Category: Existential Poetry

  • Emergent Properties

    Emergent Properties

    Study the portrait on the screen—
    the face you see
    is an emergent property
    of light particles
    as they bounce and intermingle
    with molecules of glass.

    Study the image in the mind—
    the memory you’re recalling
    is an emergent property
    of chemicals
    as they splash and soak
    neurons of the brain.

    Study the scriptures of the Cosmos—
    the meaning you’re drawing
    is an emergent property
    of consciousness painting life
    onto stone, water, and air.

    What is the real
    beneath the shadow—

    the truth forming the dream?

  • Shadow Fire

    Shadow Fire

    People want to “make it.”
    I just
    want to find truth.

    The quest may starve me
    while others plant their roots
    and their bellies grow full,

    but what aches is not my stomach;
    it’s a vacuous space within my chest.
    Some call it the heart,
    though what crackles—

    crackles in a deeper depth—

    is a space no one can point to,
    yet everyone feels
    when
    cars stop and business
    ends.

    There,

    in that still penumbra,
    between stars and stone,
    burns this silent shadow,

                     its kindling unknown.

  • Your Personal Jesus

    Your Personal Jesus

    Everybody wants to be your Jesus Christ
    and kick over your tables,

    telling you this ain’t it,
    drop that drink,
    smoke this joint,
    write this way

    through the Pearly Gates
    and on to success.

    But you gotta say fuck all that.

    You ain’t religious,
    and nothing is gospel,
    not even poetry.

  • The Myth of Falling

    The Myth of Falling

    I fell, but then I was standing. How many falls have you taken? Really, how many? And you’re still here? Upright and alive? Notice that when a tree collapses it actually rises, it becomes a towering castle for chipmunks, a mountain peak for fungi, a floating planet for ants, and a universe for poets searching to transcend the gravity of their lives. Falling is a change of form, but not substance.