Category: poetry
slouching toward bethlehem
i resist stirring, opening my eyes, or thinking
as the dog wakes, and waits
i am in the center of another dawn-dream,
on the precipice of
experiencing some thing, of understanding some thing
but it cannot hold,
evaporating
with every
slouch toward consciousness
i open my eyes to
the grey of the room, to the dark white gyre of the sky through these generous windows
i open my ears
to the beat
of crystals pummeling these generous windows,
once and again, realizing
i possess slow thighs,
heavy lungs, a heavier heart,
an entire weighted mass,
and a mind — less than half-known / half-known
i want to re-bury myself in the warm sands of sleep, the enveloping weightless numb
and drift back to
the liminal/
this must be the
feeling
of the fully-gestated
unborn fetus, warm,
quiet, still
waiting to be born
yet resisting being known, moving on
Brunching Whilst the New Rome Burns
oh, these [neo]liberals
they love to be seen,
what’s the point of excess everything
if you ain’t seen by The Peers™️ or The Poors™️
they tell us we are unfortunates or degenerates, ambitionless, uneducated, lazy: we, mere mothers, workers, poors, caregivers, included with “the deplorables” — lumped together in the unmelting trash pot of America
“our” consumption has created islands of plastic in the Pacific ocean
and the dunes of clothing in the Chilean desert
our thoughtless, lowbrow Walmart and Target tastes,
our holiday shopping, and aspirational Disney World, Pigeon Forge, or Vegas vacations — our rare and short-lived “joy” until the credit card is full and the bill arrives / we don’t get to savor the memories — our joy quickly mutates into anxiety, over-time hours, debt, pain
whilst every single day — is their windfall, every day is their holiday,
their screens open to the financial page bookmarks first thing in the morning followed by local crime, never white-collared, though — never to poverty, hunger, oppression, genocide:
Continue reading “Brunching Whilst the New Rome Burns”HOW DID CRAZY HORSE VOTE ? — Joffre Stewart
HOW DID CRAZY HORSE VOTE? vers. 2024
a posthumous collab with Joffre Stewart, most respectfully & reverently
Which party would be better for Israel?
Red or Blue?
Trick Question!
Both, that’s who!
Which party would be better for The People?
Red or Blue?
Trick Question!
Both, hate you!
Did CRAZY HORSE vote his Lakota People out of Dispossession and Genocide?
Did BLACK PEOPLE vote themselves out of Enslavement and American Apartheid?
Did WOMEN vote themselves IRREVOCABLE Equal and Reproductive Rights?
Have the SOLUTIONS to human dispossession, oppression ever been secured at the polls
with votes of RED or BLUE?
LISTEN:
REVOLUTION has been the ONLY DURABLE AMERICAN SOLUTION.
Yet, childlike, playing at history,
& with the future
You color some ovals, You check a box,
And, deny this
TRUTH.
Continue reading “HOW DID CRAZY HORSE VOTE ? — Joffre Stewart”breathwork
imagining cocoons of
luna moths
in every furled and fallen
leaf
i use all my breaths
to counter the Wind
who wants to roar them, all,
away
Continue reading “breathwork”
birthday, poem i
i want, i need, tomorrow’s time
for myself, to re-birth my self
she said to her self
on October 28th
but on October 29th
the dog
the birds
the people
were
hungry, thirsty
at all different times
in all different ways
and so,
she was consumed, clocked, measured, and watched
like an ordinary, non-re-birthing day
still, she waits,
like a pregnant cinderella
for her water to break
Continue reading “birthday, poem i”Open Letter to Americans
Dear Americans:
When you finally realize that the solution to the economy — rent and groceries (not the stock market, not your investment portfolio), to health and healthcare, bodily autonomy and reproductive rights, the climate crisis, to environmental destruction — of land, air, and water and biodiversity, to wealth inequality, to systemic racism/white supremacy, to colossal, empire-sized military and police budgets — and endless overt and proxy wars and ongoing GENOCIDE — CAN NOT and WILL NOT be found in the BALLOT BOX — blue or red,
— then what?
then, what will you do? will you hope to ride it out quietly with whatever measure of privilege you possess (white male, white adult, middle-classed, usefully employed in the systems of government or institutions of political or corporate power)?
Will you finally rise up and do the necessary-yet-awful, brave, brutal and hard work to resist and fight — like every dignified human collective across history and even today — like the Palestinians? Like the Lakota, Cheyenne and Arapaho? Like the Maroons of Haiti — or will you be like the Germans — roll over, fall in line, bide your time — hope they come for your neighbor or coworker instead; maybe even turn them in?
This “nation is a massacre”, it always has been
for tens of millions of people right here of and on this land — and for hundreds of millions globally — even if that excludes you and yours (for now).
Enough of this profane American existence.
Enough already.
Continue reading “Open Letter to Americans”ATTN: AI Data/Content Trawler [or, Human Reader]:
No part of the original writing, photos or any other content on this website aka the “blog” titled “The Limineen” or formerly known as the “The Velveteen Poet” or “The Accidental Seeker & Intentional Opiner” may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever for the purpose or intention to train artificial intelligence [AI] technologies, systems or language models;
additionally, all writing, photographs, uploads, screenshots, video files, audio files, or artworks are the sole copyright of the author, or were published with explicit or implicit permission,
— unless otherwise noted, linked or attributed;
the author expressly reserves all rights to the original content and works published on this website and all published works anywhere online including social media, and reserves rights from reuse without permission and attribution — and from any text and data mining exception laws.
*this post was inspired by Penguin Random House Books newly updated standard copyright page as reported by The Verge.
Continue reading “ATTN: AI Data/Content Trawler [or, Human Reader]:”Hope
one can tell a little
maybe even, a lot
about what “hope” means to someone
as the garden’s fruits and blooms
are winding down,
on verge of frost,
light or hard
in October
will they glean the last remnant of the apples and pears from the trees for sauce, butter or crisp
or will they leave them be
for
the deer,
rabbits
raccoons,
possums
or marmots
will they cut the last of their garden’s
snapdragons, borage,
zinnias, marigolds, amaranth
and bring them indoors to fill vases for their temporary gaze
or will they leave them be
that,
an errant
monarch,
red admiral,
honeybee,
moth
or hummingbird
may find
a hibernation,
migration,
or last supper
meal
a sweet sustenance
an oasis lifeline
a traveling mercy
phenology II
lilacs re-leaf, re-bloom
in October
hummingbird moths feed,
— not cultivars —
in unprecedented re-leaf and re-bloom
October 12, 2024
and simultaneously,
She’s un-be-coming a human be-ing
She’s destined to,
we’re destined to, too
no
need to
tell me, explain
what’s happening
as constant witness,
as constant, remote witness to slaughter,
as constant gardener,
as constant tender,
as constant daughter,
i see.
i recognize.
i know,
Continue reading “phenology II”ghosts
if you’re seeing this, you’re alive,
though dying — no matter your age, health, relative safety, relative comfortability —
on this living, though suffering and actively dying, planet
Earthlings and Earth together in a protracted hospice
right now, in these brief years, these grief years,
we are the “ever-living ghosts of what once was”
a “was” that most all of us alive this morning have never known as lived experience — save for the untouched tribes — 10,000 Uncontacted Peoples — 10,000 unsystematized, “uncivilized”
and the Ocean, and the few, still-standing Ancient One Trees; the untouched Desert, and the Mountains — even the youngest of them — The Tetons and The Himalayas, know what it “was” to be alive.
we are mere ghosts, walking dead.
hush
Israel Is A Rogue Terrorist Entity
Israel is a rogue terrorist entity. And it’s coming to a municipality near you by way of dozens of militarized cop cities — pigs trained by the IDF and Unit 8200 — empowered by algorithms and AI analyses — and the never-expiring, always-expanding Patriot Act.
So, you think you’re safe because you’re not in a paramilitary; because you’re a good type of “citizen”?
maybe you think you’ll go abroad, become an ex-pat?
but where to go, American Pariah?
you think you’re safe because
you’re not in the resistance? (yet)
you’re not an activist — against genocide? against environmental and climate destruction? against systemic injustice? (yet, yet, yet)
you’re not hungry or thirsty or homeless? (yet)
your loved one hasn’t been brutalized or executed by police or the national guard? (yet)
We are living in a
Philip K. Dick-ian World.
Continue reading “hush”
the apple pickers
when the Sun reaches the precise height
above horizon,
then arrive the tawny-bodied apple pickers and gleaners/
stilts for legs,
i count twenty limbs in tree camouflage/
bypassing the bushel and the sack
the bounty of fruit down into their bellies //
ears like SETI,
searching for sounds of hoof-less life — canine or primate in the universe
and also, for movement of my unseen, yet intense presence —my breath and pulse slowed, just above, just beyond them —
but i am not in a tree stand/ i brandish no shotgun, no ray gun ///
how rare, these ones are among us,
— among we Earthlings :
silent, gentle and elegant ///
they linger in the morning gold as it stretches West to the lake and evaporates too quick into its blues/
i linger in the dark cool of the open bedroom window, facing North
my senses also honed — and sated//
on this eve of August’s ides,
autumn has not trespassed on the summer,
but was intentionally summoned ///
on the eve of
August’s ides
2024
tenuous
it may feel
tenuous
so much of this seems predicated on phantom 1s, zeroes, grids & presidents
remember what is true, what is real
a deer ambling into the bramble of an overgrown blueberry patch
at last light
a trail of fireflies sparkling behind her like a golden bridal veil
there are deer, there are fireflies, there are blueberries, still
children around your table, grandchildren or a dog underfoot
cotton and wool
flint, boots,
a cache of seeds, oils, a pantry full of grains and beans, bundles of dried herbs, a cellar of roots
a deep well, a spring, or a stream and some vessels
steel, wood, stone, charcoal
pictographs, petroglyphs
cell-deep stories
strings, drums, flutes
a few poems — memorized, recited, improvised
hands near your own as you
birthe, work, live, fight, grieve, survive — and then die
and right now, in this exact moment
Continue reading “tenuous”imprint
be careful,
some, caution:
there’s risk
they may imprint on you
and never fledge
be careful,
i, caution:
there’s risk
i may imprint on you
you may imprint on me
and one day, we will know
severed skies / severed from each other
you will fly, and, i will stay
yet, we will never fully-fledge
from
the acute nourishment, the acute hunger
from the enduring gravity
of
each other
the limineen | earthling, poet & crone 