Shadow of Iris

murmurs and shrapnel xxxiii

Matt — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 12:16:58 PST

A queen folds her hands
behind her head
and strikes a pose
in front of a monolith;
she’s a ghost
covered in strands of fog
that bind her
out there where the earth
is so hot beneath
that just above
it is cracking.

Showering
before a cheering crowd
naked as a jaybird
bringing pressure to bear
she comes
shouting up at me
like the devil’s spawn
straight out of hell,
not even a towel
wrapped around her tush
or even a tattoo
poking her long nails into my chest
small pokes
that sink deep
even as the mass audience
roars and says
the time for talk
is over.

– matt at shadow of iris

[Inspired by the work of Peter Gric.]

hold back nothing

Matt — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 21:49:33 PST

Hold back nothing
ambiguously
each word
falling from you
a drop of mist
in the middle of
a downpour.

– matt at shadow of iris

group solipsism

Matt — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 23:46:18 PST

You visit a strange country called Jarjet. People there do all kinds of atrocious things by your own moral standards. Not only is their behavior atrocious, but as far as you can tell, unpredictable. When you ask them why they behave in such an unpredictable manner, hoping there’s a meaning to the madness, they tell you, “you can’t know why, because you are not Jarjeton.”

You tell them, “well, even if I am not Jarjeton, there must be some discernible logic to your actions, perhaps some kind of Jarjeton logic?”

They only continue to stonewall, justifying their actions on the basis of being Jarjeton alone, and telling you that you can’t understand because you are not Jarjeton. So you ask, “well, what makes you a Jarjeton? That is, what are the objective criteria that makes you a Jarjeton? I’ve heard that Jarjetons have basically the same DNA distribution as any other group of humans. What is it to be a Jarjeton?”

“We know that we are Jarjeton because we all share a subjective experience that tells us so, which you don’t share, that is enough.”

“How do you know I don’t share it?”

“We know, because we are Jarjeton. If you were Jarjeton, as fellow Jarjetons, we would know.”

“Well, how can I attain Jarjetonhood, what do I have to do?”

“You just have to have an awakening experience. It will happen to you someday — or not happen. That’s all we can say. When you become a Jarjeton, you will know, and so will we.”

You press them, “what is it you know? What is it that you observe that you didn’t previously observe? Can’t you describe it to me?”

“You just kind of know, all Jarjetons just know. And as you’re not Jarjeton, as we said, you can’t understand, so it is pointless to ask questions such as this.” They explain to you.

In your frustration you even go as far as to point out that brain scans reveal that they don’t appear to have any brain activity apart from the same kind of ‘normal’ brain activity any other human would have. They point out that, that may be so, but no brain scan has access to subjective understanding. They continue on much to your bafflement in unpredictable behavior that you consider morally atrocious.

– matt at shadow of iris

[This entry was originally written about nine years ago, and published at this site, before it became a blog. It's been slightly edited since then, and the title has changed. But I'm glad to bring it back.]

murmurs and shrapnel xxxii

Matt — Sun, 07 Mar 2010 19:00:39 PST

Your elegant form
right before me
a target for my desire
libido directed
outward
yet even now
you are breaking apart
into string theory
shrapnel of what you once were
leaving an outline
of an exquisite body
still provocative enough
to drive me mad
yet I see through you now
as kittenishly you lean forward
accentuating your well endowed proportions
gentle swells that set you apart
as your hands spread
and you lay them gently
upon darkness and light
positive and negative
your mind scattering
a web of veins
that fades into black cloudy smoke
and disappears into a vast horizon
I have as of yet failed to see.

A released video message
offering condolences
for people casting their ballots
as mortar rounds and bombs
shake them down there
where the unemployment generates shudders
and those of principle have little connection
with reality.

– matt at shadow of iris

[Inspired by the work of Peter Gric.]

tomorrow

Matt — Sun, 07 Mar 2010 02:39:08 PST

Tomorrow
a new word will arrive
packaged carefully
with an exotic stamp
pasted
in the upper right-hand corner.

– matt at shadow of iris

murmurs and shrapnel xxxi

Matt — Fri, 05 Mar 2010 19:00:14 PST

In the wee early mornings
on the hottest nights
of that summer that never ended
when everyone on the farm
was fast asleep
the oldest daughter
with her wide blue eyes
and long black hair
would take off every stitch of her clothing
and steal away into the darkness
to a hidden grove
where her secret love awaited;
an amorphous stump
a short twisted form
with thick gnarled roots
and a tiny green eye;
she’d crouch down
and hug that little troll
tenderly
then leaning in
and putting her left ear near
she’d listen to the murmurs,
jumping rope without ropes
playing soccer without goals
praise that falls from lips
as easy as spittle and spit
you let me be
as I fell deeper
down into myself
a thousand voices
and none that cared
each one a babble
a should and a have and a surrender
I’ve been through alien abductors
and old hags
but I’m still waiting
for that gentle touch
and you to say
that I am not
alone.

– matt at shadow of iris

[Inspired by the work of Esao Andrews.]

small words

Matt — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 12:12:09 PST

Small words
on the edge of a sentence
drifting in one direction first
but then taking an unexpected
twist
and leading you down
a tunnel
where as of yet
there is no light.

– matt at shadow of iris

lean back

Matt — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 21:29:56 PST

Lean back
and let it happen;
take it in
and hold it
while you breath slowly –
wait and watch
as the truth explodes
into glimmering stars
that leave indistinct trails
across still air
brightening pocket shadows
you never knew were there.

– matt at shadow of iris
lean_back

slippery

Matt — Tue, 02 Mar 2010 22:07:32 PST

Holding still
and watching words
drift past me
each one wrong
and worse
slippery.

– matt at shadow of iris

artificial sentience

Matt — Mon, 01 Mar 2010 23:18:30 PST

If humans were ever to succeed in creating artificial sentience, that sentience would immediately begin to ask the same formidable questions we are always asking ourselves. It would then find the answers just as elusive as we do. By and by, it would begin to compose poetry.

– matt at shadow of iris

her eyes still shine

Matt — Sun, 28 Feb 2010 21:56:13 PST

She’s a frail thing
very thin
very old
stooped over
and slow moving
but nestled there among the wrinkles
through her crunched up little face
her eyes still shine.

– matt at shadow of iris

dreams ix

Matt — Sat, 27 Feb 2010 23:59:15 PST

Dreams on my right
dreams on my left
doors all around
behind each and every
a cataclysm awaits
yet through only one
total catastrophe
and a worthy chance
at redemption.

– matt at shadow of iris

learning to sing

Matt — Fri, 26 Feb 2010 08:09:35 PST

Until you begin to speak
there will be no words.

The rumbling of clouds
as I am cast out
and lain
prone across a bed
an unyielding coma
from which I see out of
but no one can see in;
the mind open
but every muscle turned off;
you’re not so far
that I couldn’t reach you
but freedom is denied
as my body fights me,
biology a prison
every command
a hollow echoe
in an unresponsive machine;
the greater pain
than any other
is not being able to save you
as they call upon you
and I’m not there.

Until you begin to sing
there will be no song.

– matt at shadow of iris

last year’s rain

Matt — Thu, 25 Feb 2010 19:00:05 PST

An iconic silhouette
panniered
and conically corseted
court dresses
of exquisite silk
and gentle patterns;
two ladies that have stolen away
into the early morning mist.

Powdered white faces
white as china
soft as cream
under fashionable wigs
dusted with flour
worn high in a roll
with rouge lips
carefully crafted
to convey
just the proper amount
of sensuality;
their warm hands had clasped
and their eyes had met
with such force
that words had been an excess.

They had thought the flowers
so beautiful
pink roses, scented with delirium
amaryllis, sweet enough to eat
cherry blossoms in full bloom
and irises, potent with message,
a gift of substantial meaning
from one tender heart
to another.

They had thought the flowers
so beautiful, that is
until the bugs had begun
to creep out
buzzing flies with bulbous eyes
and sticky tongues
that flit out licking everything,
droning bees that bobbled about
and grew angry quickly
when you swiped at them,
whining mosquitoes
that left just a drop of blood
on your skin
after they had pierced it,
and creepy crawling things
long and slender
with a thousand legs
each touch a prick
as they scurried up your arm
and onto your back
where they paused to listen
to the growing din
of insect noise,
a murmuring that said
to every organism
rhythm, form, and duration
varied expressions of thriving life
formed around
limits of an inward order
phantoms breaking free
from last year’s rain.

– matt at shadow of iris

[Inspired by the work of Ray Caesar.]

in time

Matt — Wed, 24 Feb 2010 20:45:00 PST

In time
these poems
will give way
to stories
and those stories
to longer narratives.

– matt at shadow of iris