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a c o l l e c t i o n o f p o e m s b y r i c h a r d b r y a n t r e i n e r t s o n |
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for Patricia
Business can wait. We merge through our voices' vibrations and my affiliative arm. We gaze
incidentally, our incurious attentions engage no passersby. we spin
a conversational cocoon, and
business can wait,
the sun can descend,
Jessica can again despair of our ever going to the mall today cuz
we're stuck in our cocoon, cooling
our faces at the window, softly,
softly
talking.
Copyright © 1991 – 2006 by Richard Bryant Reinertson All rights reserved.
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you spoke to me once i know you did, i have the memory, and i know it was you
now i see shimmers down the corridors and they have your hair and speak with your voice. you pretend it isn’t but i know it was you
and i know it was your smile lingering in the air as i passed but i turned and there was only air but i know it was you
and i felt a hand on my cheek as i fell asleep, and a whispered word: love. and there was no one there yet i know it was you
i know. and i’ll see you always in the distance always always until darkness falls and you’ll say that it isn’t, but i’ll know that it’s you
Copyright © 2003 – 2006 by Richard Bryant Reinertson All rights reserved.
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sailing exhalings of nicotine breeze shallowly drowning with shopping-mall ease found again lost again sighing in rhymes falling behind it's a sign of the times
walking by windows of bloomingdale's dead past the cold kittens on hollywood's bed fronting for cupid in soul-chilling crimes falling behind it's a sign of the times
aching for pasture but starving for green crawling for favor while making the scene earning the churning of methedrine minds falling behind it's a sign of the times
choosing abusing for profit and seers hemlock for warlocks with delphian tears socrates dying in corporate climbs falling behind it's a sign of the times
Copyright © 1987 – 2006 by Richard Bryant Reinertson All rights reserved.
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All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream. Edgar Allan Poe
when the play is over we emerge from immersion in images of life
after the death scene props fade into darkness the audience is revealed by the house lights waxy faces flowing into emotion remembering who we are
we exit return to reality and resume our accustomed characters in images of life
after the death scene props fade into darkness the audience is revealed by the house lights waxy faces flowing into emotion remembering who we are
we exit return to reality and resume our accustomed characters
when the play is over we emerge from immersion in images of life
Copyright © 1989 – 2006 by Richard Bryant Reinertson All rights reserved.
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A word is an unfortunate creature. Unfortunate in cause as well as effect, in existence of itself it is unfortunate. You see the color green. (But what is green? What indeed? is not the answer. But any other is the answer of the moron, the fool, the bigot. The damned. Be damned.) You say to me, green, and my mind turns my own color green. But is my green your green? (is black white?) Can you think to me, green? (in despair you will find your comfort.) Definition. (more words. A definition is an ambiguous circle of redundance.) And a word is an incomplete thought.
Copyright © 1970 – 2006 by Richard Bryant Reinertson All rights reserved.
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the wonder is in prior blindness to the multitude within, and in blindness now to linking tendrils seen so plainly by so many
the quandary is in how to
be
while
neither
here nor there,
while one says without that the inner is the real, yet lies within about the outer, and without about the inner
maybe then, i might be broken by unending unreason so then is breaking the cure for blindness?
will confusion then save me? or pain from relentless denial? will salvation then arrive before my adversary overtakes me? or will this ship run aground— its crew seeking still another craft to continue this journey?
Copyright © 2005 – 2006 by Richard Bryant Reinertson All rights reserved.
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no light again passes through these sooty rooftops the crows screech their anger at the parched waste below
within the houses silence rages within my heart a dry well distant voices echo trailing down into darkness
dug deeply by design even knowing maybe nothing flows in the depths hoping even wondering
how much pain before the walls collapse I think now they maybe never will already I’ve been so deep seen already the final desolation beyond tears or remorse this narcotic pain salvation soothes my knotted back
how much deeper ‘til blackness like a raven’s shadow surpasses any earthly pitch compressing my soul like coal to a pinpoint star that bursts at last to nova brilliance blazing with messianic vision bought with an unpayable debt
Copyright © 1989 – 2006 by Richard Bryant Reinertson All rights reserved.
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In time of quaint and trifling lore, Divine the greater cantor’s rhyme. Demand a higher, priestly store; Forsake insipid, temp’rate clime.
No longer wake to petty sleep— No giant ever dreamt it so. While lotus-eating spirits creep, Wry demons leap and laugh below.
Too narrow is the tower stair For one who dines on cakes and cream. Too harsh and rare is mountain air For one who dwells in tropic steam.
Surpass the bounds of Eden’s gate— Our freedom’s seeds are fear and pain. Disdain a desk lieutenant’s fate; Contentment’s loss is heaven’s gain.
Copyright © 1984 – 2006 by Richard Bryant Reinertson All rights reserved.
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teeth reach out from under my gums as a continual reproach from my imprisoned skeleton I feel its relentless pressure inside its gelatin jail
from my very birth my bones resolved to stretch and tear their way to freedom failing due to withdrawal of hormonal support they now are entrenched in a war of attrition waiting for gravity microbes and cosmic rays to do the job
after life has been pressed from my veins like juice from an orange leaving the rind to rot dry and finally flake away to dust my naked skull will stare unblinking my jaw will fall open to gape eternally heavenward my bones will feel the fetid air for the first time
free at last
Copyright © 1988 – 2006 by Richard Bryant Reinertson All rights reserved.
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The angels' city isn't dark at night; the sky glows red with dim, reflected light. Our brilliant stars are burning here below, as ashes shadow heaven from our sight.
Copyright © 1986 – 2006 by Richard Bryant Reinertson All rights reserved.
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On Versifying and Other Peculiar Diversions
I've made my home in cavernous shade above the vales or staid below and booked my bet: myself to show in a sequestrian event of unremitting inconsequence
Copyright © 1987 – 2006 by Richard Bryant Reinertson All rights reserved.
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Analysis of Versification
I met my changeling twin in childhood Her eyes
the color of space between the stars set me afloat
in an ocean sometimes rhythmic indigo velvet swells
warm with yellowed parchment light of an ancient fading sun
cold chaotic sometimes spray in pellets piercing my skull
ceaseless arctic razor winds fed by primal horror
Her face was flaming vapor, light and shadow lines at eyes
and brow in currents driven from depths of myriad souls
Her drift through calm and fury lured me to follow
my limbs confined in armor feebly jerking
Finally lost I stripped naked among the veiled spirits
She turning came to gaze on my despair and whispered verses
which I have written on this page you now are reading
Copyright © 1987 – 2006 by Richard Bryant Reinertson All rights reserved.
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Simple Satin
mothball indiscretions hung behind simple satin, casually embroidered, recall strident orations dying in subsequent whispers— lost, one might hope, to an arm-twisting grace like a coveted nuptial signaling the end of unquestioned whims,
but for unremorseful fears lying in folds of misfortune (just deserts?) tucked away under simple brocade arranged just so—
the bending of light for personal gain— the illusory freedom resisting absolution, defying the final endearment bestowing simple mastery over ghosts of past pretensions visited upon inflexible, nearsighted, (dare I say it?) prideful intent
Copyright © 1987 – 2006 by Richard Bryant Reinertson All rights reserved.
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again the blossoms shrivel lifeless the final passing of desire falls withered from the pistils again no bee alit to sample the offered germ no breeze ambled by to arouse the sleepers in the open bedchamber no womb was fulfilled no fruit ripened to vigor again your lips slacken your eyes turn to the window again the blossoms i had brought in fresh from the garden fall withered from the nightstand
Copyright © 1988 – 2006 by Richard Bryant Reinertson All rights reserved.
e t h e r n e t g a r d e n t o u r
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how fragile it all is how easily it slips away— the patiently accumulated detritus of uninspired diligence— a cheap lamp that gleamed when the furniture was formica rows of records collected when life was all potential and on the table an empty bottle of 12-year-old cabernet sauvignon
these solid walls dissolve in a backward glance to that dark road, years ago aching under a crisp moon hiking toward mountains 80 miles distant
I swallowed that black sky— it’s with me now in the shadows between sofa cushions stacked on the bookshelves pressing in at the windows behind the blinds
there’s no talk of redemption here— we teeter on the edge of a precipice and keep eternity from the door with a 60-watt light bulb
Copyright © 1990 – 2006 by Richard Bryant Reinertson All rights reserved.
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for Kristine
i thought in the beginning that there was something even now thinking back it seems that there was, or was it all along a balloon without even air bright & colorful & limp & useless—but i remember smiles & laughs & repartee & confidences & you used to seek my company & conversation as in our last class, sitting on the stage steps with me, i was very happy then & i remember your bright smile behind the glass as you passed by the cafeteria but now at, it seems, the end it’s all like the first time you stood me up, as if the whole thing never really mattered much in the first place, taking it or mostly leaving it just leaves me so empty & after so much pain & confusion & emotion it seems such an anticlimactic whisper of an apparent end but then that pain put so much distance between the fun & the present i guess i shouldn’t be surprised we started it seems with something & took it all away bit by bit until all that’s left is nothing but i can’t help wishing sometimes—do you wish at all? or is it really and always has been just nothing all along?
Copyright © 1990 – 2006 by Richard Bryant Reinertson All rights reserved.
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for Kristine
was the one you gave me when i was feeling stupid and unloved across the tables amid many people avoiding your gaze
but you caught me anyway— how could i avoid that look? with such insistent compassion you locked my eyes to yours until you knew i knew you felt my pain and wished it gone
if the love of jesus proves too little payment for my soul that look will be my justification once, i'll say, when i was yet a sinner, you found me worthy to enter your soul's inner sanctum
Copyright © 1990 – 2006 by Richard Bryant Reinertson All rights reserved.
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for Kristine
So much was unsaid. Last winter was a long fermentation— you isolated in work, and I in pain. Every drop of sunlight was a laborious extraction. I died almost daily, and you
were a steady arctic wind. Did you ever burn? I finally did, when pain grew larger than will. It must have surprised you. The memory of fear
in your eyes blazes in my conscience, damnation.
It's better after the bottle is uncorked— can you agree? Last month
I sipped you with lunch, like fine zinfandel. Sunlight was everywhere, the breeze unseasonably warm. Words flowed like a spring thaw, and your eyes were welcoming tropical pools.
Copyright © 1991-2005 by Richard Bryant Reinertson All rights reserved.
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for Patricia
Wind—a warm spring day flushes your fair cheeks—this is for you. Let sundrops fall—your eyes shine upon me. We blow together from so long ago—warm/cool, intertwining in braided currents, your hair floating upon my breezes, warming again to touch in fluttering intimacies—your dress flying freely—fly to me, precious sparrow—blush beneath my fingers, soft as grass swirling around us. This is for you, sweet sister of my soul. I am the wind, with you, blowing, breathing within you within me within you.
Copyright © 1991 – 2006 by Richard Bryant Reinertson All rights reserved.
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for Patricia
I'm writing you this poem because I want to tell you how I feel.
I call you often and converse for hours because it's so good to talk to you.
I close our conversation and my letters with endearments because I love you so dearly.
I hope this clarifies everything.
Copyright © 1991 – 2006 by Richard Bryant Reinertson All rights reserved.
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How dare you lie there sleeping while I read poetry?
How dare you lie there? so dark-haired on pale cotton, lashes hiding your eyes, your light from my wordless interrogation,
breasts pressed against the mattress, and only buttocks free to entertain my lingering not overly literary-minded ruminations
as I finger the widely spread pages
connecting only airily, as with a cobweb shroud, while life sleeps
beside me, withholding the poetry of your lips and tongue
Copyright © 2003 – 2006 by Richard Bryant Reinertson All rights reserved.
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p o e m s
At the Window angel falling behind the play A Projection neither narcotic pain Contentment's Loss gelatin jail L A Night Introspectus IV Introspectus V Introspectus VI again no dark road nothing My Favorite Look Long Fermentation This is for You A Brief Explanation poetry & life |
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t h e c o l l e c t i o n m a y c h a n g e f r o m t i m e t o t i m e i f i e n g a g e m y b u t t b e f o r e m y a d v e r s a r y o v e r t a k e s m e |
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a c t i v e c o n t e n t
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l i n k s i l i k e
(not including the porn sites. Sorry.)
These sites are creations of astonishingly brilliant and subtle people. I haunt them in hope of catching at least a mild case of their inspired affliction. I invite you to do the same:
incisive dot nu zoomy.net zeldman.com jasonsantamaria.com A List Apart | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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c o p y r i g h t
All poems, illustrations, and photographs on this website copyright © 1970 – 2006 by richard bryant reinertson. The title "mud aspires to remember its x" copyright © 2004 – 2006 by richard bryant reinertson. All rights reserved. These works are protected by international copyright law. No poem, illustration, or photograph contained herein may be reproduced or distributed in any form whatsoever without express written permission from the author. |
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