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The Poetry of James
Spoonmore
Anatomy Of A Poet
An absolute reckoning of all things
Unto themselves
In complete harmony
Spreading words undercover
Hidden
From the eyes of all learning
Lies
Under the covers of the knighted blanket
That falls from dark
In feudal proportion
Against waiting light
Loaned by bankers
Trading creation
Basking in reality
To swell the bread of life
With anticipation and substance
Until it is ready to be consumed
As fate in the belly of our white whale
Freedom
From our prehistoric dream
To romp in the playpen
Of nature and novelty
To find again
An absolute reckoning of all things
Copyright © 2007 James
Spoonmore
Life
Tradition has started a little too late
So the new age and trade of a galaxy falls
It spins round again while the children turn in
To the monsters just down the hall
The buzzers are whirring and buildings
are burning
The messengers let off the hook
Beg, borrow and steal from the weapon you wield
Try not to open the book
All those who read are included, you see
As the system breaks free of itself
The foreign exchange maintained in the brain
Begins to develop a wealth
The tractor tears up while the bird flies
away
And the animal eats the machine
The alien comes from a far away home
Stuck in the wheels of a dream
All bits of matter, the world asleep
'Til we focus the lens on the heart
We move in between the moments that seem
To play the most prominent part
The ugliest scene of the whole damned event
Is the truth that it's not there at all
Staged as a game for the children at play
So the seasons will answer the call
Don't wait for an answer or seek out the
root
The logic will bore and defy you
Even with seed in the crack of your boot
The reason for living denies you
The lesson is here to be learned and escaped
Born in a digital womb
Made from the grade of the history retraced
To the rhythm inside of the tomb
Copyright © 2007 James
Spoonmore
Wonder
I have only petted the bindings of words
And fingered pages as scales that protect
The volumes of the greats
I have not taken in their work
Afraid of their jaws if I am to reach for their heart
I feel like Plato, insipid
I do no want to know what they have said
Only so that my ego may claim that unchartered territory
As its own conquest in my small universe
Swirling around like one of countless waves on the ocean
Affecting others
One contained reality parallel to others
With direction and momentum and purpose
Running on some obscure and esoteric computer
Sharing resources
Some objective construction that allows for anything
Even new creation
The clever design of self-awareness and incompleteness
The search for other awareness
That produces an endless amount of novelty
Discovery and recycled entropy
Capable of self-simulation
Amazed at play with colored balls, as Heraclitus would say
Forever occupying a mind of pure mathematics
A constantly rearranged equation with a persistent anomaly
Like an old man toiling at a desk working a theory
Elated at new discoveries and disappointed by new challenges
Enough to keep him fascinated
With the Aeon
Copyright © 2007 James
Spoonmore
I, The One
Old maid at the Bentham Mill
Just outside of town
Waits to print a lovely bill
To compliment her gown
The nouveau riche of culture war
Catches up the fish
Lets the net down once again
To satisfy a wish
Sheepish in a tailored garment
Emperor the wolf
Writes to pass the voices out
Of horses under hoof
A poet seer for the age
Caustic in philosophy
Laureate inside the cage
Shows you an atrocity
In other silent room he waits
Ever for the freedom
To share a gift of give and take
And turn you to a heathen
Closely guarded by the doors
A keeper lets you in
Only if you show them more
Than back where it begins
I correct my own mathematics
Reckon with the science
Buy and sell to stay alive
Much to my defiance
Ever to be special for you
Share this golden gift
Of finding out that you are not
As humble as you wish
I live the resonance of all
Proteus in good form
Mytheme of the Ion talk
True inspired art storm
You may ask me who I am
And I will answer jest
The lamp I have inside my hand
Will answer all the rest
Once we reach an understanding
I will say it all
In time I have the choir standing
Waiting for the fall
Copyright © 2007 James
Spoonmore
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