Standing still we feel it. Standing still we know it. What ever flows, must also ebb. Reaching out, we touch it. Reaching out we ride the ebb. From the very source, to the outer limits. Our position depends, on our imagination. What flows must also ebb. mar2008 jcmc |
Would you teach me the dance? If I taught you the song? All at once at the same time. No prior engagements. Just you and me, with no thoughts, no commitments. No expectations, of what is to be Just actions, from the soul. Dancing to the song, singing to the dance. Will you sing for me? 1997 jeffrey c mcmahan |
Pause in the moment. I cannot move from this place. A moment spent here. A moment spent there. It's always the same. Every single day. Once I had a river. Onward it would flow. Fluid. Never pausing. And movement was not so slow. Flowing, never ceasing. A wrinkle in time, creasing. Now I talk of time spent, in a single place. An eternity of moments, stare me in the face. I abhor the shape I'm in. A pause in the moment. From place to place. Before time began. A time before space. And movement was still. There were no rivers. No point to point existence. Pause in the moment. And remember this place. Flat as an iron. The plane. This space Remember this well. The point we are at. Is a literal hell. A point is just a reference. Two form a line. Give me three, a circle I will draw. Four, we arrive in space. With no motion we fall. With five we pause in the moment. Until we spend our time, in a literal way, we pause in the moment, for too long, some say. Moving from point to point, careful to stay in the lines. Never moving, never falling. Until we pause, with no motion. Finally arriving, never having left. We circumscribe the arc. Ending were we began. The same point again. Pause in the moment. Then start out, another point to trace. Always moving, from place to place. Without movement, I fall. For the river flows, not ceasing. In empty space. Without time, never creasing. Movement defines time. And time defines space. What is the point, I look to, and admire. It's a place. Just a momentary quiver. At the end of a chain. To give me a hold. dec '06 jcmc jeffrey c mcmahan |
I follow along after you, with my stick in my mouth. Faithfully at your heels. We stop. Dropping my stick, nudging it closer to your feet, with my nose. You smile at me. I wag my tail in the dirt. You reach down, rumpling my ears. I wiggle with delight. You pick my stick up. I prance about turning circles, chasing my tail. Cocking back your arm I dart out in the direction, I think you will throw it. Oops, you tricked me, I'm wrong. Racing over, grabbing it. Playing keep away. I won't let you have it never. You turn to leave. I follow along after. jeffrey c mcmahan |
| Autumn Autumn The name comes to me, without a face, to provide an introduction. Left with an impression relating to a season of beauty and promise. At the culmination, of the cycle of growth and abundance- When the season is enabled, life is observed preparing for the shift- Cloaking herself in a tapestry of colour and harmony. jeffrey c mcmahan |
Righting time, write? It makes me happy when I can right a poem. Making marks on paper. Symbolizing words and phrases. (the ink dries slowly) Sometimes quickly. Bursting forth from a fire hose. Frozen. In time and place. Brought to paper for the first time ever. The marks come from my pen. Flowing smoothly. Broken thoughts. Fragments from another place. Separated by lines. Loosely followed conventions. Rules thrown to the wind. I follow my own, making my own. For the first time ever. (the ink dries slowly) nov 1997 jeffrey c mcmahan |
I think too much You see Instead of one I think of three Three different views To boggle my brain So much thought It drives me insane You think it should be easy Are you aware of my plight? To gain another perspective Step off to the right Right now I feel better I'm at home with my muse And what happened before Is yesterdays news One more thing I think I should say We'll make a fine threesome I'll see you someday nov 1995 |
and observed over time. Experiences of yesterday clouding the present. Future expectations present a direction for our ideals. But in the moment- a sudden movement, a coarse note, out of tune, a wheel with rusting axle laboring under a load. Produces a sharp gut reaction, that may not reflect our ideals. Producing a ripple, as a pebble in a pond. Movement in all directions, interacting with, and influencing all it encounters. Yet the environment, in this discussion fixed; absorbs the energy, modifies the wave. Becoming both the influencer and the affluent, of the expression. JCMcMahan 2012 |
Sitting in Denny's at four am, or is that Lenny's? Listening to the table talk from across the room. Sitting in the corner all but unobserved except for the ministrations of the hostess. Order in Denny's coffee and food served with a smile. Aware of what I hear and what I don't hear is silent. Problems of the age old kind expressed from the outside observed and related to personal experience. Waiting in Denny's. Stevie Wonder is slipping into the future. The place is! Hear! Hear! I sit. Daylight coming over the horizon. But not yet. Be patient. 3-2-95 JCMcMahan |
Cycles
and back again. I am one of many. Birth Death The proverbial circle. The river that flows incessantly to the sea. The march of the seasons that weave a tapestry of continual change. One center. One radius. The circumference. Infinite possibilities. Played out in time. JC McMahan 12-27-11 |
There's memory in motion What do you remember A snap of a finger A flick of a wrist I put cotton in my ears And covered it with wax What I'm trying to say Is I can't hear But I can see I walk around Just watching people gesture Wildly A long time ago When there were not as many words People moved more Whole stories were told With eyebrows JC McMahan 2-15-96 |
I am so lonely and cold and no one seems to care the individuals chest I'm in doesn't know how to share I shiver and shake and palpitate but no ones attention do I get I wish I could get cancer before it's to late. chorus Hey! Hey! I got a feeling, say hey, hey, won't someone take me out of this cage I'm in? Won't you relive me of this state I'm in? Gonna die ll There is no one to appreciate what it's like to whisper love to ears let can not feel the words, that the mind lets the lips say- But do not speak my language. So all that is spoken is lies and subterfuge as I wail and thrash and pain I make. Until I'm took out of this body-shaped box. And put in a heart-shaped Sock 1-12-05 JCMcMahan |
I will Dance- to remember. I will Dance- to forget. Beginning at the end- to end at the beginning. There was a time that I knew you well then we grew apart and I began to forget that which was true. Alone and isolated from the self reaching out for a stable existence I drew it on my face and became human. That was all long ago a time before now I began to forget and to remember a different lie I will dance- to Remember. I will dance- to Forget nov 1997 jcmc |
And I do not say this to boast. I don't want you to think, I've done the most. It only hurts me, drives my posts down, ever down, makes them toast. But what do I care, you don't need to appreciate. I know what I am, my skill, what I create. And what of it, if I can stay up late read your poem, then a reply I make I think I should crash this structure It may be moved in a wink, for sure My fancy titles, oh how they lure I am okay with that, my expression is pure.
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I am quite worried you see because of what has been related to me. My doubts come in waves of anxiety. I fear I have no ego and that bothers me. What if everything I knew was turned upside down in a strew. And I was left, without a face, nor able to shut the door. I know everyone would look in laugh and point, at my sin. I would have no protection from the elements. Just going to the store would keep me in suspense. So it's much better to hide from the encroaching tide. Oh, Dr. Freud, please help me from my approaching insanity. 5-17-12 JCMcMahan |
| "Civilization began the first time an angry person threw a word, instead of a rock." S.F. |
"I have a reason to believe we all will be received" Words of another man. Yet they all have been said before. They are also all in the dictionary. Which came first, the words or the book? It's true what they say. Ignorance. Bliss. I look to the past searching in vain. When, where, did I begin? Where is there? Tell me. So I can say here. When, where, was the delineation? What was the demarcation? The point in which I knew? Was there bliss? In some dim age some misty, murky scene. All I can tell you, has been said before. It's all in the book. I have no bliss, yet I am serene. I know. I have looked it over. With my allusions With my delusions. Walking forward movement to another place. Searching. To find what I never had. Yet I realize it is all true. even when I did not know it. Now I know there is no looking back. No paths to retrace no access to my previous life. Those who knew me no longer can see me. Recognize. Interact. Or be familiar with what they know not. Yet I still enjoy their company their bliss. As for me, I walk listen The wind speaks. The ships move seemingly at random. Yet with an order, let defies. The simplest explanations suffice. In grace land. all apologies to P.Simon, with liberties JCMcMahan 5-8-12 |
I have no answer no thought no question A dead place in my gut. With maggots Chewing A void of emotion enlarged with pity. Replaced with cold rotten bitterness. In the dead of night. JCMcMahan |
Poets Prophets Visionaries Dreamers did you think they meant you perhaps you thought you could believe in their dreams enter into their nightmares wake up clutching your blankets close to your chest pulse pounding covered in cold sweat for thousands of years we paralyze are future why do we give away what we have to others why do we take what they have we have no faith in ourselves we continue to create in another's image with blood stained hands we grope blindly following the truth nailed to a cross purchasing redemption with a bucket of blood we wash ourselves the bleeding Christ moans do you see yourself waiting for a ticket this epoch is over another's ready to begin shall I tuck you into bed written jan 1996 jcmc |
So I pick up my pen to begin to write. I rack my brain for something bright. Yet I'm still faced with what I shall say. What new wonder. What new word play. So bear with me a hesitant moment. I let down the pen. I reach for atonement. So what do the kiddies want to hear today? Do you want; trope, strophe, Anecdote? A figurine modeled in clay. Cadmium red smeared in conspicuous traces. Back alleys traveled, into desolate faces. Left turn blinker what do you decide. Right man came up Took it for a ride. Hell bent for leather or bent leather for hell. Perhaps a few other amusing, variations I could tell. Just because, hell bent for leather. Is in the popular lexicon. I’ll suppose I’ll use it, at least till it’s gone. Shall I say something funny about Bush, or government? Or the loss of my appetite? When I speak I get bent. To use words as from a painters palette, great swaths of contrasting colour, swarm up from scarlet. I'm one wing nut short on my time capsule device. Then I'll be gone, would not that be nice. jeffrey c mcmahan jul 2011 |
O' the perfidy. O' the shame. O' I feel a monotonous pain. O' when will they notice. O' twice ignored, what’s this. I'm sure it's competent. I checked, I'm stumped. But if people don't notice. It would be better, in my rump. O' is it abstract, or full of clichés. O' is it rife with verbose word plays. O' will not someone intervene. O' will they give me, my most, longed for dream. But, in the interim I will be patient, I shall. What's your Attitude, do please tell. It's just down there, it'll just take a click. I'm off to the shower, dear god I smell. 5-9-12 8:15pm to 8:30pm |
| This collection of poems comprises all that was published to writingforums.com between jul 2011 and may 2012 Jeffrey C McMahan 5-25-2012 All rights reserved. |