My essay in tribute to Bart Wolffe in VEXT Magazine

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On None so Blind as He Who Will Not See by Bart Wolffe

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my poem Eternal Return along with the painting Falling Girl by Dame-Glenn Brady

Eternal Return in VEXT Magazine

So she took a lover. (Or did the lover take her?)

So many years have passed between then
and now. It’s hard to sort it out.
The painting in the attic old and oozing.

The two of them are strangers now. She’s
grown a beard in solidarity with a dying dog.
Sandblast wind straight to the eye of god.
No more moisture, neither kind is welcome.

And isn’t the truth overrated anyway?
The universe sucked into its own black hole.
Nothingness and nowhere somewhere
on the other side of somethingness. Let us

give thanks for gravity, despite the bags
and sags and drooping downs. It’s not
the end of the universe after all. Gravity,
in the end, is our salvation. There on the lip

of nowhere, there where Gravity dons leotards,
a jock strap, and cape and saves the day. That is,
saves the universe. Some version of something
returns as we bounce higher, farther than the

reach of energy and matter. Begin again.
There was an old man named Michael
Finnegan. Dead so long ago, but the wake
continues. The infinite return of death.

Lust will resume after this break for station
identification. Only the shadow knows for sure.
The dying daddy wanted to know, what is love,
anyway? And she wonders as she wanders

through time and space if he ever knew the answer
before that last breath or at any time when young.
She wonders when will the widows ever learn, pity
is not love. Aid is not commitment. Lust dies.

The first question being answered,
there is nothing more to say.

Falling Girl by Dame-Glenn Brady

Falling Girl by Dame-Glenn Brady

My poem The Crisis in Physics in VEXT Magazine, with art by Reiner Langer


poetry from the frontera

http://vextmagazine.blogspot.com/2015/03/the-crisis-in-physics-by-donna-snyder.html?m=1

Einstein’s failed search for the Theory of Everything A truth that mathematically reflects the universe Those poor Platonists so sure that numbers and equations are the true reality behind this pathetic reality we call here and now The ideal realm of which we mere psyches sense nothing but flickers and shadows  Those special minds Their beautiful equations bring us multiplicities  Multiverses and the immensity of black holes’ negativity  A string that leads from this umbilicus mundi to that where sometimes a pipe is not just a pipe And time is not just a moment gone faster than the length of one’s lament

No experiments demonstrate a + b = c because there is no absolute The one thing Einstein could take pleasure in knowing was that he was right about that one thing  But was he really?  Or is it all just psychology, just another construct? That arrow shot…

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My poem The Crisis in Physics in VEXT Magazine, with art by Reiner Langer

http://vextmagazine.blogspot.com/2015/03/the-crisis-in-physics-by-donna-snyder.html?m=1

Einstein’s failed search for the Theory of Everything A truth that mathematically reflects the universe Those poor Platonists so sure that numbers and equations are the true reality behind this pathetic reality we call here and now The ideal realm of which we mere psyches sense nothing but flickers and shadows  Those special minds Their beautiful equations bring us multiplicities  Multiverses and the immensity of black holes’ negativity  A string that leads from this umbilicus mundi to that where sometimes a pipe is not just a pipe And time is not just a moment gone faster than the length of one’s lament

No experiments demonstrate a + b = c because there is no absolute The one thing Einstein could take pleasure in knowing was that he was right about that one thing  But was he really?  Or is it all just psychology, just another construct? That arrow shot from the back seat of the celestial omnibus arrives later than the one liberated from the hood  At once an ornament and a memory
The answers are in the stars after all Relativity’s proof  Like the comparative thickening principle of corn starch or flour from wheat  The difference between pudding and roux  Without the attentive spoon all is scorched  Not even the dogs will eat it  There is no imaginary time when stirring the pot  Once burned it’s done  No way back from black
If Einstein could not solve this problem of the now then even less can I a mathless victim of uncertainty’s principle  I can’t see direction and speed at the same time  I am just one example of indeterminancy  The observer always changes the observed  Ask an honest social scientist if you can find one
Escape from the easy comfort of Ptolemy  Embrace the fact that all truths are truncated  There is no escape from the passing of time
While drunk on youth behind us the mighty all is gone
OHRENSAUSEN 44 ( DAS LEBEN  Anfang oder Ende  Kraft )  by Reiner Langer

OHRENSAUSEN 44 ( DAS LEBEN Anfang oder Ende Kraft )
by Reiner Langer

Cairns, my most recent publication in VEXT Magazine

VEXT Magazine’s newest issue has my poem “Cairns” in it, with accompanying art by Dame-Glenn Brady.

http://vextmagazine.blogspot.com/2014/12/cairns-by-donna-snyder.html?showComment=1418606036713

Untitled by Dame-Glenn Brady

Untitled by Dame-Glenn Brady

Like an angel falling, my poem published in VEXT Magazine

Like an angel falling

1.
My hand hesitates not because my mind is blank,
but rather that it flees each thought from fear,
the fear of consequences, of being too trite
or too self revelatory.
A man asked his motherly wife
why his friend had jumped from the roof like an angel falling.
The bearded lady sighed at just another suicide,
just another person with too many options.
The opposite of commitment is paralysis not freedom.
The issue before us here is the meaning of self-destruction,
yet we only seem to care when the effect
is an unambiguous line between here and not here.
The issue before us is the purpose of choice.
If you’re not part of the solution
you will never be able to realize the state of the problem.
The big questions remain unanswered,
like the theory of everything which still explains nothing.
If matter is only denser energy, what is the truth behind E=Mc2?
We must concentrate energy to make something matter.
Or just accept that matter really doesn’t matter anyhow.
Dark energy is neither the details nor the devil.
All life emerges from a single dark hole.
And like the man who flew from the roof,
we all end up the same somewhere deep in the dark.
2.
The absence of light.
The absence of breath.
The absence of life.
Praise God almighty,
free at last.

*Published in Poemas ante el Catafalco:  Grief and Renewal (Chimbarazu Press)

The Fallen Angel by Gustave Doré

The Fallen Angel by Gustave Doré

Like an angel falling, my newest publication included in VEXT Magazine

Like an angel falling in VEXT 5.0

vext

1.
My hand hesitates not because my mind is blank,
but rather that it flees each thought from fear,
the fear of consequences, of being too trite
or too self revelatory.
A man asked his motherly wife
why his friend had jumped from the roof like an angel falling.
The bearded lady sighed at just another suicide,
just another person with too many options.
The opposite of commitment is paralysis not freedom.
The issue before us here is the meaning of self-destruction,
yet we only seem to care when the effect
is an unambiguous line between here and not here.
The issue before us is the purpose of choice.
If you’re not part of the solution
you will never be able to realize the state of the problem.
The big questions remain unanswered,
like the theory of everything which still explains nothing.
If matter is only denser energy, what is the truth behind E=Mc2?
We must concentrate energy to make something matter.
Or just accept that matter really doesn’t matter anyhow.
Dark energy is neither the details nor the devil.
All life emerges from a single dark hole.
And like the man who flew from the roof,
we all end up the same somewhere deep in the dark.
2.
The absence of light.
The absence of breath.
The absence of life.
Praise God almighty,
free at last.

*Published in Poemas ante el Catafalco:  Grief and Renewal (Chimbarazu Press)

My poem “Under the fecund moon” published in VEXT Magazine

Under the fecund moon in September issue of VEXT Magazine, with art by Juya Suberg

“Speak to me in Spanish.

I’ll hear all vowels and no consonants. I’ll understand all nouns and no verbs, miss the plot but grasp the emotion. . . .”
art by Jaya Suberg

art by Jaya Suberg

My poem Anxious Madonna in VEXT Magazine

art by Reiner Langer

The anxious Madonna

            After Lee Ballentine

After midnight she walks through the empty house
The Madonna without child
The bottoms of her feet slap the wooden floor
She counts each creak
like beads wrapped round fingers
The second floor board from the kitchen door
The one in the hallway
Each floorboard complains predictably
She makes her rounds
One footfall follows another
This one then the next
Always counting

The quieter the night the noisier the house becomes
Pipes knock on her consciousness
Warn of yet another catastrophe

Shadows mock her
Call her Madonna X
The Xanax queen flung from the night sky
counting the hours until she swallows another moon

One step follows another
A bipedal metronome
Accompanied by a halleluiah chorus of creaks
Perseverance a virtue
Perseverating a diagnostic criterion
Outside the sky is dark
Urban blight blots out her sister stars
The only illumination artificial
The only peace momentary
The empty womb long since pawned
(She needed cash and she needed it fast)

Amorphous anxiety crescendos into fears
Fears become phobias
She looks at the clock on stove
Rushes to the bedside stand and grabs the bottle
Swallows without water
Her breath so loud she holds it until it stills
Counts her pulse rate

When it slows she sits an hour or two
without the lights
until it’s time to pace again
counting floorboards
counting her steps
counting creaks
counting sighs

My poem Anxious Madonna in VEXT Magazine

art by Reiner Langer

The anxious Madonna

            After Lee Ballentine

After midnight she walks through the empty house
The Madonna without child
The bottoms of her feet slap the wooden floor
She counts each creak
like beads wrapped round fingers
The second floor board from the kitchen door
The one in the hallway
Each floorboard complains predictably
She makes her rounds
One footfall follows another
This one then the next
Always counting

The quieter the night the noisier the house becomes
Pipes knock on her consciousness
Warn of yet another catastrophe

Shadows mock her
Call her Madonna X
The Xanax queen flung from the night sky
counting the hours until she swallows another moon

One step follows another
A bipedal metronome
Accompanied by a halleluiah chorus of creaks
Perseverance a virtue
Perseverating a diagnostic criterion
Outside the sky is dark
Urban blight blots out her sister stars
The only illumination artificial
The only peace momentary
The empty womb long since pawned
(She needed cash and she needed it fast)

Amorphous anxiety crescendos into fears
Fears become phobias
She looks at the clock on stove
Rushes to the bedside stand and grabs the bottle
Swallows without water
Her breath so loud she holds it until it stills
Counts her pulse rate

When it slows she sits an hour or two
without the lights
until it’s time to pace again
counting floorboards
counting her steps
counting creaks
counting sighs

http://vextmagazine.blogspot.com/2014/06/anxious-madonna-by-donna-snyder.html?m=1