seeing/saying: September 2013

Monday, September 30, 2013

Just there

Just there
Behind the times
You will find
Another shelf
Dust waiting
To be emptied

Tom McGlynn
copyright 2013

Sunday, September 29, 2013

She took apart

Those holes

Of silver grey

And blood red

Then she removed

A leaf

A fig meant

Of her imagination

There to mask

A flower

Trellising a field

Of girls

Anxious to be

Made

Tom McGlynn

Saturday, September 28, 2013

Tony said

Here we are

No through way

To frame

I don't think

There is any
More in Jersey

6x6x6

Will get your

Die

Hoping for grace

And a cigarette

Before a bottle

Of smoke

Tom McGlynn

Mama we were

All crazy

Then

We heeled

To the toe

And belted back

We crost

The line

A cold fresh

Hold

A widdle

Wie

A runaway

Slavish

Poking

A nose

Whern it

Dunt be

Long

Tom McGlynn

Beneath this street

Beneath this street Name a way Now sleeps Above was a way Once dreamed In what night Did the city Creep away In what day Will it whistle Again to work

Tom McGlynn
copyright 2013

What strung

The stronger

In pair of dice

A daily dread

The stalk of life

A pilgrim stealth

A basket of corn

A covenant made

A native war

The dragging for chains

A splinted house

The breadline sigh

An electrified farm

A darkest hour

The arsenal shipped

The greatest fire

A pattern of lawns

The time in country

A desert of storms

The parsing of words

A bubble burst

A volume destroyed

The lie of turf

A tragic link

What strung

The stronger

In pair of dice

Tom McGlynn

Friday, September 27, 2013

As I see life

As I seek

Your face

As I forget

My owning

Of death

A giddy long

Chasm

Is wedged

Between

As a solid stare

An emptied weigh.

Tom McGlynn

It's impossible

To gauge

Most often

A winding

Is wasted

Toggles

Can be

Set

These are left

By another

Party

How does the air

Get so thin

Tom McGlynn

Thursday, September 26, 2013

Why stand an immortal

Shining stone

In the sucking mire

There is no footing there

But slippery hope

And closing shells

As if entrenched

Than leave

An angry defile

Left for red

It's such

A freshet made

Of fruits of spleen

And refugee bushels

Of bitter myrrh

Garnered

For ribbons

Of carrion

Crowed

Yea though you

Walk to

The valley

Of life

No good

Will evilly

To make

It real

Is not

A war

Tom McGlynn

Name calling

An index

That human

Kindness

Thing

Void

Of character

Traits

The milk

Of which

A mite

Relates

On terms of

Endearment

Riding

Inflected

In a host

Off face

Tom McGlynn

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

This is a cozy

Sad café

Appointed

With laminate

Would

Prepare a place

A blue plate

To drink

The setting

Full of extras

Here

The dearest cup

Orders down

The sweetest

Cross

Tom McGlynn

Tuesday, September 24, 2013

A tribe gentille

Traffics in ways

To give up the ghost

To take on the man

To empty the woman

To feast on the child

A sheer celebration

Without any recourse

To fact

To face

What its jams support

A truer exile

Tom McGlynn

Sunday, September 22, 2013

No amount of chores

Can choose a shining

Motion

Exempt from squirrelly

Spirals

It's getting dark

And the vines

Have grabbed

The gutter

Have a heart

Upon the roof

When it turns bitter

And the chimney slouch

Bends your blood

To flashing

Tom McGlynn

Saturday, September 21, 2013

The sacred portico

Recedes

As it welcomes strangers

Secular

In its defense

From an uninvited

Priesthood

A vertical stepped

Embankment of mothers

Invests the city

Of death

To starve it

Of its seed

So again the gate

And its daily flow

Will breathe a sigh

Of borders

Tom McGlynn

Friday, September 20, 2013

These thistles

Were not

Flowers

That any body

But the finches

Wished

A sprig of holly

Waxing in winter

Loudly rises

Acrid

And woody

Poison

The constant ivy

Ruins the apse

To only

A spider's

Vestment

While red

(As I can be)

Piling stones

All green was left

To carry the day

Tom McGlynn

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

A laughing on eleven up

Starves the loud joy of hell

And her sweat is sweet

Her garden life

An open pour

Her humors sourced

No mistaking

The echo

Never touched on returning

Welcoming and lifting the one thing

That hasn't brought us full

Which hasn't left us empty

Tom McGlynn

A come upon

A come along

All come to

Round

All come to

Sound

All come to solids

Rising bent

A hollow rent

Is what

Is not

A floor

To blot

Your heaven scent

Your stink of zen

His fury spent

Urizen lost

His instrument

Tom McGlynn

Tuesday, September 17, 2013

What the frozen

River took

Receding from

The mountain top

Was the time

It took

Walking up it

Set

You back

Then a groove

Was reached

Drumlin till

The eye

Could see

The eye

Could see

A drumlin

Till

A boulder

Dumb

Was balanced

Here

Its gravity

In question

Tom McGlynn

Ignored

On the floor

Cranberries

From before

Forbid the door

Foreclose the bones

Refrain

Restore

Voices on phones

Rolling red

Tart and dead

To stain

No more

Tom McGlynn

Monday, September 16, 2013

Crushed

All are gathered

To be crushed

Pressed together

After grown apart

Too sweet

And sickening

A smell

Remains

The fire rises

Up along the ridges

The valley smoke

Is remade as frost

Rolled away

Is the wasted sunlight

Decadent and fattened

From months

Unhung

And now brought about

In such a wind

That chills

The goblin child

Of winter

Tom McGlynn

Sunday, September 15, 2013

In the unexamining

Statistically unopposed

Are ways to count

The days

That flourish away

The notes cribbed

Then repeated

The skidding

Then the thud

The thud

That hits

Below the belt

When the head

Protected

Is blind enough

Enough of this

There is no time

For reading

Comic lines

Lines to hang

A life on

Seldom deliver

Hooks

Tom McGlynn

Your south is woven
From summer rushes
Still outside

Its thatch of whether
Blown as skirts
Pleats the light
That binds

Fall opal evenings
Are unbound
In a gentle sweat
Let down
No longer
Shone inside
A bead
A bauble
Or a babe

Saturday, September 14, 2013

Where she ended

Orphaned

As was

In the beginning

Green

Shuttled from

That shingle

A traveling domestic

Was in another

Empire state

In a high rise

Newly old

Yet

Younger than

The leap it took

To step aboard

That steamer

Freighted with

All wordly hope

When there was

A lack

At home

Its furnishings

Displaced outside

Inbetween

Her dream away

Forgot the leap

Then tripping back

It fell and broke its trunk

To spill a helpless lay

A bell without a tongue

That clapping poorly

Tolled inside her

To ring the sea again

Rudely was she waked

Considering her promise

In paying for

That early berth

And the steerage

Opened

Tom McGlynn

Friday, September 13, 2013

That buried hum

Inside

That native

Tongue

Pretending

To be

A barely whittled

Somewhere

Gathering

An audience

It is a calling

An old and heavy

First light

Without a lamp

Inside

This fill

Grasping

At night

Considering

This cracked safe

Inside

Tom McGlynn

Cast together

Neither willed

Nor starred

For the duration

Locked

Not by men

Or mystery

Our company

Retains its

Solvency

Close packed

But diffused

In touch

What holds

Is just

The holding

Just

Close packed

As a shaped

Device

Diffused

In touch

Improvised

A link

Is made

Across

The wire

Made unreal

By giving

Way

Tom McGlynn

Thursday, September 12, 2013

What was rid

Drew as a straw

Came as a place

More real

Than mothers

Tearing up

Forgiveness

Taking care

Of reason

For letting go

Of babies

Sculls

Of their own

Drafting

Soothed

Upon forgetting

Shallow

On a stream

As placed

Upon an order

Cast

But also

Come

Tom McGlynn

Wednesday, September 11, 2013

The branch

Will not

Become

A tree

Becomingly

It caches

Leaves

But lacks

A web

Of roots

To spin

Spinning

From a wind

Displaced

A branch

Will not

Become

A tree

Because

It's would

Will never

Severed
As it is

From words

Which ball

A whole

That bids

A branch

To speak

The branch

Will not

Become

A tree

Tom McGlynn

Sincerely hopes

To grub a stake

Scrabbled with

A holey rake

Tapping tapping

Into pain

Makes it feel

At home again

Swimming clear

Of irony

Baits a certain

Byrony

Tom McGlynn

Tuesday, September 10, 2013

Against a feasting lull

Quite

They haven't replaced

The ground

All admits

A wait

There is no peace

In wild things

This track

Recalls

A name

Adamant

Subtending

Tom McGlynn

A second

Redress

Of the morning

Binds

The wink

Sunk into

Your dream

A march

Of halters

Stains

The street

Waiting

For the change

To light

Tom McGlynn

Sunday, September 8, 2013

Studios available

Were emptied

In time

For the block

To be

Unlaquered

In Queens

The money

Is made

In spades

(There are poplars

Now planted

Under

The el)

The city

Parked

This leaveless

Museum

Has an ashcan

Footprint

Deep

In its former

Boroughs

Tom McGlynn

Saturday, September 7, 2013

Many hands

Many hands
Lent in the fall
Parsing grace

A masterpiece

Supporting casts

Holding court

Until the nerve

Returns a touch

Returns

A malady

Of touch

Fingerpaint

Washed from

The blood

Tom McGlynn

The house slave

Chooses

A private room

Sleep now

Borrow a mask

Until you earn

A summons

A bill

Of sheets

Will come due

Last upon

A trifle

Tom McGlynn

Thursday, September 5, 2013

A dancer in death

Squeaks a whorl

Unannounced

Modern

Foreshortened

She twists away

Leaving the corps

Barefooted

On sprung floors

And suspended judgment

She twists a way

Unannounced

Tom McGlynn

Tuesday, September 3, 2013

The knee

Of night

Bent back

In mimicry

Of light

The moon

A lapsed medallion

Replaced

And misbegotten

Jumped now

A source

Of spite

Craftily

We back

And forth

Ferried

Not so merry

Across the sky

Reversed

Tom McGlynn

Monday, September 2, 2013

There was a job

Spending time

Toward you

Who expected

As much

As given

What was dug

Scraped or spun

Made us a world

Deep and wide

Elastic

The mills

Are only purgatory

Now

Driven between

Bricks and mortar

A pile of vines

Unsuited

Swatting ghosts

Is exhausting

Main street

Is a parade

Of them

Unemployed

At hand

The heavy lifting

Has begun

Without a back

To break

Tom McGlynn

The plank

Sits proud

Its nails

Squeezed out

Pressure treated

But useless

A tract less

Stuck

It punctures

Way

Tom McGlynn