cliché by Ian Ernzer
he's a cliché—an invisible man
kissing, you realize something's missing
you let her edit, and you really should
give credit where credit is due
Monday, June 23, 2008
egg
egg by Ian Ernzer
women carrying fabergé
women carrying fabergé
ostrich eggs on a cold Italian train
abound with anonymous nouns
that astound. listening to coltrane
wearing two pairs of socks,
not for walking.
places and things
places and things by Ian Ernzer
highlands below citrus groves
off-key windpipes rattle
vitamin-c street lights flower
through hollow coastal fog
red plaid imprint on my skin
from an antique couch
knick-knack treasure arrays
stuck in time arranged
this and that way
near scenes of other places
on walls that separate us
highlands below citrus groves
off-key windpipes rattle
vitamin-c street lights flower
through hollow coastal fog
red plaid imprint on my skin
from an antique couch
knick-knack treasure arrays
stuck in time arranged
this and that way
near scenes of other places
on walls that separate us
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
silence anticipates options
silence anticipates options by Ian Ernzer
streets, lined with cherry blossom trees
silence, a social characteristic
street noise, seemed louder
after hours our items arrived
anticipated answers of translated questions
always accept gifts, exclude altercations
options opened under new directions
opposed opinions offered by over and under achievers
our achromatic outlook from observations of oil-paintings
streets, lined with cherry blossom trees
silence, a social characteristic
street noise, seemed louder
after hours our items arrived
anticipated answers of translated questions
always accept gifts, exclude altercations
options opened under new directions
opposed opinions offered by over and under achievers
our achromatic outlook from observations of oil-paintings
passing through
passing through
sweat stinging skin, pricks poking past
the threshold that defines patience
saturated air soaked minutiae of the day
articles begging to be remembered
shaded by concrete. overhang sticky
coated with black smoke from buses
transporting ladies with empanadas,
pan dulce and children’s cola stained lips,
tequilla-breathed men and one man.
one man dressed in all white dark skin
sheathed with green and purple ink
he says something to me and my heart drops
alone amongst a bus station bloated with bodies
furious hands clench my neck
tattooed tears falling from his eyes he feels the cash that is
wet from sweat sitting in my pocket
then I come to, in english he says, “‘s hot huh?”
si muy caliente. words that he expels are
deported. ten years in jail. L.A. gangs.
I excuse myself and return
with two large cold waters to cool us down
we cannot escape the sweat
as we sit during our life story swap
friends’ names are dropped
places to go, there and here—stay clear
another broken bus arrives
he says that’s my bus, I have to go.
if you’re ever in california I say
dark and light hands shake
adios to him and the woman around his arm
tears falling from his eyes
as we leave this place and onto the next
sweat stinging skin, pricks poking past
the threshold that defines patience
saturated air soaked minutiae of the day
articles begging to be remembered
shaded by concrete. overhang sticky
coated with black smoke from buses
transporting ladies with empanadas,
pan dulce and children’s cola stained lips,
tequilla-breathed men and one man.
one man dressed in all white dark skin
sheathed with green and purple ink
he says something to me and my heart drops
alone amongst a bus station bloated with bodies
furious hands clench my neck
tattooed tears falling from his eyes he feels the cash that is
wet from sweat sitting in my pocket
then I come to, in english he says, “‘s hot huh?”
si muy caliente. words that he expels are
deported. ten years in jail. L.A. gangs.
I excuse myself and return
with two large cold waters to cool us down
we cannot escape the sweat
as we sit during our life story swap
friends’ names are dropped
places to go, there and here—stay clear
another broken bus arrives
he says that’s my bus, I have to go.
if you’re ever in california I say
dark and light hands shake
adios to him and the woman around his arm
tears falling from his eyes
as we leave this place and onto the next
Australia
Australia by Ian Ernzer
my red four wheeled vessel
took me from the Gold Coast
to Wollongong. miles, sorry,
kilometers of gigantic greens
and eucalyptus trees above
yellow koala-crossing signs.
sleeping by yourself in a tent
in a thunderstorm can be scary.
after clouds cleared I watched
satellites shimmer below stars
and imagined someone
looking down on me from one.
unimagined hospitality
got me through hunger pangs.
a father saw me lighting a fire.
he told his two boys to go help
the helpless American.
ten mosquitoes suck, literally.
alone again, trying to sleep,
something outside my tent—
shun a light on nearly twenty 'roos.
I heard one munching on grass,
then, it farted, and
I laughed myself to sleep.
my red four wheeled vessel
took me from the Gold Coast
to Wollongong. miles, sorry,
kilometers of gigantic greens
and eucalyptus trees above
yellow koala-crossing signs.
sleeping by yourself in a tent
in a thunderstorm can be scary.
after clouds cleared I watched
satellites shimmer below stars
and imagined someone
looking down on me from one.
unimagined hospitality
got me through hunger pangs.
a father saw me lighting a fire.
he told his two boys to go help
the helpless American.
ten mosquitoes suck, literally.
alone again, trying to sleep,
something outside my tent—
shun a light on nearly twenty 'roos.
I heard one munching on grass,
then, it farted, and
I laughed myself to sleep.
somehow there's no movement
somehow there's no movement
by Ian Ernzer
onomatopoeia bullet with bite marks
arching darts at the center part
our children can't grow up
again I grab the darts and throw
wood with rotating wheels
silent shouts internal fields
a plane might crash cars might fly
fall of the night come winter it dies
rotation of muscle offset in the chest
thrush birds sing on a concrete ledge
by Ian Ernzer
onomatopoeia bullet with bite marks
arching darts at the center part
our children can't grow up
again I grab the darts and throw
wood with rotating wheels
silent shouts internal fields
a plane might crash cars might fly
fall of the night come winter it dies
rotation of muscle offset in the chest
thrush birds sing on a concrete ledge
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
captured moments
captured moments by Ian Ernzer
cool hands did all the work for his mouth, speaking
captured moments through pinholes and toy cameras
capturing moments: zen's antithesis
love for the moment, but don't get too attached
cool hands did all the work for his mouth, speaking
captured moments through pinholes and toy cameras
capturing moments: zen's antithesis
love for the moment, but don't get too attached
crowded
crowded by Ian Ernzer
vintage photograph in a victorian frame
four postcards from France—love letters from 1958
twenty gummed bookplates
koa wood bowl filled with change
three burned candles
a yellow ripped half-ticket with "ADMIT ONE" printed on it
vintage photograph in a victorian frame
four postcards from France—love letters from 1958
twenty gummed bookplates
koa wood bowl filled with change
three burned candles
a yellow ripped half-ticket with "ADMIT ONE" printed on it
school days
school days by Ian Ernzer
micro-machines and go bots
zip through lego parking lots
log cabins
built to be destroyed
the clay is in the kiln
a quarter gets a push-up pop
we sit together at the bus stop
micro-machines and go bots
zip through lego parking lots
log cabins
built to be destroyed
the clay is in the kiln
a quarter gets a push-up pop
we sit together at the bus stop
Wells' Machine
Wells' Machine by Ian Ernzer
an invitation to sit down
eating with their hands
what do you call this?
the calm of evening
one question leads to another
all that remained of the Arts!
running down the slope and falling
nobody moves to help her
gathering in a great house after dark
a nightmare
what are you, anyway?
a stare from the small, white creature
a terrible truth dawns
let go, you fiendish things
being tugged violently backward
reaching the sweet, clean soil
listening to fears
discover a use for pockets
two large, withered, white flowers
lost in a forest
in a monstrous spiderweb
searching for signs
world, what are you like?
comforted by brown and brittle flowers
an invitation to sit down
eating with their hands
what do you call this?
the calm of evening
one question leads to another
all that remained of the Arts!
running down the slope and falling
nobody moves to help her
gathering in a great house after dark
a nightmare
what are you, anyway?
a stare from the small, white creature
a terrible truth dawns
let go, you fiendish things
being tugged violently backward
reaching the sweet, clean soil
listening to fears
discover a use for pockets
two large, withered, white flowers
lost in a forest
in a monstrous spiderweb
searching for signs
world, what are you like?
comforted by brown and brittle flowers
crooks!
crooks by Ian Ernzer
not what I say, it's what I do
every body knows their own truth
how it's just a battle,
all the same herd of cattle
crooked rhymes
mirror due time
I remember the night
the moon lost herself
wallowing behind the clouds
hiding from the guilt she felt
oh please don't dwell
on this delicate defeat
as silence sits around us as we speak
someplace along mission street
not what I say, it's what I do
every body knows their own truth
how it's just a battle,
all the same herd of cattle
crooked rhymes
mirror due time
I remember the night
the moon lost herself
wallowing behind the clouds
hiding from the guilt she felt
oh please don't dwell
on this delicate defeat
as silence sits around us as we speak
someplace along mission street
d fference
d fference by Ian Ernzer
i learned
there is no
d fference
without the i
we all make it
in our own way
i learned
there is no
d fference
without the i
we all make it
in our own way
Monday, March 31, 2008
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
stitching
stitching by Ian Ernzer
weaving a thin needle through the fabric.
stitching initials in case you forget who it belongs to.
perceptions dammed by conscience. intercepted by the mouth.
translated into a language changing with the tide.
weaving a thin needle through the fabric.
stitching initials in case you forget who it belongs to.
perceptions dammed by conscience. intercepted by the mouth.
translated into a language changing with the tide.
terminal
terminal by Ian Ernzer
your train terminates
in the dark terminal
—just then you realize
as you see the woman
in front of you
this is not the station
you want to get off
your train terminates
in the dark terminal
—just then you realize
as you see the woman
in front of you
this is not the station
you want to get off
stolen lands
stolen lands by Ian Ernzer
golden straw
black sand
sacred land
stolen—
stealing
death
grieving
golden straw
black sand
sacred land
stolen—
stealing
death
grieving
neighborhood
neighborhood by Ian Ernzer
skeleton clutching a glass pipe
fluorescent orange shit scrawled atop the sidewalk
he-she duck-taped dick hides and falsifies
the unheard (crazy) prophet shouts obscenities (truth) while
bluebirds sit on the corner waiting for prey
men in suits step over economic obstacles
the owner of an ignored infected leg vomiting pus
is now a zen master—no longer feels the pain
skeleton clutching a glass pipe
fluorescent orange shit scrawled atop the sidewalk
he-she duck-taped dick hides and falsifies
the unheard (crazy) prophet shouts obscenities (truth) while
bluebirds sit on the corner waiting for prey
men in suits step over economic obstacles
the owner of an ignored infected leg vomiting pus
is now a zen master—no longer feels the pain
on the subject
on the subject by Ian Ernzer
a stop sign
badge number
traffic light
chihuahua on a leash
owner with phone to ear
a billboard tells me their product will
make me less miserable so
I can enjoy life
"wake up with our news—
the only way to start your day"
$3.50 a gallon—and that's for the cheap stuff
burritos are expensive these days
don't just be hot—look hot this summer
corner crash: shattered glass and plastic
meanwhile a man in an army coat holds
a neon sign with stenciled letters that reads:
"JESUS LOVES YOU"
a stop sign
badge number
traffic light
chihuahua on a leash
owner with phone to ear
a billboard tells me their product will
make me less miserable so
I can enjoy life
"wake up with our news—
the only way to start your day"
$3.50 a gallon—and that's for the cheap stuff
burritos are expensive these days
don't just be hot—look hot this summer
corner crash: shattered glass and plastic
meanwhile a man in an army coat holds
a neon sign with stenciled letters that reads:
"JESUS LOVES YOU"
a masked man
a masked man by Ian Ernzer
the woman is crying she is screaming she is in pain her shoulders are rolling and she is crying and the masked man is standing in front of her and he is wearing gloves he is wearing gloves so he does not stain his skin and there are others standing around the woman and they are standing around the man and she is crying and she is yelling it hurts it hurts so bad and her child is screaming as the man takes the child from her he takes the child into his hands and takes it from the woman and he takes a small sharp blade and cuts and there is blood and the woman is gasping for air and the masked man is holding the child and he says congratulations it's a boy
the woman is crying she is screaming she is in pain her shoulders are rolling and she is crying and the masked man is standing in front of her and he is wearing gloves he is wearing gloves so he does not stain his skin and there are others standing around the woman and they are standing around the man and she is crying and she is yelling it hurts it hurts so bad and her child is screaming as the man takes the child from her he takes the child into his hands and takes it from the woman and he takes a small sharp blade and cuts and there is blood and the woman is gasping for air and the masked man is holding the child and he says congratulations it's a boy
Alpine desert
Alpine desert by Ian Ernzer
An alpine mountain on a desert plateau continues, spanning from here to there.
Underneath it all, a young seed planted, slowly grows.
Unsure of what will grow, but I can feel it.
No form and no shape.
Prediction is a game that passes time.
an ultimate plan of symbiotic bodies.
A bumble-bee lands on the poppy that sprouts through a crack in the ice.
Then—and only then—will it make sense.
An alpine mountain on a desert plateau continues, spanning from here to there.
Underneath it all, a young seed planted, slowly grows.
Unsure of what will grow, but I can feel it.
No form and no shape.
Prediction is a game that passes time.
an ultimate plan of symbiotic bodies.
A bumble-bee lands on the poppy that sprouts through a crack in the ice.
Then—and only then—will it make sense.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
The Rose Garden
The air was neither warm nor cold as they held hands and walked through the rose garden. Pinks, reds, yellows, and whites exploded. She walked to a bush and touched a flower. Look, she said, this is the only dead one. She held the few faded red petals. He let go of her hand and touched the rose as another petal fell to the dirt.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
remember december
countless trips to her breath-taking lips
I returned every time with the same line
my words—stale
were slowly inhaled
I remember her, in December
wrapped in a peacoat down to her knees
her lips were cold when we kissed
it's those moments that I miss
I returned every time with the same line
my words—stale
were slowly inhaled
I remember her, in December
wrapped in a peacoat down to her knees
her lips were cold when we kissed
it's those moments that I miss
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)