Keyword #1: "Wolf Status"

stillness pierced
those vast, empty vistas filled
by a course, warbling wail
of the weary
calling on other lone
and empty visions of night
whose starry slopes see only
mirages of self
in the distance

the pack echoes its
pride, fiercely feeding
on the claw-marks
so deeply etched through
fissures
visible only when
the night
reclaims its solitude

Resurrecting the Keyword Poem Project

Having returned to this long-forgotten blog a few days ago, I had the chance to read again those few poems produced in concert with the original Keyword Poem Project (see post below) and found, much to my surprise, that I enjoyed these poems very much. And so, I decided to relaunch this project.

Luckily, my friend Barbara was very obliging. I also hope to work again with Martyn on this, but I know his time is very slim.

And so...to more keywords, to words in general, I eagerly submit.

keyword #3:"a city at night"

steel beams sigh at
sun lost, a slow
abandonment to sole,
single strolling night-watch
men, remaining world alight or
soundly snug; a couple screams from
abstract, accusations lost from
windows that once cried joy,
splendor, now a dismal hum against
the dreams that drown them out.

Keyword #2: "despair" (as conjured in Martyn by Nabokov, in two parts)

"despair; 2.1"

these facets sprawl
labyrinthine, corners cut
deep below the surface
of highrise expectations.

surfaces jagged, engraved with
freedom of choice:
layers abundant
measured in metric scaling
of toxicity.
facades chipped, fading
falling fast to wasteland arms
that grasp the only, the
singular stance of reprieve--
none of the above.

________________________

"despair; 2.2"

a hand to beseech amongst
debris of emaciated intent
lopped off at the wrist
digits flexing toward a final
repose, to clenched
hand-in-fist. why
does it always end like this?
amputated extremities with
chain still attached
key down your throat, lost
left less a limb but
an X on the wall
signaling all I ever wanted
a maligned statistic.

Keyword #1: resistance (in shades of etymology...and pretention, it seems)

ramparts loom
above the dusk, quiet, assuming
the isolation sewn
from strands of a self
in retreat

carousing steep stages
unrepentant of this
object, if I'd
only relented
an age ago

if I'd
abjure, if only
recognize--obtest
vertigo's mournful hues--
panes of sky broken
beneath the rising weight
of regret.

Daily Keywords with Martyn Conterio and Danielle Booth: A Joint Poetry Venture

My dear friend Martyn, who lives in London, finally shared a stanza from one of his poems with me. It happened to be about the first time we met face-to-face, as we'd previously known each other through a Myspace literature forum of awesomeness called The Fiction Files, and he flew to Venice to meet me and experience the Biennale. It was a lovely time; we got on great, wandered about, chased hordes of Japanese tourists in a bizarre attempt to make a short film via digital camera video about the resurrection of dead philosophers descending upon the sinking city,

Anyway.

Martyn's a writer; I'm a writer. He writes poetry; I write poetry, though not as often as I'd like to force upon myself. Martyn never lets me read anything, even though he's been published. I'd like to write much more frequently and keep in closer touch with my friend, and suddenly--in an IM conversation with him, he properly pissed and me on a 4-day run of avoiding sleep almost entirely--I thought of something.

A joint poetry writing project wherein we send one another daily keywords or concepts, picked using whichever method we choose, with or without specific stipulations as to context, usage, etc--a launching pad to drive the both of us into the daily practice of poetry composition. I am sure the results will produce a lot of useless swill, but the focus, the repetition, and the discipline will help the both of us to hone our poetic senses and that both of us are producing will drive each of us to fulfill the commitment.

I've been assigned my first keyword, no stipulations: resistance

Results to follow.

Pointless inner self-criticism leads to completely anti-climactic not-so-much-a-resolution

It's not so difficult a task--to scour a stack of CDs for pre-licensed mini-edits or stingers in order to buffer/add flair to the intro & outro of my project's very first audio "cast." The generosity of the teams and individuals with which I work is astounding, and when I asked for some music to cushion Gary Barth's excellent rendition of the script I wrote, tongue-firmly-in-cheek, I was greeted this morning by 23 CD cases, many of which are double-disc editions of songs, edits, stingers, and loops from varying musical genres: Urban Drama, Funky Soul, Garage/Pop/Punk/Rock, etc.

Yet I struggle, every genre with potential casting an entirely different, apperceptive ear towards the tone and thus the trend of the project itself. Currently I lean toward a 60s groove funk reminiscent of B-line spy flicks a la What's Up, Tiger Lily?, but there are also some great guitar riffs and elegant beats that conjure contrasting aural experiences.

And here I am, expressing an abhorrent, perfunctory display of anxiety over what should be and truly IS a fun and exciting process leading to an eventual decision. Now I've made that decision, and I'm entirely happy with my choices, and perhaps it was the breath of a deadline breathing down my neck and the perfectionist in me unwilling to sacrifice the finer details for the rush of corporate exactitude, along with emails from "risk assessment" because the ergonomic situation at my desk (of which there is none) has been leading to increasing quantities of pain in my shoulder that forced me to leave work early on Friday...and all the further technical corporate jargon that befuddles me when all I want is an ergonomic keyboard and a sliding, under-the-desk stand for it (which I'm forbidden to purchase and bring in myself).

Maybe...maybe I'm just smothering in layers of stress I've yet to resolve individually...but that could pertain to most things in my life. I suppose.