BTRIPP (btripp) wrote,

Poems? POEMS??? You can't be SERIOUS!

Why, yes I am! I was having one of "those days" today, when I didn't seem to be able to get myself to do anything that I really needed to do, but wanted to get SOMETHING done, so I sat down and transcribed the poems (from my little bitty notebook with tiny illegible scrawl) for February and March of '03 ... back in October I'd gotten the poems I'd written later in the year done (why I didn't start at the front of the notebook, I don't know), but this almost has me caught up for that notebook. Now, I have another notebook sitting here at my desk with another 47 poems (from mid-October '02 through January '03) which need to be wrangled from Btrippian heiroglyphics and into English, but I can only work on so many at a go!

For those of you coming in late ... I used to write A LOT ... a lot A LOT ... regularly clocking in at 250 poems a year. Somewhere along the line, however, I got into a deep rut, where I was pretty much writing the same damn depressing doom poem over and over. I mean, it was OK for Picasso to get into a "blue period", but this was setting up a NLP-like feedback loop for me, so I took the conscious step of quitting writing for quite a while. While I still occasionally wrote, there were several years where I put down less than a couple of dozen poems. I tried to start up writing again a few years ago, but found (much to my dismay) that my poems pretty much picked up exactly where I'd left them off ... the same images, the same words, the same sense of abject abysmal failure and loss. Needless to say, this was NOT what I was hoping for.

One thing that I've noticed is that I write more when I have a set schedule to fit "poem writing time" into. As such, I wrote quite a bit more back when I was taking that I.T. degree at Chubb, despite being under huge time constaints due to the gruelling nature of the program I was in ... I would typically start the day's poem on the bus going there, continue it during a potty/lunch break, and finish it up on the bus home! However, since I graduated (back in Feb '03), I've been in a miasma of unfocused days/nights, so the writing has dropped way back again. Anyway, here are EIGHT "new" poems, for your "reading enjoyment".

                    CARRIED ON UNSUBTLE WINDS

                    portals allow
                    the passage of the new
                    we cross frontiers
                    through realms of fire
                    choking, sweating,
                    nearly killing
                    forged of focus
                    to future goals
                    damaged but not defeated,
                    battered but not broken,
                    we are shocked to wake
                    on mornings past destruction
                    which none could count
                    would be the dark
                    beyond survival
                    rather than fresh days
                    unseen chasms
                    grasp our step
                    the emptiness veiled
                    by layers of spin,
                    madness encrusted
                    in ancient accretion,
                    the dam breaks
                    and all is scoured
                    nothing spans
                    the absences,
                    nothing allows
                    the moments' fill;
                    we take up
                    the massive weight
                    and march into
                    the darker days
                    lost from pattern,
                    unable to mold;
                    no forms suffice,
                    no norms succeed,
                    we are carried
                    on unsubtle winds
                    pressing regardless
                    of any of our needs

                             - Brendan Tripp

                    Copyright © 2003 by Brendan Tripp


                    DAMNED TO DECLINE

                    everything conspires
                    with these gravities
                    opposing points
                    which fly unkempt
                    treading the fabric
                    rending the weave
                    disrupting continuums
                    towards devolving states
                    these lines all break,
                    the shocks apply
                    and interrupt the flow,
                    transferring from stasis
                    the endless decline
                    hidden from surface
                    waiting below
                    for signals to arrive
                    shattered intent,
                    dysfunctional dreams,
                    we can not attain
                    the merest shadow,
                    we do not arrive
                    at the place achieved;
                    all is ruined,
                    all is lost
                    the complexity
                    of nightmares
                    is fully brought to bear
                    within these days;
                    we are destroyed,
                    bound and frozen,
                    unable to act,
                    damned to decline
                    taunted again
                    we see our hopes
                    dangled before us,
                    offered up
                    then snatched away;
                    never touching,
                    never tasting,
                    always left with ache

                             - Brendan Tripp

                    Copyright © 2003 by Brendan Tripp


                    NO EXTENSION PAST THIS DARK

                    the void includes
                    all aspects
                    of this life
                    all facets
                    of existence
                    we go empty
                    by default

                    nothing moves
                    by volition
                    only sinking
                    only down
                    stuck in gravities
                    without ending
                    steep descents
                    on below

                    dropped to loss
                    stunned and blank
                    we can reach nothing
                    we fade to less
                    no words, no deeds
                    no fill to time
                    just rushing
                    flowing nowhere

                    lost deeper
                    than ever gone
                    the grey envelops
                    all our sight
                    we can not shift
                    out of this mode
                    we can not free
                    the heart or soul

                    barest needs
                    are what gets met
                    only the minimum
                    the thinnest of lines
                    no horizon
                    to see beyond
                    no extension
                    past this dark

                             - Brendan Tripp

                    Copyright © 2003 by Brendan Tripp


Ah, I see I will have to split this into multiple posts ... so many space codes ... so little per-post character counts! These three are from Feb '03, and we'll see if we can get the March ones into the next post!

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