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Archive for August, 2012

The Future

Posted in poems, tagged on August 21, 2012| Leave a Comment »

 

Actually, I’ve decided it’s a good thing to be off

because I’m tired of being on but I know

certainly, IT will find me, in the thick

downing white wine on a night where I’m boogying to the music

everywhere and it will be enough; it will be

forgettable in an unforgettable way; in the most

gorgeous way, because I will hold it with my

hands; hold it by the seat of its pants and

I will love it to the ground. First, in envy, and then in

jealousy. I will bash its brains out; I will

kill it; make it late for supper; give it a wedgie; I will

laugh in its face and kick it in the nuts. Being

mean will feel soooo good – finally – and in time, I’m sure,

nostalgia will settle on our couch like a dear

old friend; and we will laugh at the way I gave it a

purple eye; and we will hold each other close; and

quiet those later-demons; those sullen misfits

rapturing up the past like a bulldozer in the morn;

sullied in my remembering, I will invite this chaos in for

tea, but I digress, I won’t suppress,  now, back to the beating. It will

unequivocally deserve what it gets after leaving me: fielded. Alone.

vaulting my heart up to any star’s arms, any star’s hungry fangs.

won’t it feel good to start blood from your nose; to

ex-communicate you from your shenanigans; and show

you how sorry you’ll be for missing what I’ve had to give all these years.

“ZOUNDS!” you’ll say; and then you’ll give us a kiss that was way overdue.

 

© Umansky 2012

 

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Connecting

Posted in poems, tagged , , , , on August 9, 2012| Leave a Comment »

                                               

This is where we are now and the audience participates     

We throw apples, oranges, bananas and pears. (Knives, sometimes, too)

We aren’t really starting fires; if we are, they aren’t real fires.

 

We villainize others, at times, but it’s usually in jest. Do you know those   

villains were really just country-folk and that our intentions then sour?

This is where we are now and the audience participates.

 

The way the flames start is through niceties and like-ings and

the things that empower our spirit like sparkings and spunk.

(we aren’t really starting fires; if we are, they aren’t real)

 

When we participate it’s a given-charity, like lamplight or sky.

The agency is good and the activity is fresh. Life moves. Be ready.

This is where we are and the audience packs their bags and hops on.

 

They can enter any car to any destination, screaming choo choo with the rest.

It is gingering and relieving and near-ambulatory to say what you mean,

how you mean it. These aren’t real fires; it’s just private campgrounds.

 

And sometimes others interfere. They want to join your pack;

they want to add to your ghost-story; throw shadows into the

campfire and put the fire out before dawn. This is where we are

now and you don’t want to be left out. Gather round, here.

                                                                                                            Now.

© Umansky 2012

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Make Believe

Posted in Uncategorized on August 7, 2012| Leave a Comment »

The Human Animal and the Story Animal play on the page.

Sure, they poke and wrestle, but they mean well as nicely as they mean.

But, are our what ifs truly universal? Do all tales compute?

 

Sometimes, there is a collection of trouble in the way the story functions and plays.

One small lie gives the Story, a ball and chain, and the Human, a crossbow.

The human animal and the story animal play innocently.

 

The story not only sticks, it mesmerizes and binds. Its potency is pure.

We are hard wired to change the world, but are they? Is the story?

In this life, are our what ifs truly universal?

 

Universally speaking, what if our stories are not created equally, and our compulsion

to invent is merely at rest in our bindings or unbindings to this world?

The human animal and the story animal play on the page,

 

and when one bleeds, after their picking and poking, nibbling, and kneading

do we  really need a winner? Isn’t blood, blood? Is it about free-will,

or all just gobbledygook? In this life, are our what ifs truly universal?

 

Let’s instruct this: I’ll assist, and insist. Both animals are proud beasts.

The fabric of this Neverland of ours is linguistical not analytical. Envision 

the tale, it all begins in sounds: Horse. Bear. Fowl. Fish. Child. GhoulGhoulGhoul

All stories are indivisible by all. They run deep inside this brush or page,

this Brave New Stage, and our what ifs might thieve us.

                                                                                            and the universe may be in on it all

 

© Umansky 2012

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