Tuesday, July 12, 2016

Poetry By Tyler Lowery

Tyler Lowery has benn published in Imaginary Gardens and by Severine magazine.


setting the needle
I decided to
spray the leaves
with melody
from a bent trumpet -
I watched the sun
letter dawn across
the acrostic sky 
stretching under the
tilted sycamores
still mourning their leaves
as they became
flapping into the breeze -
the notes sauntered
in reds and burnt oranges
cascading over 
the autumn dew -
a pale morning
divided the sky while
light glistened through
tiny droplets of water,
a magnifying glass
slowly burning
away the darkness -
I sat and listened 
as the diapasons 
pattering in time 
with the crackling 
forty five
exploring the
symphony neatly
tucked behind
veils of emblazoned
leaves and golden
blades of transition.

Four died for Two

Four died for Two 
in the last twenty four -
it comes out 
smoother when you 
talk about it 
like an equation

 is this what we’ve become?
statistics and
lining the side of the road
hell bent on a flashpoint
that no one can turn around

there are no Kings today - 
he’d be crucified
he was unfaithful anyway
so why bother?
no one would listen
unless his hashtags
caught fire

so here we are

stuck choosing which
side is less wrong in 
the murder of
innocent people -
it’s all a tragedy

not that anyone
will ever notice.

planned obsolescence

our ditches are littered with sons
and the corners with daughters
the hopeful and hard pressed both have 
their hands outstretched
needing but never wanting -
wretched and numb from the cold
distant winter blowing
through their minds 
like a fucking banshee -
screaming about how they could 
have been so much more
screaming vengeance at them - 
preaching unfairness treachery and sloth
telling them the lies that were always meant for them
that even at the end of the road 
lies another pile of shit to scoop

rip the children from their mothers -
free them from their tits 
before they learn what protest is
show them avarice in the place of advice
and dust from them the cobwebs 
of contentment
and truly pour deep 
everything we already know
start them young - 
a healthy diet of steel and hatred
phobic of everything 
not seen in the mirror
not held sacred at the dinner table 
or by the tithe takers
the tutors of faith 
and the bloodied and beaming tyrants

raise them like leper armies - 
limbless and empty headed
gaunt and godly 
so long as they have their guns -
raise them as titans 
as monoliths too big to ever fall - 
to ever admit defeat at the hands
of science and reason
raise them immortal
and afraid of their creations-
raise them in fear
in anger and contempt
raise them as mongers - 
rapists and pillagers
with frothing mouths 
and grasping fingers - 
raise them as barbarians
to liberate men of their flesh
their ideas and their voices -

teach them to die cowards
to fall and stay fallen
in disgrace and defeat -
teach them of today
not tomorrow or yesterday
but of the very moment
they’re wasting
show them solid objects
and not the ideas behind them
teach them their permanence 
their infallibility and that
this is their own stake
in happiness -
incorruptible and absolute
always painted green
and immediately obsolete -
teach them to stand still
and watch the wind
blow past them
to leave them behind -
a broken toy fit for
the next generation
to step on and crush
below their own infallible boots.


sometimes I’ll sit 
in a silent room
away from the yapping
dogs and the chirping
notifications - 
there’s no escaping 
life completely
but it’s nice to consider
the evenings a few
thousand years ago -
where all there was
could stain
the wall of a cave
dance across the flames
built by hand
and sung to life
by the chirping
crickets alone.

drawn and quartered

drawn and quartered - 
that’s where they tie
each of your limbs
to horses
and giddy up to the
four corners of the map -
taking your arms and legs
with them

alternatively - 
it’s being stuck between
the four seasons 
of being a whole person
happy sad angry
and nothing -

call it what you will
but there’s no escaping
an afternoon chasing after
every piece of your mind
just to pour a drink
and get off the couch
long enough to write
this shit down

No comments:

Post a Comment