BTRIPP (btripp) wrote,


Yep ... FIVE poems ... and, yes, I have tucked them behind a LJ-cut tag for sanity's sake. But that DOES NOT MEAN that you don't have to read them! No ... I rather INSIST that you click down there below the sig and look at the pretty little poems all lined up in one big ol' post! Give me a few days (hell, I'm still not caught up with my Friends List reading!) and I'll have them up over at with the rest of the archive.

Visit the BTRIPP home page!

                    YOU ARE THERE, NO MATTER WHERE

                    every extension attained
                    in anticipated distance
                    still bears the mark
                    of these broken states,
                    still carries with it
                    the taint of madness
                    and the nightmare
                    unleashed from the abyss

                    here our damage
                    shows differently,
                    no less shattered,
                    no less flawed,
                    only more abstractly,
                    more glancingly borne,
                    a mantle of decay
                    scented more than seen

                    assenting now to systems
                    which we would not design
                    we take what structures offer
                    trying to maintain
                    some sense of center,
                    an anchor point in storms
                    whihc threaten our destruction
                    on these unknown shores

                    how far away
                    is far enough
                    to have sufficience
                    enough to save?
                    I fear the answer
                    lies on mobius belts
                    where no set going
                    ever leads away

                    and fear's the essence,
                    the cardinal thing,
                    it labels every vector
                    and its freezing locks the mind
                    into faulty stasis,
                    downsweeping declines,
                    and endless torments
                    one never may escape

                             - Brendan Tripp

                    Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp

                    FUNDAMENTAL, PERVERSE

                    continuums of delusion
                    besetting the race
                    each with its lies
                    presented as truths,
                    each locked in cycles
                    of devout protestation
                    of being the one
                    beyond all other faiths

                    this, the ultimate con
                    the shell game of belief
                    where one seed of fact
                    explodes to a web
                    ensnaring, destroying,
                    negating the real
                    building a history
                    of impossible tales

                    how they all sputter
                    when accused of the lie
                    and scramble to offer
                    their most saintly case
                    as though one good apple
                    forgives a million fools
                    willing to kill
                    to preserve their deceit

                    from outside of belief
                    in the cold naked real
                    each faith seems a spectrum
                    from psychotic to vague
                    with the rabid purporters
                    the same in each type
                    and accustomed masses
                    just buying the lies

                    why can't mankind
                    escape from this game,
                    to look at the universe
                    for just what it is
                    and not make it a contest
                    of ultimate truths
                    all cross-debunking
                    and twisted into madness?

                             - Brendan Tripp

                    Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp

                    ACCRETIONS OF OUR ANGUISH

                    not the darkness
                    of the norm
                    not the darkness
                    of old pattern
                    but yet a darkness
                    as much as any
                    a darkness forged
                    by mundane madness

                    we fail in ways
                    unaccustomed here
                    we fail in modes
                    unable to be framed
                    but here our failures
                    are no less vile
                    than the common failures
                    of our state

                    distance can't remove
                    the shadow
                    distance can't dilute
                    the pain
                    distance can't repair
                    the breakage
                    distance can't undo
                    this fate

                    driven down
                    made unwhole
                    new layers of doubt
                    form accretions,
                    depths of anguish
                    from which we can't escape,
                    points of tainting
                    which leave eternal stain

                    we grasp at voids
                    to find some basis
                    to save us something
                    on which to build
                    but all is empty
                    all lacks a form
                    not debased
                    not empty here

                             - Brendan Tripp

                    Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp

                    IN SHADOWS TOO LONG CAST

                    a strange array
                    of pain intrudes
                    there are the agonies
                    all too familiar
                    the immediate aches
                    of failure, loss and dread,
                    but others too
                    are part of now

                    some events
                    so far outside us
                    still touch us with
                    an anguish, vague;
                    while anchored into
                    dates, locations,
                    they have no points
                    within our lives

                    does this ache
                    form a being
                    which visits us
                    from time to time,
                    or is that pain
                    somehow free-floating
                    and drops like rain
                    upon the heart?

                    or might there be
                    some link unknown
                    between that loss
                    and ourselves here,
                    some causal factor
                    beneath the surface
                    which makes such grief
                    fall to us as well?

                    God knows I have
                    enough of anguish,
                    of tearful times
                    built into my path,
                    why do these things
                    effect me too
                    like blades incising,
                    and spears impaled?

                             - Brendan Tripp

                    Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp

                    ZERO, TORN APART

                    the killing flame
                    explodes within
                    we are cornered,
                    trapped, treed,
                    left no avenues
                    for escape
                    and so we snap
                    into lethal rage

                    too many days
                    have ground us down,
                    too many pressures
                    brought to bear;
                    we can not filter,
                    we can not sort,
                    no nuance left
                    within the storm

                    gripped by tension
                    and terrors unnamed,
                    crushed by stressors
                    tearing worlds apart;
                    we can not do,
                    we can not act,
                    we are crumbling,
                    shearing, falling off

                    at the core
                    is the pit,
                    the yawning chasm,
                    the great abyss;
                    there is nothing here
                    to steady,
                    to focus,
                    to center or to frame

                    and nothing leads beyond
                    this nightmare time,
                    nothing promises tomorrows
                    less dire, less dark,
                    less set in pain;
                    we are lost within this,
                    cast down and damned
                    to a world of death and hate

                             - Brendan Tripp

                    Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp

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