Spoken Word
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i labour with the season in my spirit
Good morning: I thought I’d share a bit of the evolution of a poem this morning. In the process of drafting this up, I googled images of Early Modern European peasant women: This poem is the composite sketch of those women. The image that’s linked provide the eyes that are translated from the visual to Continue reading
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two days to the south
two days to the southamong the crops in the season of the sicklethere are children in the age of sproutingtheir parents mature into the flowering of their summerstheir grandmotherthe white threads of her hair drift backthe stitched hem of her coif wraps a pear frozen browned bruise splotchedwrinkled the linen frames her face Continue reading
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before it could be read
before it could be readfrom ambassadors’ letters to norway to poland to the emperor everywhere that his nearly old mother’s newly widowed orbefore there’s time for uncle claudius to walkmother gertrude on his arm in the garden to walk ‘til her smile suns through the rain of her tearsand she becomes again beautiful desireable‘til the Continue reading
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a dark age it needed
a dark age it neededa military trumpeter to becomea rooster at dawnbefore it began to become an age ofchurch bells in bronze polishedto a glow that clanged in the sun risentown that woke when charlemagnetribe by tribe conqueredthe scattered germaniclights into one great lantern he was crownedemperor of the romansthis is how an imperial day Continue reading
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one o’clock the platform
one o’clock the platformone o’clock the plain the platform overlookedone o’clock the plain the stageone o’clock the platform the benchesfrom where the audience watchedone o’clock the audiencemarcellus bernardo i watchedwatched for fortinbraswatched for norwaywatched for the hour that containednorway to invadethe hour that held denmark watchedfor time to invade itselfit was a cold hour christmas Continue reading
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your birth began eight hundred years ago
your birth began eight hundred years agoyour life at the dawn of an age of summera rooster crowedand the sound of a church bell five times tolledhad the first light of an empire not crackeda black horizonand had the golden age not risenand become full like the sunyou’d have remained the eternal tribesman Continue reading
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tell me again how nora loves you
tell me again how nora loves youthen become marcellus cometo me from the towercome from the cock crowed dawnyour fingers are so slenderand the old women in your knuckles arefrail and brittle use the pommelof your rapier to knock at elsinore at the guestroom door comeafter morning prayers are saidafter the roasted pigeon and the Continue reading
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i’d walk over the waves like galilee was a sodded plain
i’d walk over the waves like galilee was a sodded plainthe sun- risen morning of the last day i’d open like shutters and stride through the division in judgement robesafter the last day i’d raise my hand and blessthe wafer i’d raise my hand and bless the wineand by the holes rusted into the palms Continue reading
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before you fold
before you foldthat parchment into a padlockslit a keyhole into the end that’sunfolded with a pen knife or a scissor cutfrom the bottom of the letter a parchment keyshort in height and wide in width a triangle Continue reading
About Me
I have a day.
Jake's Flea Market 