Tag Archives: abstract
Daily now, I challenge
my notions of order
and morality.
The question is
always present,
the answer is
ever elusive.
I don’t know,
but it seems to me
that those who have
the strictest sense of
right and wrong
are often bound
by doctrine,
dictated and defined
for them by
long-dead
intellectuals,
unquestioningly
carried
for generations.
And somewhere
along the way,
they took it in
completely,
hopes and fears
and promises,
and they pour
their spirits out
for it,
but still they
have no real
way of knowing
why it is they
feel.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, belief, brian, dark, doctrine, existentialism, ideology, knowledge, looney, nihilism, poetry | posted in Poems
If you like to drive yourself,
push and strain and reach,
you may find that the end
to which you strive is but
a shade, and you may pass
right through to the other side,
journey at an end,
and the way ahead
resembles the path
behind, now that your
target has been reached.
And what you thought
was an end turned
out to be a mere
continuation, a mere
crest, nowhere near
the finish, if there is
indeed a finish, a cessation
of effort, like death,
but still you breathe,
and though you’ve made
some progress, you have
hardly reached a stopping point.
But at least you made it
pretty far, made it to the markers,
and the way before you’s undiscovered,
and you take a timid step,
and you hope to gain direction,
but you don’t know where to go.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, brian, cerebral, dark, destination, existentialism, futility, goal, literature, looney, poetry, travel, writing | posted in Poems
Silent trauma,
written plainly,
even comically,
for the situation
isn’t one for
silent trauma.
Silent trauma’s
presence in this
atmosphere is
rather ludicrous,
since no one’s life
is at stake,
since the discomfort
is only temporary.
Silent trauma’s
eyes are creased,
her cheeks are haggard,
her brows are knit,
her lips are pursed,
and she just wants
to make it through the night.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, brian, cerebral, dark, deep, heavy, literature, looney, poetry, prose, short, writing | posted in Poems
Up kicks the mud,
outspread like
shotgun pellets,
for the hooves
dive dig and
fling.
Up kicks the mud,
commonplace
it seems,
beneath these
dank conditions,
although it calls
to me out from
the bog.
Up kicks the mud,
lodges to my surface,
speckles cheeks
with kisses,
claims my
every garment,
clotting to my
lids and lips.
Up kicks the mud,
pasted slop up-kicked,
dung dirt freckled glue,
latching to the skin.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, brian, cerebral, dark, fling, gallop, hooves, horses, looney, mud, poetry, writing | posted in Poems
Is it possible
to push the tangle out?
To hound it
through the cord,
the electric cable,
applying forward
pressure all the while,
until at last the
end is met,
and all the hunted
tension flees
into the room?
Comments Off | tags: abstract, brian, cerebral, dark, line, looney, poetry, short, tangle, tension, writing | posted in Poems
- This week I read the piece from March 7, Returned. I like its abstracted, almost cryptic, air. I like the sense of dark return, the lack of lateral directions. And the sense of uncertainty.
- Click to listen —-> Returned
Comments Off | tags: abstract, audio, brian, cerebral, dark, looney, mic, poetry, reading, spoken, word, writing | posted in Looney Speaks Weekly, Poems
Back it goes,
and I don’t know
from which end it sprang,
from which pole,
or even what you call it.
I just feel one must
return a borrowed item
in a timely manner,
and in respectful silence.
Back it goes,
and I should have
paid attention,
because it’s either
north or south,
nevermind the east
and west.
But set it on the shelf,
and it looks like it belongs,
blends into the scene,
occupies a space,
successfully returned.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, bizarre, borrowing, brian, cerebral, dark, literature, looney, poetry, returned, writing | posted in Poems
Add a little more,
because I like it to the brim,
maybe even sloshing over,
and draping down my fist and wrist,
and pattering down below.
Add a little more,
because it doesn’t feel correct,
because I need the weight to pull,
to quiver in my knees,
or tugging at my limbs.
Add a little more,
because otherwise I’d float,
several feet above the earth,
with just the air to kiss my cheek,
with just the clouds to hug me close.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, baggage, brian, cerebral, dark, life, looney, poetry, position, responsibility, weight, writing | posted in Poems
I wash the sand
off my face
in the morning,
but it always
reforms
overnight.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, age, brian, cerebral, dark, dreams, looney, morning, poetry, sand, sleep, waking, writing | posted in Poems
Uplifted,
because it warms my insides and enlivens my mind. The way a smile appears when contentment is restored, the once-grave engine churning. Cold at first, with squeaking belts, and the rat-a-tat puttering that is a struggle.
Uplifted,
because the internal combustion reaches its ideal state. That is, it chomps and munches the fuel in an efficient manner, the manner in which it was designed. A controlling self-sufficiency, so long as there is fuel aplenty.
Uplifted,
because I turned the key and caught the spark, made use of the dancing blue speck, from which all life is born. For of course it all started with the proto-flame, which chains into reactions, whose end-result is complexity, advancement and complexity. And then, warmed through, fulfillment.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, brian, dark, engine, literature, looney, mood, poetry, running, spark, temperament, writing | posted in Poems
The sun-fried egg on the skypan emits light in concentric rings. Outward they spread, dancing and bubbling, slowly moving with the yolk as it slides in a wide-sweep circle. But the sun-fried egg on the skypan is not cooked by us. In fact it cooks us in turn, browns our bits to match its progress. And who is to say when it will be done? Perhaps, to the cook, one million years is as one second. And to him(or her), the egg is nearly done, and the spatula is poised.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, brian, cerebral, dark, existentialist, looney, perspective, poetry, scale, sun, time, writing | posted in Poems
Well they really take it out of me. Although I’m not quite sure how. How one day it’s present and the next it’s sapped. I don’t think there’s any formula or code, or methodology. In fact it seems quite random.
Some days they take it out of me. Some days it bounces off. And I seek to acquire that which causes bouncing. Certainly an outlook. But I think it’s some hidden arithmetic which, if properly played and calculated, will yield the bouncing technique.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, brian, creativity, dark, drive, energy, fatigue, humor, literature, looney, poetry, temperament, writing | posted in Poems
Woozy with it,
gently swaying
on my feet,
like a reed
in the wind,
firmly rooted,
but bending,
and then
correcting.
Woozy with it,
off-kilter
and in laughter,
the kind that’s
part concern,
part substance,
but mainly
without reason.
Woozy with it,
knocking
on the walls,
or mumbling
to myself,
roaming
half-asleep,
something comes
unhinged.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, brian, cerebral, dark, derangement, fatigue, humorous, looney, poetry, woozy, writing | posted in Poems
Well, it’s simply a matter of regular breaths. A soft, even intake, a prolonged exhalation, on repeat. An emptying of the mind. One must, of course, be positioned comfortably: no lumps or cricks or tangled sheets. One must, of course, be confident of the result. Confident the drift, the soporific currents, will deposit the body in the sleepful spring.
Well, it’s simply a matter of winking out and recharging. To lock concern away, exiled to the careworn, worry-torn regions of my multifaceted, multiplanar, multiangular mind. To summon a song of peace, to silence gaunt persistence.
But in the unfelt night, some sound pushes me toward wakefulness, like the hollow chime of a fresh rung bell–whose vibrant echo thickly hums with something, dully blares out from the corners.
I rang the bell in the morning; I ring the bell on waking. And I think some spell has kept its chime from dying, no matter how many regular breaths I take, no matter what the meditation. Because sleep is a well that I’m half-way down, that I fell in by mistake. And my body became wedged, just above the waters, and I can hear the bucket scrape.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, bell, brian, cerebral, dark, despair, humor, insomnia, looney, poetry, sleep, wakeful, writing | posted in Poems
If she doesn’t
respect your work,
she doesn’t respect you.
For what is my work
but an extension
of myself?
I will not push it
in her face,
I may not ask
for her opinion,
but I may just subtly
drop it in.
And if her silence
reigns,
I know she
disapproves.
Perhaps she wants
to part me
from my
reason for
existence,
or change it
to suit her
ill-begotten
tastes,
or supplant
herself,
and in so doing,
stand between
me and it.
But I will never
leave my
work to suit
a woman’s envy;
I owe it more
than she can know.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, art, brian, cerebral, clash, dark, ego, literature, looney, poetry, relationship, will, writing | posted in Poems
Am I turning
in a circle
?
Am I unlocking
new facets,
or am I treading
the same water,
tilling arid turf
?
Comments Off | tags: abstract, brian, cerebral, development, inspiration, literature, looney, poetry, process, progress, short, writing | posted in Poems
A restless night,
populated by short,
intense dreams
followed by long hours
of wakefulness.
And while the dreams
were intense,
I cannot recall
the details,
although I do remember
wandering
in all of them.
And I’m fairly certain
that I snored quite loudly.
It just seems to fit
the equation.
How could I have
dived so deep
without a snoring
bass to keep the time?
Comments Off | tags: abstract, brian, cerebral, dark, dreams, insomnia, literature, looney, poetry, sleep, snoring, writing | posted in Poems
Poise is comfort, tied to the hip.
A relaxing of the guard.
To be one with self.
Poise is comfort at all times,
even in a situation.
As in the unpredictable,
as when the metal’s tested.
Poise is comfort, uncontrived.
Rejoice as it upwells,
tried and true,
it’s natural enough.
Poise is comfort, uninhibited.
Uninterrupted, undiluted.
A relaxing of the guard.
Soon to be announced.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, air, brian, cerebral, confidence, dark, literature, looney, outlook, poetry, poise, writing | posted in Poems
- I chose to read the piece, Bridge, from January 17th. The brief piece explores recollection and cognition: the assimilation of memory, a self-seeking motif which is prevalent in a lot of my work.
- Give it a listen; I hope you enjoy ——-> Bridge
Comments Off | tags: abstract, art, brian, cerebral, dark, literature, looney, performance, poetry, spoken, word, writing | posted in Looney Speaks Weekly
Defend me from desensitization, for some folk see it as a strength. To look on horrors without a twitch, without a flinch. Internally, they admire this quality, when in fact the reality of the thing is lost, or pushed aside, or veiled beneath the so-called silver screen–until their appreciation for violent acts becomes commonplace, hopelessly commonplace, while the reality of the thing is lost on them.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, art, brian, desensitization, literature, looney, media, poetry, violence, writing | posted in Poems
Single file,
one by one,
hand by hand,
eye by eye,
face by face,
awaiting.
Single file,
patience tested,
papal paupers,
patents pending,
papers shift.
Single file,
single line,
singly dealt,
singled shorts,
singling out,
but mingled.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, brian, bureaucracy, business, dark, experimental, literature, looney, poetry, waiting, writing | posted in Poems
Sort of a “What does this button do?” mentality.
My legs shook and wobbled like a newborn colt’s.
But that has gone all out of me,
I think.
Spent when the rack of knives
came crashing down upon the
icy, barefoot tile,
and I had to hop about,
nimble as a bird,
to prevent impalation.
But I am older now
and know of excess.
Now the search is one of balance,
not of curiosity.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, brian, cerebral, literature, looney, outlook, poetry, search, surreal, temperament, writing | posted in Poems
By the time it’s gone
you’ll have expired.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, brian, dark, death, hatred, literature, looney, poetry, relations, resentment, short, writing | posted in Poems
Don’t bestir yourself. To bestir is to bedisturb, because one you’ve bestirred, you’ll have pushed the quiet comfort back.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, brian, cerebral, literature, looney, outlook, poetry, reality, short, surreal, writing | posted in Poems
The creases slyly deepen.
The creases on the page.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, aging, brian, dark, experimental, flash, literature, looney, short, surreal, writing | posted in Poems
Sitting in the chair,
my powers increase,
one leg shakes
and one eye winks.
Lounging on the couch,
my powers increase,
from left to right,
attention caught.
Wakeful through,
my powers increase,
vivid dreams
that cause a scene.
But in the end,
my powers increase,
a pen that knows,
the keys that play.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, art, augment, brian, dark, literature, looney, poetry, practice, skill, writing | posted in Poems
Without balance there can be no peace of mind. But balance is an arbitrary term which varies daily. The scales are often tilted, shifting subtly, and a multitude of factors set the weight and counterweight.
Without balance, it all runs loose. Mournful or savage, and always egocentric. It rushes off so glibly–no accounting for self.
Without balance,
I am impetuous-neurotic,
and I seek a stable state.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, balance, brian, dark, equilibrium, looney, mental, peace, philosophic, poetry, writing | posted in Poems
Time moves differently here.
Yesterday was only twenty-four hours ago.
My doings are in the same tier as all of my memories.
Time’s passage hasn’t biased or deadened.
The days aren’t overly long or short: they are evenly spaced.
I can’t understand why we dull with the dawn or why I start again.
Joy is conjoined with the present, with the present’s future.
But I know I’m reaching out,
that despair is universal.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, brian, cerebral, contemplative, dark, heavy, looney, poetry, short, time, writing | posted in Poems
Vaporous ice wisps off the top. And underneath, the eyes. They stare because the lids have frozen. They are blank, unfocused, on display. A wall of ice rings round the whole.
Like a totem pole, a Tiki face. But perhaps a glint of life.
Beneath the ice, a glint of life. Beneath the ice, a slumber-stare.
Beneath the ice, a glint of life.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, brian, cerebral, dark, deep, heavy, looney, poetry, short, writing | posted in Poems
Its application doesn’t clear the infected area.
Though we heap a generous amount and slather slather it. The white-coats recommend patience. Wish they had a pill for it.
Seems it even spreads.
As if it had a catalyst. I wonder if the application did it. This condition worsens as it heals, or so the white-coats say. I hope they know their trade.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, brevity, brian, cynical, dark, experimental, literature, looney, medical, poetry, writing | posted in Poems
This is a dead-end. A no-go. Completely inaccessible, impassible—imminent and fatal. There is no question of the path. Forward and back is all there is.
Was all there is, I should say. Before you showed yourself. Well I’ve got to backtrack. Will you wait for me? I’ve got to backtrack. Will you wait for me?
How many miles is it worth? See I’ve got the smallest, smallest taste of it. Makes me want it more. I don’t foresee that ending.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, bizarre, brian, dark, free, literature, looney, poetry, short, surreal, writing | posted in Poems
I just thought I’d mention it. Even in half-sleep. Even as you pass. Even in your ears.
I just thought I’d mention it. Though my brain still ghostly wanders. Though I’ve just come from far off. Though the civil in me’s blurred.
I just thought I’d mention it. While I withdraw for good. While I turn the sign and lock the door. While I manage the escape.
I just thought I’d mention it,
mention it in passing…
Comments Off | tags: abstract, brian, cerebral, dark, humor, literature, looney, nostalgia, poetry, trippy, writing | posted in Poems
I stared at her tiny, graceful hands, and I wondered how to talk to her. How to get all giddy with her, what the sequence is. Sometimes it’s achieved, apparently at random.
Likely when my guard is down. Then how to drop my guard?
I can’t do it in the trenches.
She only knows me in the trenches.
And she does not like my work.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, brian, cerebral, dark, humor, literature, looney, personality, poetry, romance, work, writing | posted in Poems
Enter title here.
But I have none to enter.
I won’t know ’til it’s done.
Enter title here.
It needs a title, needs a name.
It needs to be identified.
Enter title here.
Enter grave compartment.
Enter at the start.
Enter title here.
‘En’ as in ‘insert.’
‘Ter’ as in ‘inter.’
Inter title here.
Now I’m glad that’s settled.
Now it’s time to hunker down.
Now it’s time to write it out.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, brian, cerebral, dark, humor, literature, looney, poetry, process, short, witty, writing | posted in Poems
Don’t pester me. Relax, soften up, go back to sleep. Must you respond to the slightest touch? Must you react to my every thought?
Don’t pester me. Give it a rest. Give yourself a rest. Don’t you burn me out. Don’t you strain my engines. Don’t you rev them up.
Don’t pester me. I know your feel, I know your need, and where you wish to go. I tell you I am tired, fatigued, jaded.
Don’t pester me. I hate to say it.
But you make me say it.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, arousal, bizarre, brian, dark, humor, literature, looney, lust, poetry, pride, writing | posted in Poems
There is only a little seed, called sincerity. Truth comes afterward. She knows because she wakens humming. I know because I hear her voice.
There is only a seed, the merest, basest seed. But its presence is alarming, disturbing, demanding. She knows because she pours it out. I know because I drink it.
Truth is broader, wider, sainted. Truth is in a book–it looks best down on paper. She knows because she lies to me. I know because I play along.
Leave a comment | tags: abstract, act, brian, cerebral, dark, deep, experimental, literature, looney, poetry, short, writing | posted in Poems
I feel like balsa wood, soft and splintering with a little pressure.
When it relaxes I am airy and buoyant, and the pendulum swings.
It’s a trick of the mind, a sleight of hand, therapeutic self-hypnosis.
The philosophy of the river.
Just flow like water, angrily or not.
Only then am I clear, am I patient in my bones.
I mustn’t dam up, mustn’t clog the waterways.
Take a glimpse, and let it flow.
Get a grip, and just let it flow.
Leave a comment | tags: abstract, brian, cerebral, dark, experimental, literature, looney, poetry, prose, writing | posted in Poems
When I heard them moving I plugged my ears. There was something slimy in the shallows. I felt its fins scuttle. Then it darted, and someone yelled. Maybe it was me.
One time, they promised me. I put it in a box and sealed it tight. It went up in a whirling conflagration: a building, bristling burn. But fire purges nothing. We remember, all the same.
Leave a comment | tags: abstract, brian, cerebral, dark, literature, looney, open, poetry, short, writing | posted in Poems
I could have worked long into the night.
But my eyes were cracked and bleary.
And through them only sleep.
The will to work was dead.
I could have worked long into the night.
But I gave in to the swell.
A slackening of will.
And I just let it win.
I could have worked long into the night.
But I traded drive for comfort.
For agonizing comfort.
For brainlessness and comfort.
For ex-familiar comfort.
Leave a comment | tags: abstract, brian, comfort, dark, drive, fatigue, idleness, literature, looney, poetry, will, writing | posted in Poems
I know, child. I know.
More than I let on. Much more than you think.
I know, child. I know.
There’s nothing left to hear. So let us know together.
I know, child. I know.
It’s quite a wasted effort. It’s quite a lot of grief.
I know, child. I know.
I’m saddened by it too. My face just dropped an inch.
I know, child. I know.
It’s time you learned to manage it. The time has come at last.
I know, child. I know.
Just play their game for now.
Leave a comment | tags: abstract, brian, child, comfort, consolation, dark, knowledge, literature, looney, poetry, soothe, writing | posted in Poems
Do you hear its passage? I heard it just this morning.
And it lingers. Worry lingers, worry change.
Do you hear its passage? Mark the lamentation.
I also think “erode.” But I use worry-linger.
Do you hear its passage? I think the track is loose.
It rattles in the ear. Dismiss it just the same.
Do you hear its passage? Maybe then a glimmer?
Feel the brushing winds? Close enough to smell?
Do you hear its passage? I will not ask again.
I swear it’s not alone.
Leave a comment | tags: abstract, brian, dark, deduction, experimental, inspiration, literature, looney, poetry, search, sense, surreal, writing | posted in Poems
Perhaps it doesn’t click. And in that case I’ve no response. You have all the details that you need. So why not pitch it straight? You act as though you know me.
But I think you don’t. And in that case you are
a fraud, and
a formal fraud,
at that.
A fraud who feigns an interest,
A slave to your self-interest,
But ignorant of it.
Leave a comment | tags: abstract, brian, dark, ego, fraud, illusion, literature, looney, poetry, reality, self, slant, truth, writing | posted in Poems
Keep it down, a badness on the rise. Keep it down and trap it. Swallow hard and hold it. Hold until it sinks. Sinks and breaks apart.
But once it’s gone another forms: the smallest little bean. Given time it fattens up, a queasy indigestion. Given time it starts the rise–it wants to be let out.
Leave a comment | tags: abstract, behavior, brian, dark, hatred, literature, looney, negativity, outlook, poetry, positivity, prejudice, writing | posted in Poems
Thank the sicker state.
Its tired outlook is resigned.
Its delirium is cognitive.
Its fever is a gaunt romance:
Fever hot, fever fresh.
Fever purges, favors few.
So slant perspective, sicker state.
Slant it, sicker state.
Leave a comment | tags: abstract, alliteration, assonance, brian, cerebral, dark, looney, outlook, poetry, slant, thought, writing | posted in Poems
I make no comment on it.
I make no comment,
though I know I should.
I just leap from fear to pride.
I pride away my fear.
The fear beyond my pride.
Like a horde beyond the walls. Ill-equipped, with torches: dirt and dust and downward brows. Now and then they scale it. Familiar image, true.
I make no comment, leap by leap.
Deft maneuver, will it save?
I make no comment, safety zone.
I make no comment, fearful day.
Leave a comment | tags: abstract, brian, communication, dark, fear, literature, looney, neurotic, poetry, pride, surreal, writing | posted in Poems
Tender feeling, will you greet?
Tender feeling, play with me.
Tender feeling, you are there.
Tender feeling, get away.
Tender feeling, give me peace.
Tender feeling, you’re too much.
Tender feeling, do not listen.
Tender feeling, do not shrink.
Tender feeling, do not leave.
Leave a comment | tags: abstract, brian, cerebral, dark, literature, longing, looney, pining, poetry, romanticism, surreal, writing | posted in Poems
What painful laughter. Her eyes reveal its presence–smiles split her face. And her frame shudders, and her voice breaks.
Her eyes, I said. The rest is plain-old mirth. Wonderful as always, but easily dismissed. Her eyes, I said. Her misty, mirthless whites.
That’s the place I look. Can’t dismiss the sight, the added inspiration. The painful laughter piece. Can’t dismiss the sight. Her misty, mirthless whites.
So when she laughs, I see the pain.
We laugh that way prolonged.
Leave a comment | tags: abstract, brian, conflict, dark, humor, laughter, literature, looney, poetry, romance, surreal, writing | posted in Poems
That disjointed ride.
That disjointed ride.
My kind of disconnect. When Beta zag-zigs off. When Alpha catches up.
In between it is percussive, that double-barreled sawed-off blast. Double-barreled, double-fired, doubly percussive. Tripping toe-to-toe, skillful.
It has a sort of swim. Even hampers movement.
Unless the monster wakes and wails.
Unless the monster wakes and wails.
Leave a comment | tags: abstract, brian, cerebral, dark, literature, looney, melvins, metal, music, poetry, tribute, writing | posted in Poems
Happiness so thin, nirvana is illusion.
Like deja vu prolonged, the transience of thought.
Accept it when it’s there. Don’t think about the crash. Try and make it last. Though something eats a hole. It’s slow and steady work.
Make it last the longest. Make it work for you. It
always drifts back down. It always wants back up.
Leave a comment | tags: abstract, addiction, brian, dark, fortune, high, looney, low, mood, nirvana, poetry, wheel, writing | posted in Poems
This week I chose to read Trust. The piece itself is very abstract (obviously) since it’s about a concept. People are usually hesitant about where they place their trust. So when they trust you, it’s a significant thing. In that moment they are vulnerable. But a foundation is laid. The strong, the courageous, trust and trust again. Not just the naive.
Brian Looney- Trust
Leave a comment | tags: abstract, brian, dark, looney, poetry, reading, spoken, tone, trust, voice, word, writing | posted in Looney Speaks Weekly, Poems
