Powering Up a New Fountain Pen

a new pen unsheathed
flowing across seas, deserts,
amber waves of tundra,
rain forests, and obsidian slopes
of mountainous memories
crafting this bit of sentiment

open source reflection

reading not nearly enough,
the same for righting thing
though doing more arthymetic lounging
perhaps just another word for anemic longing

the gloom of self-reflection
and an almost positive attitude
walking on the sunny-side
of the globally warmed street
carelessly paved across droughted lands

come on....
it's not that bad
it's just a bad poem

longing

tired of streaming
consciousness and the un of it

need a more pastoral dream
even more, a reverie,
ponds, flowers, and yeatsian linnets
taking me back to some
different, better, idyllic place

to live in a simpler time
to actualize the hippie vision
just doing, just living, just being
our natural selves

Stream of impromptu

Just dreaming, now day dreaming
Not any kind of monkee believer
Wondering as always, amazed, maybe awed
Wondering how and why, still, things work
How I, all of us, got to this very point.

This was supposed to be, I dunno

What?  Yeah.  Edgier.  Grittier. 

And for sure… better.
What’s an umpublished

(yeah… spelt wrong on porpoise
to provide, what?, a pseudo brain thingy)

would be poet wannabe to do?

Has the world accelerated?

Maybe even, exponentially?
Moving faster than y’all, we all,

Can even think about… keeping up.

Billions of us and too many

Lonely, missing out, or just fearing

Did Homer have to deal with this shit?
Has anything changed along the way…

We dream and love and wonder and…
You know that word we use more than
Homer ever did:  cope.

This seemed like a good idea
You know, espressing myself
Undepressing myself and saving,

You know, the world, all of us
Yeah, even you…

(this suddenly new messiah complex
surprizes the hell out of me)

Stream of whatever…

This is lame.  If you read it this far.
I apologize and would offer that

Minute back, if I could...
Maybe just a store credit.

 

 

well... then there's this

random pedagogical bullshit
sparkling aphormations flourishing
litanies that might almost make sense
consubstantial (was the word bolkoski's go-to word?)
epistomologic scorched earth rantings of
demonic, demagogic, or democratic lost souls
chatGPT this bitches...

someplace under the rainbow
may 2023

is there a pill for that?

sometimes, they are stuck
somewhere in the intestines
of my head or heart or aura
all backed up

poetic constipation
in need of
poetic laxatives or maybe
stewed prunes
a poetic balance of electrolytes

and maybe... ugh...
a poetic enema

gotta flush that shit
right outta my head

magnesia, illinois
april 2023

Invictus Armeniaca

this attempt
this invictus challenge
to focus centuries of armenian grief
into what? one poem?

it exists already,
for our Job of a nation
it is part of our hearts, our souls,
etched into our genetic core
and infused in almost every poem
every prayer, sad story, dirge,
and bloody crusted bits of family lore.

this totality, this essence,
of our deep, dark, abiding grief
is focused through a collective lens
to a perfect, intense, white hot spot
where it is alloyed, formed, and forged
to our resilient captaining of
our undying perseverance
our enduring hope and faith

    megha asdoudzo
    der voghormia

    park asdoudzo

march 12, 2023