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Writings
by Manuel Blum
IGNITE LIFE. FIGHT.
(07/04/95 - 08/04/95)
| In dawn hours | on the dock, |
| When the fires | are all dead, |
| The old tipplers | lie in shock, |
| Shorn of spirits, | of life bled. |
| Haunted spirits. | Grimy. Smashed. |
| Taunted spirits. | Scorned and dreaded. |
| Daunted spirits. | Hope's dreams trashed. |
| Listen, fellas: | Life's not fled. |
| Fighting fiercely | isa goddamned right. |
| Shout. Cry out. | Assert your might. |
| Open your eyes. | Lookit the light. |
| Spite life's bite. | Ignite life. Fight. |
MY POETRY
(07/08/95)
my poetry
recalls (to me)
a silver fish
gasping at the surface of the
shrinking stinking
waters of my mind
Lights my fire anyhow
SLOW BIRD
08/04/95
Time inexorable is A SLOW BIRD.
Appearing suddenly out of nowhere.
Flying slowly oh so slowly.
when... POW.
And you can't help but play upon it.
you can't help but use or lose it.
can't make it go no faster.
can't make it go no slower.
can't nudge it from its
orbit,
(Einstein notwithstanding).
And your mother doesn't warn you much about it.
Cause only rarely does it blow,
But it WILL go.
And never will you know,
Which day its final show,
Which cry its one last crow.
PRESCRIPTION FOR A MARRIAGE
12/03/95
Honor her requests as if
Your life depends on it.
It does.
15-MAY-96
All men have Blind Spots in their eyes,
That manufacture visions of their vale.
And shape that void where light's unregistered,
With bold-faced unrepentant tales.
What other blind spots shape our minds and thoughts?
What other tales do won'dring minds unfurl
To woo us unbeguiled we would believe
To strange and nonexistent worlds?
FUNDAMENTALS
22-JUN-96
At night
under cover
my nose roots
inside my hand for
my odor, my rich
glutinous soup of
pork and potatoes.
Savoring
wallowing in
this soup this
nose (this
driver of my
prehistoric
ancestors)
awakes in this
cold engine
life and longing.