maurice-lenox26

[maurice-lenox26]

To the Nights of Fleeting Flight

To pursue endlessly

the dark behind

stars

every shadow birthed

from the sun

and every window opened

for the moon

Entails the lightest, most fleeting of thoughts

to go without being

taken for granted

knowing every and any moment in time, perfectly rendered could be

the end of all time, with none

holding precedence or privilege

over the other, with no one

idea going overturned

like a stone or a bill or the yammering alarm

snoozed and deferred,

to go without being outspoken

but spoken just enough

to be, at last, heard, and to long enough

resonate in the hearts of those

burdened nightly by all the night sky

weighing down on their chests while lying prone

on their mattresses relentlessly asking

why, and for what purpose?

To what end must we always be reminded

of how quickly g(ODD) can omnipotently destroy us, omnisciently see our suffering, and omnibenevolently avert our gaze?

And for those, who's names must never be erased

on the shores of time

who suffered at the hands of crime

never to go unprinted, unaccounted for, or wholly unresolved,

know this: you are more than a mere thought in someone's mind, more than a fleeting feeling of zephyrus and breeze, you are a force to be

believed in, an opened window, an unlocked door, a porch light left on, and at last, someone's breath of relief,

they're,

g(ODD)amn it, they're home.

[maurice-lenox26]

Its been a while

Spent scarce time on much more

Than a view

Here and there

What a view

Into the mind

Kaleidoscopic

Fixed been missed

(The mind is of the mist)

It's been some time now

[maurice-lenox26]

Won't Sleep

Pardon me, it seems as though

The image inundated by innovative

Line and word play may have something

To do with the demeanor of sideways

Glancing upon the sign in profile

Glaring yellow

Indelible debt owed

To all those crazy men

In my head

Behind my eyes

Can't sleep at night

-fin-

Maurice Lenox (c) Won't Sleep March 8th, 2021

[maurice-lenox26]

I can't write today. I saw my past work, and it was garbage. I am an egotist. I see imperfection, and nothing else can breathe, flourish, spring from the wells of an imagination best kept closed. I must flog myself on each shoulder: once for every grammatical error, twice for every spelling error, and if I'm still alive after every blundering metaphor, I will kiss the feet of every beggar in my path. "Creep, pervert, creton of the poetic form! Your syllables are a cacophany of nonsense! Your cadence clatters upon ears of stone! Your stanzas clatter flaccid like the waists of blind virgins! Nothing you write will be worthy of a straying eye. Just stop!" The teacher sets his chalk on the table.

It clatters, and the sound is removed from the chalk.

The teacher scolds, and the words are removed from the teacher.

"You will die a mortal, and your words will die with you!"

I would have preferred a curse word, or a discriminatory run-on sentence.

Why does he bless me so?

[maurice-lenox26]

What?

What did you just say?

Were you expecting

Anaphora? A list

Of grievances?

A river of glass

A separation

Of the church from the

Eddying logos, and all the pages

Are ripping in the undercurrent the ink

Never dries and for what?

All the difference in the world

The falling of towers

A cascade

An ideological purge

Spilling across the table

Of centuries?

What?

What did you expect

The backlash to look like?

Have you had enough predicates

Shoved in your mouth?

Seething between the slits

In your filed teeth?

Maybe

Maybe not

As likely

We will meet again

Or not for much longer

And somehow

Within the closeness of such proximity

There is simply no way of knowing

All the canons of ideology

Repelling us to opposite poles, from so close

So goddamn close, I can't comprehend

You

I can't make sense of it at all.

[maurice-lenox26]

My mind is a glass

And the page is empty

Vapid, teeming with life but

Some missing details

Leave you questioning

And this I swear

There was no swaggering to this point

No clever romanticism,

Empty pleasures

That could amount to this occasion

Intoxication

Seeing things that say hi

When your eyes are closed.

This I swear

I know nothing

I see the madness but

Whatever I fill the page with

Deceives...the feelings are there,

But something slides underneath

Escaping the form, the moment

Warming your fingertips,

Coursing through your veins

Do I have your attention?

Are your eyes closed?

This, and I sigh, and I'll stop rambling

For the rest of the night, I swear.

This is all that should be empty.

[maurice-lenox26]

Pale skin/ paper sky

She sighs wind chime breeze/

easier soul squeezed, blood orange strip tease/

Flicker-a-little candle time/ pantomime rhymes with "i" ride on high tide/

Reception has been bad lately, maybe talk less loud/

(Maybe with a whisper or a beckoning)

Less discordant like to a microphone?

To a breathing line of piano keys?

Samuel Maurice (c) February 26, 2020 Maurice Lenox

[maurice-lenox26]

totally off topic but

last night I went out

with regret, walking 

along the boulevard

past bodegas, prostitutes

and bars, a solipsism

of the senses took hold

because I created them

(can you even create me?)

Words tumbled out, a little

arrogant at first, and even

more so as I tried to save

the surly impression wipe

face off the bar stool  

and sit, contemplating

hard rock and placement

of the wine glass, eye fixed

on the television, I started

happy, but now I don’t think

about waking up.

Maurice Lenox February 1 (c) Samuel Maurice

[maurice-lenox26]

All thoughts, permit them.

Crimes of the imagination: permit everything

Acts of violence: permit nothing

Weeds of hate overunning our Eden: permit no one

[maurice-lenox26]

Untitled

I picture an elephant wearing boxer briefs with read hearts printed on them.

And when those hearts break, a rain storm forms

and a lightning bolt crashes

him on top of the head

and after the lightning bolt

there came a rose 

growing vibrant, loud

from the elephants skull and when the thorns

fell out they became eyelashes

eyelashes that beat down every second

a rain drop drummed on the windowsill

and when those eyes were open 

they looked over at a the neighbor’s house next door

and the couple have their first child

vibrant, loud

crying and they don’t know

how all the water of the world

weighs down on the rose

wakes up six years later

every night not wanting to fathom

what happens to the world

after he falls asleep.

purple shapes, blurred and obscure,

He calls them elephants

or things not too often talked about,

drift behind his eyelids 

and for every heart beat 

he knows there’s another one out there breaking

and what he doesnt know is the girl in the window

is counting the seconds she’s alive 

every time she beats her eyelids down

and breathes easier

knowing that for at least a second

the world disappears

Samuel Maurice (c) November 29, 2019

[maurice-lenox26]

A Fable of the Gichin and the Priest

The Priest looks down

On the shepherd, drunk,

Dreaming

He picks a bad apple from the ground

And shakes his head in disgust.

Another bad apple

He whispers to himself

He goes down to the abbey

And asks his friend, the gichin,

For advice: "There are too

Many bad apples, very few

Are still good!"

Baldy laughs, plucks the

bad apple from the priests hand

And throws it in with the good apples

"Good, bad" he shrugs his shoulders

"Make apple sauce!"

Samuel Maurice (c) November 28, 2019 Maurice Lenox

[maurice-lenox26]

The fields are alive

Thriving with metaphor

Ripe, blossoming

Ideas, teetering

On the brain stem

The shepherd picks some,

Puts them in a lunch pail

Watches the flock

He falls asleep

Dreams of gospel

And gravity but

He never said where it came from

Clever plagiarist.

He's caught, convicted and unfortunately

They publish him for once.

In the apple

There is a seed

And within the seed

There is a story

Forget what I said

About the kingdom of heaven

Said the shepherd

A seed is a seed

Spread them freely

We are running short

on apples

Samuel Maurice (c) November 27, 2019 Maurice Lenox

[maurice-lenox26]

Pages and Pages of Umbrage

Nameless

And here I sit,

Bargaining with these shadows

Sliding across my wall

I still remember their names

And I hold them still

With their names.

Names bearing no insight

Names bearing no resolve

No resolution

Splashings of black

They slide across the wall

Escaping with memory

And I must keep them still

With their names

Such is the daily task

Bargaining with these slippery devils

Slipping across my walls,

these shadows, I must keep them still

with names. 

Samuel Maurice (c) Maurice Lenox November 26, 2019

[maurice-lenox26]

Drumming on the head:

Water slosh

Through the gutter

Arteries of the house

Waterslide construct

The head is a cup

Misunderstood water

Fills in my head

Reactive chatter

Cup of water in my face

Making out with strangers makes

More sense than

Daily bread posters

Feel me clean

A house falling apart

Falling leaves

Communication failure

Lights are out

Flashlights for eyes

Water drum on the roof

Filling up with another person's aggression

I want to be poured out

Samuel Maurice (c) October, 2019

[maurice-lenox26]

Juissance

So long, my love, there’s no more tears                                                                to shed, no more dreams to wed, no fears                                                              to rend, so long my love we lost it all                                                                      the final call, the know-it-all 

complex/ I can’t help but sympathize                                                                      all the lies we tell to keep alive the spell                                                                  no more regrets, no more tears                                                                              the years keep eating, keep repeating                  

no more days of isolation                                                                                        away with phases of condemnation                                                                        you hold my gaze through the haze                                                                        long enough to say good-bye

Sorry for all the times I’ve tried                                                                                to hide this. Sorry for all the times                                                                            the kindness survived it wasn’t                                                                                meant to be a kite string                                                                                          

Around my waist and yours                                                                                      forlorn, adrift yet still attached                                                                                  cutting free feels like a heart                                                                                    exacting freedom can be pleasing

See? A piece from me I’m                                                                                        at peace with thee leaving                                                                                      the dream behind you hindsight                                                                              leaving is best for all, don’t call 

again, please, let me fall                                                                                          let me fall, let me fall.  

Samuel Maurice (c) October, 2019

[maurice-lenox26]

Deer in Headlights

Wandering farther still past untame wilderness                                                      a doe lights upon a hill, pigeon                                                                              of the land paralyzed by the sky-- “yes,                                                                  road candy!”-- at least, was ghosting, fallen                                                              northern crown; Bacchus promised more than                                                        can ever be attained. Fallen, flying sixty-five                                                          --“goddamn the self-absorption of automobiles!”                                                     stars in slow motion kill fast moving land animals                                                 and lonely road cig won’t satisfy, beauty still alive                                                   in marble eye, I saw you, held you in regard, now                                                   gone. moving onward: I’m dizzy, and the streetlights foul                                       everything in sight; there’s a gas station close by.                                                   I must know if anyone is still alive.

Samuel Maurice (c) October, 2019

[maurice-lenox26]

Route 50 Sonnet

Along the road, contemplating last bus missed                                                      and golden opportunities--”if only”                                                                          is empty, listless...

Exhausted thought, plodding along open                                                                highway, vision sharpens and it appears                                                                clearly, the swollen

sky incapable of containing divine                                                                          secrets, highway signs gleaned approximate, prom-                                             --ising terminal climb           

onward, and for the lack of anything missed                                                            for opportunities are illusory in beguiling mist.     

Samuel Maurice (c) October, 2019