Friday, October 22, 2010

chalk garden art...impromptu

Impromptu...October twenty second ,nine a.m.
Take me into an azure chalk sky, parch my lips
Keep walking don’t look back- see your hips
Black the bird on the olive tree, paint it there
Borrow black from your hair, paint the night
Paint your eyes for me, though stars keep them bright
The blue i'll take from you, wrapped you round’ in lines
My eye see- your- grace –form-up –high- the- sky, behind cloud
Stir me from sleep in a coffee cup, add sugar cube, break loud
Tread the dust of a chalk garden, in hair, get it under nails
We find words cuneiform cuneiform, chalk envelopes, hidden
Beneath beds of roses, Cleopatra and Marc Antony
In Ceasar’s garden, I'll make you a salad, roses and vermillion
Lie you on stone, silk, cool night, warm breath, here come the sun
Need some time, break a clock, steal the hands
Dip the 'phoenix' in its own blood,
give me time, be kind, you’re not the only one.

Thursday, October 21, 2010



And away I’d go, from here, always away
Not here, not anywhere, would I stay
‘Life’s too grande, the music too loud’ you’d say!
And sate me again, with the silence your bod allay

Said’ me once in the dark corner of a kiss
The things about you I’d so often miss
Thought I found you once, in 'the perfume of a Rose’
Felt its prick deep last winter, the one the ice froze 

Roll back, kick high, breath deep and toss
Shoes to the sky, two leaning Pisa’s make a Y
Finished now, brush the teeth don’t forget to floss
She gets up, the credits roll, these days multiply

And it’s no wonder I keep moving
If I’m never there, I’m never losing

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

The second part of bar scene "The sunset became a point of light in a glass.."

Jake nodded and smiled.  "OK, I won’t."
Markus continued. “Don’t worry, it’s not a VC contact, its somebody I know in publishing.  He does films too.  Give him a call.”
Jake’s face was pure skepticism. You know someone in publishing?
Markus took another drink.  “And by the way, how’s our data mining operation coming along?” 
Jake’s look again was skeptical, perhaps raising the first. 
 “OUR data mining operation?”
Markus did a double take. Shook his head. I know, I know! Correction..”YOUR data mining operation.” Jeeerist!  I’m never there!  Look, I know it’ll all work out, we’ll get the formula back, find the missing data, so don’t worry already.  Markus paused. Or my loan will be called!  But don’t you forget, I’ve got some money in that venture too! You got me into that remember? 
Jake nodded.  Yeah, and I remember I told you.  You knew the risks when you got into it.   
Yeah I know, at the time it was either the bio-bombs or the dot dooms. 

Markus was suddenly more solemn.
"And now we’re..I don’t know, its hitting the fan pretty hard, he paused as he peered into his glass while’s make or break time.  Jake, I shit you not, it’s fucking crazy! I’ve got more on the line than I ever career, my life, Tara,.."
 Markus shakes his head almost grimacing. But he seemingly kills these thoughts off at their source with final drink from his glass.  Putting a Coda on them.  Markus was animated, and he showed his emotions when necessary, keeping them in check, like an actor, they came spilling out more at times like these, usually when a few drinks were involved. 
Markus awoke from what appeared to be a momentary philosophical interlude and he was smiling again.  Markus was back.  If he was worried it no longer showed.  That’s how Markus was. 
Drinks arrive.  The friends toast.
Jake gave it. Here’s to “…………………………….”
Markus, raising his glass. “………………………….!”
Head nod.
They drink.
Markus finishes.  So what is it?
Markus guffaws.  C’mon..What? “……………………..?”
You’re not joining some fanatical science cult are you?  Atom- smashing- atheist- alchemists?
No. It’s a book.  And my new motto.
From your shrink?  When you are “……………………”, make sure you change it to gold, I understand that’s more valuable these days.
More than stock in start up biotechs?
Markus raised his glass.  Touché!! 
How did I say that?  I probably just saluted to women’s behinds.  Not a bad middle ground.

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Zombieland City

There is no greater inspiration
Than hearing a thing's said unreachable
The highest things look down on our supplication
But highest aims gains praise unspeakable
Give your pity to Zombieland City
Look on 'Rome burning', with eyes that don’t speak
Consumed in passion for falls fleeting fashion
Consumed in their haste the art craft greed waste
I open my book turn a page the wind took
Feast my eyes on a thing Time avoid age
That fear the poet's of yesteryear’s rage
She opens my heart again with one look
I'm smitten she speak though with tongue bitten
We rush forward grasping nouns not yet written

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

"In the summer heat"..a new exerpt from my this scene, our main character sees a mysterious woman leaving a scary building..

..In the summer heat, he peered through the walls, peeling them back, like the skin of an organism, and imagined the laboratory inside. In its cool, cavernous space, a robot crawled back and forth over some plastic tubes.  It’s motion was knife like, precise.  A molecule of his beloved formula twirled in imaginary space, waiting for something to be added.  The empty space of the molecule begged completion like a missing word in a sentence. It propositioned him.  Formulas waited.  Books to be written in.  It is nonetheless inviting.
Out of the shadow of the building, a woman emerges and begins to walk calmly towards him.  White blouse, dark skirt.  Her narrowness merging between the lines of the walls, her hips and legs a helix, a strand of his DNA walking, he thought.  Her small heels clap and echo.  She’s attractive.  He realizes there is another car in the lot next to his. Foreign, small.  Of course.  It must be hers.  She smiles as she gets in.  He thinks. "Do I know her?"
She folds herself into the drivers side of the sleek metal frame and disappears. 
"Should I know her?" 
The thoughts of her are extinguished as beads of sweat form on his temple.  He melts in his jacket.  Thoughts build tension.  His beige suit shows the wrinkles. The sunlight is intense and hot. The surrounding asphalt and brick walls have been baking all day. 
The chemistry began to creep again into his brain. The bonds seemed to reach out to him from the silent paper. Unfinished equations piqued.  Their ends dangling into space.  His other thoughts crowded like clouds against the horizon.  They told him to leave immediately.  He was poised somewhere in middle of them.
He watched as the woman’s car disappeared down the road.

Monday, October 11, 2010

POEM: "Our Best Comes When We've Found The Voice That's True" (with author's intro)......a Matthew Kenneth Kosak

A brief introduction to the poem...Please enjoy!

This poem entitled, "Our Best Comes When We’ve Found The Voice That’s True"
is a Sonnet, inspired by the Elizabethan sonnet form. Its structure follows three quatrains (statements), followed by two couplets.  It's in iambic pentameter, ten beats per line..

The speaker in the poem muses about finding the voice that's true and this exploration results in much ideational echoing, e.g. between new and hue and times and Spring..and between the seasons, of Autumn and Spring, as well as a double pun on 'spring' as in 'springing forth.'
In the second quatrain, "qualities" is personified by the speaker in a conceit leading to the comparison of season's with his emotional ideas, and finally in quatrain three,  these ideas climax, wherein the speaker's self, perhaps becoming aware of this fact, is simultaneously 'arriving' and also 'surviving.'     -MKK

**The analytic commentary follows the style of S. Booth, Yale University

Our best comes when we’ve found the voice that’s true
In the place deep within the heart, it sing
In the times of Autumn, and in its golden hue
In new musing’s, of these reflection’s Spring.

When we’ve gone past all the roads that lead to dead ends
And stopped at our place, a heav’nly glade. 
When we’ve found quiet times and found new friends
And found respite in these, a place of peace made

And note of other things, clearly, our qualities!
More than we find them, of them, we’re apprised
More than they know us we know our frivolities!
Kind self, you’ve arrived and in yourself survived

Who might I want more, to share most the day’s precious hour?
Who then? In war! Hear the voice, the ancient tower,

‘Same brow, who’s lips on these precious words dote
Find bliss, together, in the heav’n these things note. 

.."The Unresolved" a selected exerpt from my book

The unresolved questions tugged at my mind.  They seemed to hide in shadows at the ends of hallways.  And then emerge before me, from doorways, on planes of my subconscious without asking.  Instead of fading, they loomed more powerfully, like dreams restlessly shaken awake from sleep. This was my own labyrinth.  They led to questions, perhaps the mind in the act, of working through problems, scenarios to avoid.  Lessons learned.  The unresolved formed a haze that made other things in my mind less discernable from them, a dark noise, crowding them out. Hiding them like thick trees. Giving me concern.  Perhaps I would lose track of things that were real.  He thought of Rachel.  Feelings became landcapes. Far away places.  A place he was going to, but hadn’t yet left for.