PortFire

Archives from 2011-2025

Category: Text

  • Knotted

    this may go nowhere
    the electric razor buzzes erratically in the other room
    charging
    cleaning itself and
    charging
    and there was this urge to do something
    in the form of words launched
    they just kept coming
    bunched up into phrases
    scenarios
    but under the influence of words
    that just keep coming
    me and the razor and the robot doing its thing
    bubbling, whirring
    and someone somewhere stoned as hell
    thinking about it
    that thing
    and how it should fit in
    or better yet, integrate
    or forget about it all together
    and take a nap

    but no
    instead
    like pulses
    and impulses
    under no one’s direction
    pushing at
    pushing out
    a smooth ripple easily washing over
    and over
    and over
    like pulses
    and impulses
    and the razor and the robot doing its thing
    but not without Humphrey
    in the background
    ruining everything with his ideas
    on the condition of reality

  • With Aristotle

    Aristotle in the back yard instead of raking the leaves that crackle and rustle under foot

    Supposing that knowledge is one of those things that is fine and valuable

    Considering each thought as it comes to mind – wondering if, fleetingly or otherwise, each is an action unto itself

    Of these some are held to be affections peculiar to the soul itself, others belong to the animals

    Falling behind the effort to keep pace as the awareness of every moment’s passing stacks upon its predecessor

    the inquiry, that is, about substance and what a thing is — perhaps someone might think

    Thinking about thinking, thoughts about thoughts, daydreams dangle loosely and tangle into knotty heaps

    For straightness is inseparable if indeed it is impossible without a body

    A murder of crows acts as a distraction and an awareness of my re-action drives me inside to seek refuge from the endless possibilities

  • Titter & Scroop

    From the back-pocket notebook.

  • Vienna 1914

    Here you are in front of mirrors
    naked then clothed in suits of dead fathers.
    Here you’ve painted a tree
    Which is really you stepping over
    fields and fences.

    Here you’re a prisoner covered in red coats.
    Jackdaws settle in trees outside your cell.
    You write, “A single orange was the only light.”

    As soldier you do not fight but guard prisoner,
    as your uncle Leopold guarded you
    with his mustache and cane.

    Here your mistress kneels on all fours.
    You position her according to large mirrors.
    She buries her face, appears headless.
    She might be a table.

    It is 1914 there are whole towns of women
    turned chairs, figurines, pieces of cloth.
    The men are heads, hands, shirt fronts flashing.

    Because her skin is paper you dab it with vermillion.
    Its toxic mercury light breasts, heels, and ankles.
    Mined in China, Sin door to Indians,
    it is the mark of marriage, more expensive than gilding.

    This woman will never wear your mark.
    You intend to marry well, one of two sisters.
    Their father is a master locksmith.
    They walk in clean Protestant light.
    Besides, marriage ruins good mistresses.

    At news of your intentions she leaves you
    in fields of rock with torsos and faces.
    Now it is you that kneels, ankle lodged
    between two stones.

    Sharp toothed artists of Vienna,
    you’ve given us men with green faces,
    eyes rimmed in red, afraid of losing
    their right hand.

    They observe it severed in dreams.
    They treat it with electro shock.
    It jumps and jumps.

    Like you we open and close windows,
    piece meal pay checks, walk doorway
    to doorway dirtying floors.

    Like you we wait for catastrophe
    and know it has already happened.

  • Lean Ether

    open to a blank page just in case
    just in case this document is ready to become a documentation
    a documentation of that which is already happening, in progress
    a contemporaneous convergence, if you will.

    crude, and yet we all agree: Beautiful
    though beautiful hardly fits the bill as an attempt at describing
    describing but just scratching the surface, grazing the veneer
    these are the words. this is the phrasing.

    each line is a happening in it self
    itself taking shape as the words spill out and spill onto
    spill onto and across in the form of a poem, fashion a verse
    make from nothing but the words in my head: Something.

  • Catbird

    there’s a catbird in the Xylosma
    not nesting, exactly, but living
    or hiding from the rain that’s recently returned
    after just one day to drain
    assess the damage and be thankful for none

    the catbird flits about
    and I can’t decide if
    it is doing so nervously
    or in a rather cavalier fashion
    chi-chi-chippering away
    either to herself or at me

    she’s peeking through the cool dark of her dense shelter
    from branch to branch hopping
    getting up to eye level
    maybe to assess the threat
    and be thankful for none

    I, perhaps nervously, step away
    from the bulging hedge
    begging to be pruned
    pack a bowl
    and smoke it
    as the catbird looks on

  • The Last Stoup, Issue 10, April 1993

    Mason’s Stoup 10

  • In Between

    driving
    but dilly-dallying
    really
    daydreaming
    over the hills
    the miles of vines
    the corners of which I’m cognizant
    but just barely
    the dead barn owl with one wing flapping in the breeze of a car just gone by
    the cows
    cute but stinky
    and thankfully organic
    the jibber-jabber on the radio
    the cool rush of air from the window on the far side of the truck
    the miles
    really
    the miles
    they rush at me and under me and into infinity beyond the back bumper
    and then the sun pushing up and into
    pushing
    the sky in the mirrors brightens and lightens and makes itself known
    and when I look up at the mountain range that stands between me and the massive expanse of Pacific
    the fog just barely spilling over
    pink

  • Source Code

    unbending on breaking into a series of handshakes and deals
    contracts written into existence post facto
    words situated to fit the situation just as the unfolding takes place
    (is this equal and opposite?)
    more than making a fuss over
    this documentation
    more than just a casual observation

    the parties involved take parts neither are quite sure of
    the definitions of which lay unfinished in a heap somewhere
    notes scribbled, things referred to as “paperwork”
    ellipses taking the place of, or implying meaning where any has yet to settle despite the appearance of agreement or sense of propriety

    this is where bleak formality is layered in
    where the comfort of conformity trumps the ideas of action
    where the questions, in all the forms they’re known to adopt
    whether posture or postulation, blossom into a thing more important than that for which they strive
    – the answer is the terminal, the question, the journey

    between that which is developing
    the cause and effect
    the nuance
    the roles implemented
    the desire to imagine
    to backfill and anticipate that which is not apparent, becomes the beauty of the action taken
    makes connections
    makes that upon which we endeavor a voyage instead of mere motion.

  • Rest in Peace, Denis Mahoney

    denis

    By now many of you have heard the sad news of Tariq’s passing. He died peacefully at home on Tuesday, April 17, 2012 at the age of 52.

    From Denis’ Facebook Page:

    A memorial service for Denis will be held at La Grua Center in Stonington, CT on Friday, April 27, 2012 at 12:30pm. Everyone is also invited to a reception at Skippers Dock immediately following the memorial service. The La Grua Center and Skippers Dock are located very close to each other so you may park in either lot. Please allow a little extra driving time because Stonington Borough can be difficult to navigate.

    La Grua Center
    32 Water St Stonington, CT 06378
    (860) 535-2300

    Skippers Dock
    66 Water Street Stonington, CT 06378
    (860) 535-0111

    In lieu of flowers, the family humbly requests that any donations be made to Say Yes Like a Tree – Education Fund in memory of Denis Mahoney.

    Tariq, we are heartbroken and we miss you, but we are comforted that your legacy lives on through your art.