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Poetry

	Patrick Fleskes
	PROFILE About me Friends (1) Poetry (16) Prose (5)

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Patrick Fleskes, 29 december 2011

River

The river is enlightened flow of matter in physical form,
OH COME ONE! COME ALL! See the way atoms sway without,
Microscopic introspective help, without a Discovery channel,
Overdubbed voice actor whom knows not the things said,
Only really chosen as a means of pretty voice filler,
'Cause knowledge is purer when spoken in ignorance t' fact...
Perhaps? Never purer than matter, surely, river water will never,
Act out political campaigns, or sell ya somethin',
Truth is free, free is truth, truth lies in mind's,
Spaghetti’d mess of neurotic receptors an' receivers,
Chemical response, negitive/positive, input/output,
Binary trail of 1's an' 0's are deceptively simple,
Need t' break mold of over thought, uncoverin' greek sculptured form,
The holy AH HA moment innate to all art's completion.
Lovely, for the sake of bein' lovely. Perfect, 'cause why not?
The Universe.
A self fulfilling prophecy.
The river in the end is just a river.
My mind, just a mind.
Its got a couple spots were thoughts leak out,
Those never committed to memory.
Blacked out with sharpie, a product of the void,
Delete key or formless form that can be bought.
Delete this.

number of comments: 1 | rating: 6 | detail

Patrick Fleskes, 25 december 2011

Sunshine Sutra

Mornings tarted mouth sunshine,
Sweet honeyed dripof the ancients,
The soil is now errect, attentiveness t' catch,
Aloof energy,
Conservation of pure life,
Essentially.
The sensation of sight,
Leaves the moon in weary sleep,
Of it collected dust,
And space be a black caverous mircowave,
dust carried off on waves an' radiation.
Particles everywhere!
Invokin' marenatte strings,
The invisiable chemical reactions,
Carry pure spontaneity of choice.
"Are ya a comedy or a tragedy?"
The Doctor asks as his hands slap,
new born flesh.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 5 | detail

Patrick Fleskes, 25 december 2011

Tom Waits

Heated pipes shootin’ out shackled rivets,
Madness is mechanical, steam outlet,
Body is a disease hive, germ-dependent,
Can’t dismantle the benefactors,
Piece by piece
The roof collapses,
Leavin’ dogs hissin’ blank apologies,
Whilst dead eyes gleam a darker shade of black,
Death don’t bargain bin shop souls.
How coy, it creeps.
Dismantling us human beings.
Atom bombs sterile.
Clean Hiroshima.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 5 | detail

Patrick Fleskes, 28 december 2011

Wasted Motion of Decay

I feel in times like these,
Un-ease, the world upside-down facin',
God's glaring naked gaze,
Bourbon soak'd decisions guiding society,
Down light-less tunnels, hushin' us sweetly with passin',
Comments of normality,
“It’s ok, ya still can breathe”,
But this atmosphere’s getting thin breaths in-between,
Prolonged submersion in napalm,
Get this damn earth a gas mask.

Just spent my last two dollars,

Last two dollars,
Gonna built me a cardboard grave t’ rest in,
Requiescat in pace,
As we’ll circle Hitchcook’s silver-screen’d drains,
Remembrance of past goldfish lives.
You an’ me,
At yardstick’s length, imagined laws,
T’ lines that aint never existed,
Even in your wildest, un-natural dreams surreal paint drip,
Wasted motion of decay.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 5 | detail

Patrick Fleskes, 21 january 2012

The Drunched and Downbeaten Streets of Portland Speak

The city hisses Leather'd serpent cries,
An icy reminder to the proud Native American graves,
Paved over,
Whose voices still haunt us,
Like velcro slowly being ripped apart,
A sound that clinches the jaw,
In agony of unknown,
Is merely a pan we'll hold under the water drips,
Leaking through the roof.
Each drip pluses with your heart beat,
While your eyes adjust to the dull tick of time,
On old clock strung over head,
5 mintues late,
It's counter broken,
To live here is to always be present in recent past,
Lookin' out the window into the present future.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 4 | detail

Patrick Fleskes, 29 december 2011

South Jetty

Quilted pattern'd sea under draped curtain cloud, drenched in sunlight,
Carrying the halo’s plusin' from Sol, in hypnotic twist,
Lullin' all those existin' under it into soft consciousness,
While my flat soled foot, shoe'd feet, stand in bemused ecstasy,
On landlock'd jetty of log an' rock's demand, where the ol' Columbia gaves way,
T' the sea, a vein flutterin' blood t' the blue heart,
Spread like butter over wheat bread, dirt land.
Air is thick illusion of “fill in the blank”,
Pictured invisible forces, made salty,
While waves clashin' boulder-jetty-construct with venomous Neptune spite,
Unlashes a cascadin' rhythm of robed monk chanted OM's,
In the cathedral stain glass mirage muddled in watery reflection.
South Jetty, your misplaced directionally, as you cling higher up the shpere,
Than most account for south, with chill'd winds, beltin' like bitter cough,
But nature neither excepts nor denies its labels, humanistically attached,
It is impartial t' all things, a true moderate!
The middle way is the only way,
We'll feel comfortable in this flab of structured flesh,
The middle way is the only way,
That us an' the sea lie these burdens t' rest.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 4 | detail

Patrick Fleskes, 29 december 2011

Every Street, a History Whispered

All aboard,
Deafening tracks we’ll make,
The one’s silhouettes take an’ never,
Breathe back, wordy breathe of tenderness,
Never eyes of respect, I detect another white noise will,
Carry us, the sail,
This city, the port,
We’ll drink cuss an’ smoke the world dead in an instant,
Lose ourselves completely.
Vomit on the curb.          < As good of a symbolic message if any
Damn the medication.
                                We need a new sequence of rhyme,
                                                                                While we pick apart this pocket watch.
A looking, an’ a hootin,
Like that slow train-a-coming.
All relating and being of the essence.
Time.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 4 | detail

Patrick Fleskes, 25 december 2011

Proof

Here the supposed I am again,
Lines in between ledges, falling symbols arrangin’ into comprehension,
Logical plain of thought meetin’ cathartic end in ink drop.
Wisdom, a lyrical sting t’ the mind as it bounces away,
Always wantin’ more,
More…
    The mind fest of knowledge
     Fat-heavy flesh,
     Seriated canine teeth,
     Take drunken, percussive stabs,
     'Tis never satisfied.
Oh what grace does introspection grant?
All actions can be diffused by their inherent silliness.
I exist… I suppose,
Therefore I’ll pound these damn keys till they work up,
A satiable monologue.
                Birth an’ death carry documents of proof,
                Why not life?

number of comments: 0 | rating: 4 | detail

Patrick Fleskes, 28 december 2011

Mediations on the Bhagavad Gita

An' now I hope the world shines on,
All bearin' leafy green similes
In-between atmospheric distortion,
Perceivin' distance makes Van Goth blush,
Rosey flesh, undercook'd peace,
With side orders of bliss.
"All the world is green", we'll say,
In passin', tho the word not need utterance,
Meanin' is innate t' life, whom only understands matter,
Is there truth greater than atoms? pure energy?
Oh come now, human entanglements are merely attachments,
Latch off!!! Disconnect!!! We'll be free, we'll be with eyes open'd,
Bhudda's all!!!
Impermanent nature of object reality,
Pain an' pleasure an illusion’d sphere,
All birth'd men an' women all bathe in sight,
Of eyes glassy orb containin' summation of universe,
All spherical bodies an' essences,
A perfect shape for existence!
Somethin' physic's musta dreamt up in beautiful, lustrous sleep,
Sleepin' of sleep, a dream is another orb trapped inside another holy body,
The universe is merely a Matryoshka doll,
An' Russian carpenters must be humor'd saints,
Less desolate than most! Spreadin' their onion skinned philosophy,
So trivially.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 3 | detail

Patrick Fleskes, 16 april 2012

Goodnight

Drinkin' bedtime's farwell kiss,

The herbal concoction believes in,

Only bliss.

Whose essence,

Can be neither believed,

or denied

With,

or without,

We chose the perception,

but we forgot the door

number of comments: 1 | rating: 3 | detail

10 - 30 - 100

Other poems: Riding the Max, I Ride my Bike with Both Handle Bars, Roadmap to the Heart, Nasy Detours, Goodnight, Words I meant to say in Conversations Long Past, Static Thoughts, The Drunched and Downbeaten Streets of Portland Speak, River, South Jetty, Every Street, a History Whispered, Mediations on the Bhagavad Gita, Wasted Motion of Decay, The Somber Tick of Fall, Tom Waits, Proof, Sunshine Sutra,

Latest items:

Poetry

River

Sunshine Sutra

Tom Waits

Wasted Motion of Decay

The Drunched and Downbeaten Streets of Portland Speak

South Jetty

Every Street, a History Whispered

Proof

Mediations on the Bhagavad Gita

Goodnight

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