Great Evils Beset a Faltered Step

I think
the problem
is believing, that
our struggles
are so isolated,
so individual
that we regard
ourselves as
artists
beyond
critique.

© Emerys Watchel, 2015 All rights reserved.

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Even Today

at his desk
in his mind
writing,
writing
nothing comes
(even this)
stare at his hands
“Produce, gods be damned,
I command you to
produce!”

night air
across the floor
reaches his feet
stare at his toes
“Hells, how long
have I left them thus:
unclipped?”
in solitary frustrations
we’ve let the
Gremlin
climb the walls

puts his suit on
when he goes
outside
but only to be seen
as a man
taking garbage
to the street
or, to check the mail
so others see
he lives
and nothing comes
not even this.

© Emerys Watchel, 2015 All rights reserved.

Formula

and so, he
with his heroic aplomb
believing he could win
that if her heart, or want
were equal to his own
for her
beginning then, at this
unending desire, unbound
by disaster, two
inseparable forces
each exciting pull
and thought
of solidified return
each there being
an activator for the other
a new design
is formed
allowing her expectation
to be rescued, and
that it is him
it is
love.

© Emerys Watchel, 2015 All rights reserved.

Friday, 12:45 p.m.

as an experiment, I
wondered what it would feel like to write
everything
as it occurs, or
as I feel it happening

to the bank today
so many people
eyes everywhere
dry skin main street
gingerbread square gallery & gifts
bobcat parked in front of
police station
heritage insurance agency take out delivery
family restaurant
parking lot red pontiac
middle-aged man on bicycle
senior citizen with cell phone sandals white hair
two men half his age
(I’m conjecturing now, but)
they look like ex-cons
(rehabilitation a possibility?)
though, we must consider
the cause. soccer mom SUV
driving elderly mother for
prescription pick-up
didn’t bother to go in with her
just left the vehicle running
further evidence that the infirm
are a burden to the otherwise
enabled
midday
no teenagers
white slob green wifebeater
yellow mustard
forgot where he parked?
stop sign red chrome chevy
almost ran over woman pedestrian
parking lot’s a dangerous sea of activity
leopard print purse
sunglasses, shifty head
surviving, or seeking a mark?
who are these people, really?
shuffling their opaque meat
to vitamin deficiency
dehydrated menthol cigarette
my lower lip feels cracked
in the passenger seat waiting near
the shopping carts
cough germ hands touch handles
wipe nose napkin, shit
I’ll never go out without
rubber glove manic scare the sickly
I feel very stared at
mysterious, hooded stranger
scribbling gift wrapped flowers
seat belt buckle. click.
shoulder check, pull out
more people coming
sun dress black and pink, blonde
with an out of season tan
wedding ring brown roots
cross hanging from rear view mirror
says enough
I wear a disfigured grin
suits me just fine
the robot legionnaire drones
moving in directionless ant clutter swarm
elderly woman flattens her hair
against the wind
perhaps the product doesn’t work
as advertised?
silver honda takes up two spaces
it’s clearly been to a car wash recently
(I can smell the air-conditioned interior
from here)
faux leather sweat glands
can’t tell the difference
gods, get me out of this zoo
are they all jockeying for the same exit, or
have they even bothered to look
for one?
I’m of the opinion that
most of these meat sacks
don’t believe there’s a difference
how much will it cost for two
people to eat for a week?
she returns with
four bags and a gallon of milk
red bull for my thirst
where to now?
food, smokes, cash
heading back home, passed
gas bar pylons cordoned off fresh paint
slow-moving pedestrian
and we are leaving
down town dirty street potholes
four-way stop intersection light
overhead blinking
construction supply depot lot
large vehicle reverse beep. beep. beep.
over ninth avenue bridge to south hill
rail yard trains waiting to be filled or emptied
turn right at next light
slow to forty kph. streets are empty
children are at school
this time of day
bird flies in front of
moving car garage sale sign
summer upon us all
dirt remains unswept on
side of road leftover deposits for winter ice
planes jet high above in screaming sky
unbuckle, stand up
sit down
subtotal:  $40.92

© Emerys Watchel, 2015 All rights reserved.

Surviving

this is one of those mornings
brain alive, body a dead weight sack
i carry around
2:06 a.m
as if time adjusts the collective scramble
city asleep, scribe clicking at his obsessions
type it all out (why?)
because this nothing needs
a cathartic narrative
the fire will always burn
rusted out drum under shelter bridge
hide from the onrushing calm
stark white bleak of midday zoo
high noon is never as portrayed
in western movies the hero at odds length
in one final last-ditch effort
summons his gunhand with celerity
and aplomb from within

**”Below the thunders of the upper deep;
Far, far beneath in the abysmal sea.”

and the audience swoons with passion
naming (him) savior and wanderer
to be treasured with bard songs
of legendary esteem
this can not happen in a serious world
where men and women struggle
in business suits
employer, employee
secretary salesperson
office transcript hustle
envision that heroic monologue
for a moment
“i’ve had it with your autocratic asymmetry!”
there is no stand-off
just the chill rend of uniformed dismissal
then it’s time to go
all the way back down to working
small firm stenography, or
low rent kitchen slum wash bin
with a bruised ego mental challenge
to self:
“why did i bother to attempt to acquire
a human measure of equity?”
shut up, sit down
type, type, sell

**”And far away into the sickly light,
From many a wondrous grot and secret cell
Unnumbered and enormous polypi
Winnow with giant arms the slumbering green.
There hath he lain for ages and will lie.”

why do i write the fall of man
when i’ve never had to work like that
and all my heroes died in movies?
am i just another image junkie
hard-nosed snob too good to be left ignored
a stand alone
living out my self designed appellation
what madness is this really?

**”Battening upon huge sea-worms in his sleep,
Until the latter fire shall heat the deep.”

if i truly possess
(and i believe that i do)
the spit fire enmity for my aggressors
the right to have a voice, a standard
definition of dignity, then i too
must struggle at the whip
kick against the noose
if i must prove that i am alive
then i will fight if i must
to stand up for
what i believe to be in the good service
of my better health

**”Then once by man and angels to be seen,
In roaring he shall rise.”

to make no promises, save one
that i will never be a victim
to spare my self-assured creative energy
that i will speak up for myself
and never again let another
deal out my fair portion for me
to hold my love in my heart

**”and on the surface die.”

Author has chosen all above notations
with the ** asterisk from
“The Kraken”, by Lord Alfred Tennyson

it is now 3:06 a.m
and i forgot to put the coffee on

© Emerys Watchel, 2015 All rights reserved.

Mending A Causal Link

all at once I saw you
from a place of secrecy
with your stare
downcast and glazed
with determination
and subtle concern
and every so often
your mute glance
would turn
as though
and as if
light flashes of color
would dance and spur
your attention
to some possibly distant
romantic shore

it was there
I gleaned significance
in the luster
of your imagination
as though you saw
with beauty or
with horror
the bursting death
of a star
creating in an instant
a hole
in the depth of space
a growing vacuum in the cosmos
where substance and nothingness
converge
to devour
into the jaws of a monster

you would hold
a thought there
for a short time
before you’d casually blink
returning your head
with a forward nod
slipping down slowly
to your lap
or to your hands
that manipulated
with reflexive fascination
a device
blueprinted
with seemingly
over-complicated design
yet the simple thing
was there
still
in the subterranean passages
beating like a heart
in the rivers of your mind

that bothersome thorn
while not exciting
would gnaw
with some persistence
a question
in the background
uninvited
somewhere in the labyrinth
collected
with old scraps
of discarded message
and worn out bits
of this and that
left to blister
in the miscellany
as an itch
you ought to scratch

© Emerys Watchel, 2015 All rights reserved.

Moloch

1
early to rise
out the door
to the buses
send the children
marching to the beat
of programmed generations
brushed hair
new shirt
school supplies
off to learn from
some other mother
how to fit a square peg
in a round hole
early to bed

2
taught how we
were taught, not
to ask a more
complicated question
young mind
all you need to know
is that
one and one
is two
do as you are told
pass this test
to do better than the other
shiny apples
pray no deep
inner dream takes hold
as a feasting worm
on un-planted seed

3
become
sacrificial lambs
though,
we don’t call this that
even as
we spend our best
golden offerings
into institutional reforms
purchased with obedience
to serve no master
save,
the profit generating
cycle of our debt
to human farms

4
The final ironic stroke

After contemplative deliberation, I hesitate to add this final note.
However, I implore you, dear reader,
lend me one more consideration: the willingness to see.

5
If I were to give you the answer to a question
you had not yet arrived at,
this could all be easily discarded out of hand.

A paranoid delusion,
dreamt up to disarm
from what I believe to be the honest truth.

© Emerys Watchel, 2015 All rights reserved.