ghost poems, the third collection...boo!

Here is the last installment about poetry that is not alive!



ghost poetry: Kayla

Kayla in the yard
with
September grass
graying

the angel
in the dream

screams

and

oh

victory to now undo the song of sun
of sun
so
fu sun
of
su
nfos
fu
nsuf
ofns
usn
fs
u
nf
so
fu
sno
fun

sos
fufnsos
sofnsosn
sosnfons
fons
fos
fnsofnsof




ghost poetry: lovers

lovers say hello
in
dreams

walking
on their heads

the ghosts in the lane
amidst

Sunday
sun
sun
sun


nnnnnn
nnn
n
n
n
n
n
n


nnn
n
n















ghost poetry: silent fade 3

she sings and
he sings
and she sings and he
sings and
she sings and
he
sings and
she sings
and
he
sings
and she sings and he sings and she sings and
he sings and
she
sing and he
sings
and
she sings and he
sings
and
she
sings
and
he
sings
an
d sh
e si
ng
s
a
nd
h
e
si
n
g


s




ghost poetry: telephone

the telephone rings
in
the dream
to
wake the king

and he sleeps
on
top of the world

and the sun
says
to the stars that
they
must kindly
sing
too


oooooooo
























ghost poetry: wa

wa

w


a







w












a






w







a


ghost poetry: silent fade 4

the opposite of
dream
of
dream
o
f
d
r
e
a
m

.






.










.












.
ghost poetry: everyone

willem
kisses kayla
kisses
marla

kisses

i

iikkk
sss

ghosts of ghosts

Hey, here are more eerie sounds of ghosts making poetry in a vacuum.



ghost poetry: Duluth

in Duluth
fire eats
wooden
wheels

we sleep

wake
dream

dream

dream king

gggggggggggggggggaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhlllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
gggggggggggggggggvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv
uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuulllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
























ghost poetry: silent fade 1

silent fade 1


hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhh
hhhh
hh
h





hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhh
hhhh
hh
h




















ghost poetry: thinkers

the thinkers
see
marla in the window

oh
oh


oh

oooooooooooooo

































ghost poetry: star

stars
are distant

distant

dead and long
winded winding

ghosts
go

ccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccchhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
cccccccccccc
hhhhhhh
ccchhh
cchhc
hch
c













and bang!











ghost poetry: double

over the
dream
we sing

and willem gets a knife

scritch
scratch

stab
shove
slip
slide sink
shiv






























ghost poetry: window

the window
captures

a reflection

and open
sleep
dreamer sun
king

gobble

































ghost poetry: silent fade 2

sssssssssssssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
sssssssssshhhhhhhh
sssshhhh
sshh
sh


.

.

.




.




.





.








.

death/rebirth

Hello creeps, I'm finally back. A lot's happened, or not happened, but let's just say I'm ready to blog again. The death of this blog has been inevitable, and I've been searching for ghosts, so now it is time for rebirth. Dig!




ghost poetry: willem

this is not a poem.
willem
is
dead.

he tells us that
life is
a dream,
that
he is the dream
king,
that

he’s waking up.

he tells me this is not
a dream,
then sings,
then fades

and the clouds and the morning
and
sunlight.





















ghost poetry: fuzz

fuzzzz
sleep

sss

hhssshhhssss






































ghost poetry: singer

singer
singer

sleeper

ssssssssssssssssssssss

aaa
a

aaaaaaaaaaa
aaa


hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhh

h
h
h
h
h
h
h
h
h
h
















ghost poetry: buzz

buzz

change
sleep
buzzzzzzzzzzz
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
z
z
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
zzzzzzz
z









willem…























ghost poetry: shroud

along

the sleep
summer

and the sunshine

wake up
all

of the dream kings
sing
in the courtyard


hhhhh
hhhhh
hhhhh
hhhh
hhhh
hhhh
hhh
hhh
hhh
hh
hh
hh
h
h
h














ghost poetry: donut

around in
loops

some ghosts crawl on their
bellies
groaning
and groaning

oh
this is not
poetry
oh this is
not
poetry oh this
is not
poetry oh
this is
not poetry oh
this is not
poetry
























ghost poetry: marla

marla fell
through the window

going

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

she wakes up

she goes into the cellar
she
eats
a lightbulb

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

typed page from Co-Lab show 5

Here's the fifth (and penultimate) page of typed randomness from Co-Lab. Just wait, my friends, mores a coming.



and here is some typewriter audio mayhem.

typed page from Co-Lab show 3

Hey guys, here I am, just doing my thing, bringing you some randomly typed pages from the Boho Coco performance at Co-Lab. I kind of like the group thing, don't you? Togetherness? Art? Kablooey!

typed page reading 2

More typed pages from people who attended the Boho Coco show at Co-Lab last Saturday. I love random creation, don't you? Or isn't it always? Scooby Doo. Check this out too: austinnewblog.blogspot.com.

typed page from Co-Lab show 1

Hey guys, here is the first in a bunch of typed up pages from our Co-Lab show. 'In Limbo,' random people wrote these lines. Accompanying them are some type writer (and other sounds) mixes I made for that very show. Enjoy! And check out austinnewblog.blogspot.com, for a variation on these written pages. Dig!



c

space: live

The last poem in my series titled 'Space.' Oh, but will we be so lonely out there in the void? I don't know. Check out: austin new blog, to find out. Hey, see you Saturday at Co-Lab.





text:
space: live


Walter’s
oxygen seeped into the black
veil of becoming,

his skin began to freeze and his
eyes held still.

god’s hand in form of astral wind
swept him from
the gravity well

willow wobble

and into a neighboring wormhole.


a black hole is a subject not best defended
by movie stars or small children;
instead, it is a figurative impossibility
some fear one
day will creep onto the planet
in gray uniform and begin to sing
the blandest song of stasis
and determinacy.


Walter was hurled across too many
dimensions
and his body came apart;
head in an ice belt, hand in rusty meteor, liver in neutron star,
kidneys in pulsar beat,
heart in nebula cloud, and eyes
set down low in the ring of Saturn.

reassemble and toss him back into
the black,

we cry, we demand.

the binary stars twinkle; the comets
sparkle; the radiation crackles; the
ocean drips.

space go way got under
the slip so swing we
oh oh
spin.

space: tame

Another amazing adventure captured in audio. Space continues, and hey, maybe we'll all trip out together Saturday at Co-Lab. Oh, and what other strange adventures may await us? How about this: austin new blog.






text:
space: tame


Walter drifted into the wake
of binary
stars

trapped by a center of gravity
so small

and significant.

days
later,

Walter, trapped between the beasts, began to
laugh;

oh gee,

small people holding a hand in
the sky,

we watch the moon halve itself
every night,

until, brave enough,

she returns with
her

swollen face;

Walter tore off his helmet.

space: drift

The latest poem in my space series. Oh can you hear me in the endless drift, wee little ones? Check this shit out: austin new blog. And, hey! come to Co-Lab on Saturday night.





text:
space: drift


into
on
and over

under the ethereal

all
and beyond

oh destiny
oh
oh

god in the camouflage

bring the
ring sing
dill

deng dang the cral
crack

over and beyond
under

ethereal oh
veil oh

threat oh sigh.

tiny striped comets shot
across
endless hissing radiation

of the lonely.

space: flower

The second poem in a series about SPACE! Check out: austinnewblog; for another poem about SPACE!





text:
space: flower


clover leaf
if you
are
a round orb,

but ivy strand if you
are

a mote in the sea of
black.

Walter began to end his
hallucinations:

now was time to create a god.

afterlife, of course,
was

also-ran; Walter
instead dreamed up

a harmonic vibration
all

energy existed in perpetually.

he called his anti-dying-living
‘entropos’

and tried to recall his

name.

Walter
Walter
Walter,

space
madness

infinite night planets spin orange rosy
novas

space: cognition

Here's a new series to count down to the Boho Coco show at Co-Lab on June 13th. Oh, and it's a collaboration as well. Check out: austinnewblog - 2001 part 3 1; for the other part of this wonderful exploration of space poetry. Zagblot!





text:
space: cognition


left alone to drift through
the void,
Walter

began to hallucinate within his
antiseptic suit.

I am three thousand
holly
lilies set
against backdrops of red fence;
I am
barbarian skull
in
courtyard;
I am

listless tongue boulevard kids
jumping
the church pews.

Walter did not
think on the strangeness
of
his life traversing the
infinite black;

if we are alone,
we
are an ocean.

god - spectacle

The final poem in my series of divine poetry. It's almost as if god himself is weeping because it's over (but he's the type to believe in reincarnation, so don't fret). Hope you enjoyed the poetry, and lookout for a big announcement next week.

god - dummy

The next in a series of poems featuring god, Christopher Savage, some unexplained touching, and poetry!!!



text:
god: dummy


paint blood red
my
waist in a
field of ivy
roiling with summer
heat;

I watch two lovers
kiss another’s
hands and
recite poetry.

garbage heap,
love,
silver and tin
humps,
old bottles of port
and rye,
giggling mouse
faced chickies,
and
an unencumbered
rendezvous of
old airplane buckles.

god is charity

god - spectacle

Another in my latest series featuring that ne'er-do-well God. Yum, poetry on Memorial Day. Who would have thought?



text:
god: spectacle


silver eyelets
on Spanish statues,
dear boys
in choir
open-mouthed
and gyrating
with swaths of gold
trim
adorning their
robes.
evil on a windowsill,
hammer fall and
blissful meadow ouch,
latent blue
architecture,
marvelous damsels,
and old
Idaho busted
loose.

god calls you,
he
calls!

god - Hosea

God poetry? Sure, we got that.






text:
god: Hosea


there were no men
at large
with shadow sprayed
onto factory wall
chanting
for my death.
they were instead
dirt-faced in the
ditches
spewing industry.
Hosea
had come
for a killing,
licking
his teeth
for salt
and brandishing twin
pistols.

lightning!
grace!

a summons to
the wild and
the tethered;
unfetter and
ring,
sheets of glass and apples.




...also...have a great vacation, Erin. Say hello to Ma and Pa Vaughan for me!

god - tunic

Hey guys, here's the next installment to the series featuring god and my epic ass getting down on some crazy poetry. Did somebody say "Waiting for Godot?"







text:
god: tunic


timeless
seasons
festering in slurry,
merry
brigands cheering
the plight of
orphans.
call
me
servile;
I am
a
light pole on the
outskirts!

god - onslaught

Hey guys, here's a new poetry series from yours truly. I'm still fiddling around with my audio software stuff, so I figured, why not channel the very voice of god to preach good old poesy to the masses. Enjoy!






text:
god: onslaught


all
is
spectacle!
shimmer cloud
town
brandy women
clanging trousers
in ribbon-less back
alleys
hot-breathed and
barbarous;
an aluminum can
sliding the creek
gravel-faced
junior-hearted
and lithic;
I
am
a lace lingering
the edge of a high-rise
starry billboard
advertising sunkenless
tobacco
wretching smog sunsets.

oh
I am
yours.

might I share some insanity with you?

Hey folks, I've recently downloaded some audio software and have been screwing around with sound. Here's an example:



and here's some poetry to accompany the insanity (go ahead and read the poems with the sound playing; it's zen kooky)


colors and marriage


choose silver
for a glass color
and
chase away with tonic, with
gin,
with suspenders;

the musicians in corollary row,
black and
blue,
singing an oeuvre
of the best times to bow
tie,
to digest, to summon a golden sun,
to
sleep,
to
begin again.

ivy white road of sustenance,
girl of one
thousand tongues, getting
married tomorrow,

slip over a rouge baton, oh girl,
slip.

hip black thin free graceful birds
flapping
the muggy ocean back to its
prehensile state,
before the modern, before the
magic, before school buses and tugboats
took over the better hearth of the
harbor.

brown shoes for cudgel,
green gel and a face
of smooth brandy
curves, open in evenings, oh he’s
getting married in
a cobalt truck, blue ochre remnants, oh
he’s.
clover,
happenstance, prickly
doorbell gold,
flat docile
plaid pirates of the garbage
heap,
a pink and lavender maid of honor,
a
gray striped best man,
the old
address of the elderly couple in
beige, the
car and the red road.

this year is a good grace
hallelujah;

bend the flap of the green
summer,
eat the turquoise
hearse.

sound of the city

Here's what it sounded like when I took the pictures of the silver fire hydrant:



And here's an old poem of mine about a city (or a city about a poem!):

untitled 534


there is a
remark
in
the way the jungle
scents of
City
climb
destiny
and scream
and froth

,

and Cindy
the actress
,
certainly
something
,
gasps to see
a lonely
cute cat

meowing
in the narrow night
.