Wheels of Poems
The poetry blog of Bill
Wheels of Poems
The poetry blog of Bill
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Outside when it's cold by the ocean he wonders back to the car where the water is even though the wind is chilly he still needs a drink it will cool him off he has to find a motel This is a lonely place he feels apart from the world he wishes he knew about tomorrow and that he could forget about yesterdays when the sunset late like it never really went down sleeping the van with headlights on all night forgetting to shut them off.
At midnight
he thought
"maybe now?"
but no.
the lights of the buildings
shimmer on the river
and the bridges,
fog at sunset earlier
the orange light girds the horizon
and sends out
to the whole at large to say "yes, now."
if you noticed.
If you saw it there.
It might be better thought to have been
within the falling down
(and then he rose up singing)
that happened suddenly
(they said he'd taken up a great big shield,
who said?)
If you have to imagine things
might as well imgine him in glory
some day you'll know
let's all remember.
When I decided to start dying forever I knew that one day I would live. Why run and rush for joy on the meadow side slope it's just a hill? It's just a mountain? It's just a heaven? Or a fountain? Or a reason for over bounding and the willow wind is sounding those birds which are rebounding in the trees that are surrounding the fields that are abounding. And those linemen they are grounding those poles that line the roadsides, go up the steep slope through and easement where the thickets are pricker-bushes but berries abound for birds and the hearty who'd go up there, summer day, late august a couple of bottles of water don't take glass bottles on a hike plastic doesn't shatter and cut your hand when you go to pick berries.
When he got to the end of his giant continues same rhyme he thought "what if I never ever get back to this place where I started to decided to start to decide to start living and both dying and overreaching and crying but I knew that I'd have to rewrite it all and I'm not sure if I'll ever get back here again. If I walk down that walkway and out that front gate, and close it off into the wider world where people are actually paying attention and can just see the intention of the perdition that seems to be there at times. He calls it conspiracy. I call it observations of history. There can be no in between for him. His precarious world of privilege crumbles when he is able to recognize it in himself. pity. He is a fool and truly in despair for the paradoxes that he, himself, creates forever perplex him and he chases away even the most ecumenical and foolish friend who forgives his ever flaw even as he keeps on bashing trashing smashing the casual word the little bit of historical trivia that is like a bulldozer to his ego.
death does a how-da-ya-do through the back of the parking lot making sure to chirp the tires and let eveyrone know he's here, come to take a passenger "you had to have the 454 SS with the cowl injection." they seem to say. you life less body. the cold of a week day even when it's eighty degrees and the birds are calling loud with that mornful way. Death lets you see everyone, drives by them one more time he could rewind it all, ghost of bad future if he wants to be, if you didn't get Mr. Dicken's message, the story of the condemnation of you for being such a weaselly punk, hurting everyone disrespecting people's grand mothers in front of the whole crowd and being a very brutal false kind of whatever you were pretending to be, saying that you were, but you weren't caught in a lie
Death wants to know if you'd do it differently you have to not know that this is a secret test your answer, your reply death will appeal to the saints in heaven Peter, John, Luke, Jude? Paul? Mary? Mother? What is your earnest reply? how shall you respond? are you ready to welcome him now? or can we rewind this grim scene not bring these people here for real, just make it like a dream within a novel of Christmas of the long ago and not pertinent to you except that you understand now, it's just a story, this collapse of you, the horrer of your unrepentent nature. You've overcome it now you love all the Vladimirs and all the Barrys that could ever be and write the story that people don't squabble over sand in the sea.
This is a personal blog page. This spin gauge example 24 and has some special styles for the divs used for displaying the various 24 line poems. This styles are new as of May 31, 2015. They allow for resizing the elements, and by utilizing the vw measure for the padding of the various div's, the effect is that the background looks like a frame, and when the div gets resized, or displayed in a different size, because the vw unit is used for font-size, the fonts maintain an exact proprotion, as if were were just scaling a bit map. It makes for very precise visual formating. First time I tried it is in this file, angle spin gauge 24
Also new on this, and in the spin gauge demo 23, is the inclusion of the hover modification divs which are of class bk_selector. A better name for these would be hover modifiers. I've used this for a few months on my main page (which you need a password to see because it got too big . . . ). But I've decided that every div could have a crop of such hover modifier divs, and it seems just a very small effort, in some sense. But a leap in another sense. All the parts are there, like engine blocks and heads and piston's laying around on the floor of a garage, all the stuff that you need to make an adequate racer (which means that it's going to be suitible for painting midnight blue and using to haul the coffin's of the holy dead, screech those tires as you barrol off into glory!
But you have to have the concept. Or it's just some other little hot rod car. So what, spinning wheels of poem lines that looks like the wheels of a slot machine? So what that it produces a continuous stream of random numbers suitible for the use of a continusous stream of random numbers? So what that there are bash one-liners that produce a plethora of output, content modification algorithms implemented in simple bash script and crafted for an explosion of new media? and all of this not owned by you . . .
Well, in any case, you've found my little page. I hope you enjoy it.
Version 4.0 of this. To populate this little spin gauge collection I've used poems.
© 2010, 2012 2013 2014 2015 © Amillia Publishing Company . All Poems written by Bill Perilli, of Natick, MA.
This page is a test and demonstration page, non commercial, an offshoot of an artist blog.
