Thursday, September 27, 2012

Chameleon's Enlightenment

Summon the devil’s advocate
Trilling the pronunciation of arrogance
Across the treble throbbing a lust
Resounding in thy temple
A pounding thrust
Sleepless dawn
A bellowing
Dance with the bells
At the morning star arising
O’er the doll house of God
An ecstasy in the shattered church of industry
A Roman Catholic materialism
The haunts of the angels incarnate
In the glass and concrete rises
Disrobed in a legalese
Stirring thy emotions
To perch on the vault of perfection
Like a gymnast on the bar
The grip of the divinity was throbbing in thy temples
Enveloping what silence had achieved
The quiet change of hues
A chameleon’s enlightenment
Perched yes on an iron stake
A solid hold for the peaceful samurai
Staving off the watchful eyes of the jungle
In the moral glass of pretension
The gestured airs of intellectual class
Fallow in the contrivance of thy etiquette
The poise of a swan’s necking
At the craving for the sinews of the kill
Sunken teeth the limp tendons
The blood that gives you all you wear
In such devilish apprehension
Groomed like poodles let to the forest of mind
The wild of contemporary cutlery
Such organization of human strain
In corporate reflection
The antagonist to freedom

Yes corporate culture is the antagonist
By which we are obliged to create discreetly

Parva stella,
Your absence fed my fortitude
Raised the walls of my joyous shallow
Now in the summer you might find me smiling
’Las the cold would I to stay in
Huddled and alone
That no one could wonder
Why I wouldn’t stop to say hello
And that my skin would not flake and dry
From all the aimless wind
Shaking the dead bolted doors
Off their shabby hinges
Letting in the sun

Remember it is silence changes hues
For the chameleons and their blessed
Fulfillment of the manic retention
Would hold us to our cross
And wary introspection
Would keep us to the jungle thick
Forging step by delicate step
And aware of the jaded eyes in the shadows
Going nowhere yet peeling off the skin
Of thy fresh pressed historicity
Leaving nothing to sustain
The moisture of thy sexuality
Which sharpens thy pose
Straight back
And the curving of the spine
To the clitoral trills of the violin
Like the craning of the swan’s neck
Having feasted on the fox
An elegance wrought with cunning
Dancing on the stand of night
Yes to moisten the thoughts of mourning
Bring tears to the lost wilderness
Displayed at its death an object of intrigue
Of lusting
Splayed like some aging aesthetic
Still wandering alone
In the forests of its home
Doomed to be forgotten
Even by the Son
In all His divine preeminence
Sleep ragged lust and wild
You’ll need your reserves
For your crucifixion in the gallery
A painting décor on the walls
Of some historic preservation
To grant the chameleon its emptiness
Disrobe thy absent spirit
Of its hooded etiquette
And breathe in heavy anticipation
Stroking and stroking the abyss
Waiting on its ecstasy
The sun fell true
Upon the colours myriad


Muchas gracias por la inspiración, Cara DeAngelis, her exhibition, Wildlife in the Post-Natural Age, at the Williamsburg Art & Historical Center, September 7th - October 14th, 2012, www.caradeangelis.com


Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com

Thursday, September 20, 2012

God's Silence


Returned to the silence
The fallow fields of ancestry
A resemblance of the tortured structures
Of manic barbarism
Carving the wood of your soul
Against the grit of concrete
Your dancing shoes
Having crucified your delicate step
And maybe you would usher me out of this life
For the age had ceased becoming
In the vessels of reflection
In the grace of sadness
Closing hands
Entangled the fingers of memories
Groping at the vines of sense
And loving the dissatisfaction
Breathing the heavy silence
Moved in metallic colours
And refracted the sounds of industry
The pits of other souls
But shadows for the tasting
For the trilling of the violin
On the tongues of madness
Licking the floor
And feeling for the semblance of a scavenge
At the close of the August sun
The cross of the Lord
Was the devil’s mousetrap
The bait by which he was caught
The Lord’s death
A time travelling
As the pigeon in the dead of summer
Huddled still against the cold
Ruffling its feathers
Witness the rape of Mother Earth by a man
And the joy of standing faster than god
Demystified
The preoccupation of class
An intelligence of wealth
Clung by the voice of reason
A spear to the heart of Christ
The close of the hunt for mystery
And a single horn blew unto the wind
That those wounds would come back to the next

They would be coming
I would demand

It was blessed fast
The raising of the stormy night
To the clashing of the egos
Fraught with their hovering dissension
Grasping at their sanity
’Lest the beauty of the truest moment
Was a weight too much to bear
In the air of light unveiling
A soothing black dress
That swept the floor in its humility
Collecting the dust of devils’ footprints
Pure of its abyss
Mocking the passes to her vanity
With a smile that would kill
For exhaustion of its tension
It was forced and beautiful
And it rained bullets on all the dry language
That had parched our throats for a lifetime
Had left us speaking soft
In the shadow of our intellect
Tore holes in the veil of innocence
’Las the colours poured through
Were the light of distant suns
Some other mind’s that was a tracing to
That was spinning on the floor
A crazy wind
In embrace of its collapse
I am the air of all that is light
In the farthest reaches of the black
Stepping in the circle of disconcerted flashback
The memory was blessed fast in coming
It was the world relieved of its soul
Having blessed kissed the night
And returned to God’s womb
The Holy Mother was nude
And sipping champagne
Wasn’t it just lovely?

A calling to the sleep of the city of dreams?
She was just a shadow dancing on the walls
In the wake of a fade to nothing
The dark edge of the light air thy bête noire
And I tasted the power of a woman
That broke the water of innocence
Was a little death of the heart
And a deep stare into the abyss of spaceless thought
Timeless glare
’Las she caught up in the afterlife
And we came to new ground
Bearing the scars of our rationed tragedy
A sunken history of the dearest reason
I passed my consciousness to the still emotion
Of the world’s soul
And fast my words had wings they came alive
Such motion is the beauty of all that grants us life
And once I’d spoken fallen empty
We met an embrace that would usher thee from life
Aforementioned
A bloodletting bite
Her fangs a brilliant evening harbour
And how much longer will they snap for you?
Unraveling that dearest reason
We had crystallized our descent
Our entanglement in the coy spider web
Šialenstvo

Follow the white rabbit all dressed in black

And it the taste of pure sadness
Is the joy of the dark life
The failure of wanting that which should not be
A kiss fell to the cheek
Of the shadows of the web
Like to wait on the dew of mourning
To exemplify the sagging of our intelligence
The hunch of our backs
’Las things carry us
And the angel Adonis passed our last dance with bliss
I ask
Was it the wood of your soul
Against the grit of concrete
Carving the momentum of your spin?
Or was it the tea that drove your intellect
To the edge of the abyss,
And the spark that frightened you dive deep in?

That is,
Was it the silence of God your calling?
No more reason to believe
But enjoy the life of night
It’s ringing
And ringing


Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com

Thursday, September 13, 2012

Rest in Peace, My Ineffable


The tug of the other shore
Had stretched me thin
And I carried the weight of industry home
From the higher planes of cognizance
Fleshing along the stagnant reeds
In a veil of minimalism
Induced by an excess of waste
As the western prestige
In aspiration
Had shipped the fronts of globalized affairs to the east
Where reason became a binary code
Foreign to the western enlightenment
Now having learned to let go
And settle in ambiguity
Always waiting to see what unfolds
It was August on the western front
And the other shore had stolen away
Dreams became as evasive
As those Himalayan mountain summits
The intellect longs to dwell upon
If only for a moment of purity
If only for a sharper decay
That fed the soul with a simplicity
Such the withering of the body
In chemical trace
Could be held in disregard
Insofar as the perpetuation of things
Drove the division of sides
Offshore we speak in tongues
Discarding of the record
Lives on paper undone
And there was a wedge ’tween the parts we played
And the weight of industry had settled it in
But by force of reason
We cut through the haze
And we were casting the division of the spirit
Out to a sea whose waves
Danced with uncertainty but still in confidence
Yes we were forcing the closure of the dialectic
To carry on a reason
Dear to our traditions
And the world was losing its mind
It was beautiful to watch
From off the shore
All the lovely people
Swaying on the banks of the sea
The crowd an asset of some financier
Skewering humanity
And a steep slope to climb indeed
With such weight to thick the air
The beauty fell silent in the music
Rest in peace my ineffable
I’d tried so hard to reach you

Just another lonely night in Puerto Rico


Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com

My Ineffable, In Search of Dreams


The molten glass apple seeped along
The darkening of dreams that wander stoned
Begging the everlasting stars to be reformed
’Las the dreams are empty in the middle of the night
And the ticks of time kept falling to the floor
Of a clockwork stairwell
Towards the bellowing heights
Where those vivid dreams that live
For the godless sky
Had closed their doors preemptively
With a deadbolt that should warn
The nocturne’s seeker
To never shy in thy intrusive meanderings
Rather step with tact
On the floor of the cathedral
To the banal rhythm of a mocking bird’s prayer
That sung the shells of all his brethren
Whilst drenched in their blood
Whispering of an ocean somewhere in the depths of love
A mountainous submerged contention
Staring at the walls composed thy scenery
For argumentative sake’
A mere conceptual imposition
And they the dreamers rose to catch the moment
In the dust of their empty hands
Kneeling under the weight of their faith
And reaching desperate for the sanctuary of reason
To wash like a river
The desert sands to whitened chalk
I must have been dreaming
As I marched along to the pace of orange elephants
Setting to flame the steeple of rationality
And the bellowed effect
Of the bells that burned their somber chime
Caught the hedgerows of the garden
Contrived of the language
That sought to undermine its own creation
The objective betrayal of the human creator
By the hands of a formulaic essence
Could no longer hold to the dogma of its mathematic
But wandered into irrationality
Climbing the stairwell to the underground
And listening to the stares of ghosts that dwelled
In the parched shatter of a church of industry
A perch for the vultures to land
And hunt the raw fibers
Of the black night below
Where the dreams were empty glasses
In the shimmers of the stars
And the sacrament it flowed
In the veins of shards
Which lay to covering the motive
Having lost the shine of a reason to dream
Which lay broken
Waiting on the sun to warm the dark
And bear a light wave of reformation


Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com

Saturday, September 8, 2012

Seven Sins of Reason and the Selvage

Complimenting NO!R New York City's Seven Sins of Reason, 
a book of poetry contemplating God's boredom after the Seventh Day of Creation.


http://www.noirnewyork.blogspot.com/

NO!R SEVEN SINS OF REASON 
SATURDAY, 8 SEPTEMBER 7pm-2am 
$10 at Door



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Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com