tips expanding into sleepless nights waking dreams, senseless pains no turning back like the growth of a rose it grows blooms, wanes, fades, like any rose is it really a rose, could be a drop of blood falling onto water, swimming out, changing shapes caught somewhere in time blood no more but not nothing anymore no turning back now that the flowers have gone traces of smoke and clouds then this part of the sky dark and silent like before nothing now nothing here but never nothing anymore a-rose-is-a-rose-is-a-rose_20x20_1920 2 nothing from nothing, no point in time, no singularity bursting ever after in a universe there before your eyes, before you make something of this and that, no turning back no turning no turning and yes, it could. nothing is the only thing that is the same always. nothing is the same, always nothing is ever the same, no rose is a rose alone, no rose is a rose is a rose by any other. where have all the flowers gone? nothing but traces nothing always like nothing you’ve ever seen. now no there there no then here neither here nor there, it could be nothing it could be that it rose yes, it could be that -- a rose rose red like my love, nothing like my love. Debby Sou Vai Keng, Macao Steven Schroeder, Chicago a note on the process

slow light: a collaborative poem

slowshiningnothingnotathing but light space time enough to make Elvises of our selveses the secret is to be not to be like be-nothing-between-all-with-every-every-new-beginning-be-have-you-this-way-going-and-to-where-light-trembling-all-has-been-slowshiningnothingnotathing-but-lightspace-time-enough-like-the-beginning-of-every-end of every Jesus of every Elvis of every Nixon of every Zhou of every John of every Yoko of every Tom of every Dick of every Harry of every one of every end a new beginning a new head line a new head start a new head over heels a new Energizer Bunny munching fried Twinkie with pickles nothing under the sun same old same old atavistic ataboyism singing which of these things is not like the other... yes new a new a new and what remains… is the in-evit-able Abel so... and therefore Cain a new a new a new and what remains is ever ever just the worshipping the pleasepleaseplease oh see me see me oh see me on Facebook oooh see my updated photo see my new baby oh see my bod see my mien see my uncle in his basement see my 50 new friends see my heart attack see my 8 new words -- I am going to go to sleep now see my prayer oh Lord look at me! look at me! look at me just seeee me ElvisJesusGagaElvisJesusBieberElvisGod see me says Cain, so desperate to win by offerings of produce, ferGod’sSake as Abel offers bloody animals while prophets warn what’s really wanted here is MercyMercyMercy, boys and girls or everytime you turnaround there you are in Memphis once again reminded only of your own only image of the only real in true QUADROPHONIC… between you and me, Zhou, it was all downhill after that photo op with Nixon a handshake like the beginning of every end… produce offerings produce penguin dust, I need I need I need penguin dust bring me bring me peace on Facebook bring me all eyes on me bring me slowlight drowning in the water bring me the romance of me beginning that slowlight our givable… dance-every-turn-again-own-own-truesay… be-nothing-between-all... with-everynew… everyevery-newbeginningnew.. new-Twinkiepickles-new-whenever-meme… win-bloody-prophets-heretherebenot-bribes nor BribesOfFrankenstein.. new-next-haveyou...haveyouthiswaygoing-and-to-where ? no-slow-out-you-me-turn-tails-all… beingbeingbeingbeing...One...so-all-is-been-one-soon slowshining-not-a-thing-but-time-enough... or this is the way the world ends those cats just keep going and going, Mao, and the question Joe, is are you are.. or is you ever been… are you hey, ZhouZhou where you gonna go? whoa, no, Zhou, don’t blow shine on your innerElvis, shine it slow play out your best EastWest best WesternEast slow dance til you be me and me be u and conflicts meld like puddles tigers turn into from chasing one anothers’ tails tales told by (you know the rest… full of sound and fury, tale after tale for Music rises higher than money than our piratic age of Vampire Squids than a kid from Tupelo, you know? MoneyMusicVampireMercyNo...flower-nearest-light-light-rattled-go trembling-go-beyond-beyond-go-Zhou...ZhouElvisShmelvis-NothingToSayNow ButMercyMercyMercyBoysAndGirls… mercy! if you can’t dance without making an Elvis of yourself, why dance? --now be clear about it say it in 6 words on Facebook a couple of Twitters in waltztime and a finger to Buddha and Bo tell them it’s time out for jitterbugging to the John nothing more to say-- nothing to say but raise a flower astound the girl next door slowshining no thing just time --no time, no argument no time for argument-- just in time in the shadow of the nearest Bo in broken shadows’ slow light through the Bo through rattled branches of the trembling Bo shade/light and nothing/something, there they go… slow shining even though… beyond the Thus-Gone-One, the Buddha, Yo! Beyond all Elvises, all Nixons. So. Past even Zhou… just let it be. blow, Joe. --no time to argue, post your Bo & blow on FB, post your So and Go on Facebook, post your know on me-- me-- the nearest Bo casting a shadow may not be a tree and if it’s you you want to know play with Zhuangzi, butterfly --oh see me flutter on Facebook-- Just Quadrophonic Mercy, Let It Be! to be be be some and no thing to be the end and yet began the end working to say the sayable answer any never was there a question? any never was there as never any answer in light space time enough time and again… slow shining shining slow --see me shine on Facebook…. stop croaking, nobody, and dance for gods’ sake the secret is there is no (upper case) secret or cats that know don’t tell cats that tell don’t know and nobody knows who is dreaming I’m dreaming, love not I David Breeden, Minneapolis Helen Degen Cohen, Deerfield Charlie Newman, Chicago Steven Schroeder, Chicago Suzanne Seed, Chicago a note on the process

matthias regan | on winging it

Batman likes the feel of leather.         O yes he does! O yes he does! When Joker tickles his nose with a feather         Go get er! Go get er! he slaps it down. & he remembers         Swing batter! Wing it! his devilish devotion every time.         Splatter it! Splatter it! This life of fighting crime         You know he does! You know he does! may well have been ill spent.         It matters! It really matters! Frequently, the Batman repents         You know he does! You know he does! but always it returns, the old wound         No applause, please! No applause! the nightmare by which we're bound         Read the clause! Read the clause! to find it all so bitter.         Yes he does! You know he does! The thing about Batman: he's no quitter.         Fuck the law! Fuck the law! He'll slap the Joker down, slap down         No matter! No matter! a thousand Jokers. In the house of mirrors         Lucky dog! You dog! he decides it doesn't matter         O yes he does! O yes he does! if he dies. He slaps down the feather. The Joker pulls the trigger.         Swing batter! Splatter it!                 You know he does!
Matthias Regan lives in Chicago & is a founding member of the Next Objectivist Poetry Workshop. A collection of harmolodic essays is forthcoming from VAC.

jim spurr | the advice of mrs. tubbs

There is a simple and safe way to shed a sweater. First you free the arms. Then take both hands and pull it over the head. Always get the arms free first. That is the most important part.
He crashed through the rear screen door with his arms and head locked up in a pullover and he fell into a bed of freshly watered day lilies. And she had gone across the alley to visit. He couldn't get up on account of the mud. He suffocated face down with his feet in the impatiens. She mourned a respectful length of time then married a skinny fellow and they had two children by 1940. He died soon after in the war on a Pacific island. Whose name I forgot. Unlike the first husband his death had been heroic and predictable. She never married again. In honor of her second husband she dedicated the remainder of her life to working for world peace. But, as lacking in glory as her first husband's death was, awkward man, she maintained, in his memory, all her life, a small backyard garden. Consisting mainly of lightly watered impatiens and day lilies.
from Hail Mary, On Two. Village Books Press, Cheyenne, Oklahoma, 2011.
Jim Spurr is an Oklahoma poet. "In the mid fifties I was 18 and a paratrooper getting ready to make my first jump and I thought, 'someday I gotta write about this.' Every poem I have ever written ever since has been a failed effort to capture that brief but glorious instant."

dana heifetz | there is no time

There is no time nor space for poetry, not here, where the air is so dense and the light - so violent. Language finds it hard to survive here. At times, people too. I miss poetry. I miss you.
Dana Heifetz is an Israeli fiction and poetry writer, who published so far short stories and poems (in Hebrew) in the Israeli journals Achshav, Moznayim, Iton 77, Gag, Hasadna, alongside a poem in the online anthology Blueberry Rain and Chocolate Snow (Edited by Steven Schroeder and Sou Vai Keng). She's also a philosopher, a human-rights lawyer and an editor of non-fiction books.

elizabeth raby | at the peak

Above smoldering caldera, from the rim of the volcano long gray slopes of cinders still hot and smoking, nothing alive but the fire inside. It’s hard to believe that this barren beginning will in time nourish so much green, so much life. The wildebeests graze on the richest grass on earth nourished by minerals forced out through fire. Our earth has done it again and again and so have we, I guess. Churned and ruined land at Verdun, bones of 600,000 bodies collected, piled in the grim hump of the ossuary, most of the bombs from that battlefield gathered too. Almost one hundred years later, although the ground is still prone to detonate from unexploded ordinance, trees have grown tall. How many times can we do it to each other and the earth? How much ruined land, corpse-littered, can regenerate? We wait for the super volcano, the asteroid, the force that will finish us. Perhaps if sentient life evolves again it will be better, finer, kinder, deserving this magnificent chance.
Elizabeth Raby is the author of 3 full-length poetry collections, This Woman (2012), Ink on Snow (2010), and The Year the Pears Bloomed Twice (2009), all published by Virtual Artists Collective and of four chapbooks. She worked as a poet-in-the-schools and taught poetry at Muhlenberg College.