Arsenal of Words

The Writing of Arthur Klepchukov
October 1, 2012

Funnel

The only sound was the creaking of the escalator. The platform was sparsely populated for a late Monday afternoon in September. Everyone was looking for tomorrow with quiet eyes. But me. I gazed away from where the train would emerge, not caring when it would come because I couldn’t control it.

A short guy in a tattered sweater descended on the escalator. He wore old shades and looked like Christian Slater in some forgotten 90s flick in the back row of a video store. Stubble all the more pronounced in the afternoon sun squeezing through the rusty, unwashed windows. I checked my chin for a five o’clock shadow. Still clean shaven.

A voluptuous lady in a summer dress stared back at me, wondering if I was staring at her breasts. I wasn’t. Just looking for signs of life. Heart beating under dark dress shirt.

A homeless man wandered around, scanning the ground for shimmering value. Eyes skimmed my polished shoes. Nothing in my pockets that I felt like sharing. Couldn’t save him. Or vice versa.

The train came. Vomited a few souls and then swallowed ours. Dusk faded on the dancing landscape past the windows. The airport was loud, or so I imagined at the sight of planes. Ticket check. Pocket check. Weapons check. And up. And down. Arrived at my first funeral and wondered how much longer I’d be traveling.

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September 3, 2012

Edgemoor

Night is like a song that you can’t see
so you make up scenery to fill the gaps
between fluorescent highways. and forests possible.
Figments of figs twist with twigs into
nocturnal architectures of confusing beauty.
Headlights slice into your eyes and ruin
the surprise so you return to sound
of foggy rain and smoky tears,
trying to fit between the droplets
without feeling cold or found. and failing.
World exposed as just imagination but
your faith blooms, believing
makes the secrets breathe.
Traffic rolls across eyelids like
tracks of fading bright and wet tails
across the windshield. and when
you peek again you find only rubies
staring back like mute, unblinking fireflies
and you know you’re driving blind
no matter how wide your spies are open.

—

Listen to me read Edgemoor:

(If you don’t see anything above, listen to the track on SoundCloud.)

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August 15, 2012

Blinks of Awe Beyond the iPad

So far only poetry lovers with iPads have been able to read blinks of awe, my new poetry book. People without an iPad can now get a better peek at the poetry in the book, which you can see, touch, and hear. I also want to learn where else people want to experience this kind of work. So please check out the samples below and voice your opinion!

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August 12, 2012

#haiku

On a re-reading of my previous post, I realized the end of the poem contained a haiku:

On the shore’s blue blend
men become boys again
toes plucked from the sand

That made me smile, share it on Twitter, and look for other #haiku tweets. Here are my favorites:

~

and add another of my own:

sound of summer night
singing into empty warm
dancing, with my sweat

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August 5, 2012

Ripping Current

I return where I was born, not physically
Driving a machine that didn’t yet exist
through the sleepy streets nocturnal
every intersection bursting with memories
Past overgrown trees surrounding
an elementary school I can’t see
Thrusting into radio static songs
names scenes all unfamiliar
except the change drums as
predictable as heartbeats
On the sandy road between a home
and the soundtrack of the sea
where I lingered now, and then
Walking by a mother n’ son and waves ending
that’s called sea foam, she said
walking by a memory being formed
On the shore’s blue blend
men become boys again
toes plucked from the sand
and it’s years before the tide returns them


Inspired by the shores of Virginia Beach, VA

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July 29, 2012

Expired Eyes

The scars you leave on me are just tattoos that
no one else can see, they’ve bled ad nauseam,
invisible ink pouring from the pores of lashes
and old sores, a tale of muted agony tailed by
the climax of a self-fulfilling prophecy. I knew.

The stars you leave me with are just dreams that
we abandoned, racing to prove they once existed
recalling how it once was like to be kissed by light
before bleeding across a generation of galaxies
to exile in your soft, cold cheeks as pale. I knew.

The jars you leave me in are just the parts you
want to be, containers of convenient, misfits for
what really happened, they leave nil to breathe:
for fusing crimson curiosities, building empires
of what if, or asking. Only me in pieces. I new.

I’d lose you.

 

Partially inspired by Sophie Ellis-Bextor’s
“The Walls Keep Saying Your Name”

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July 21, 2012

Without Tomorrow

The glass cracks before my eyes and I
admire the fractal patterns. Branching limbs
reaching for the edges, just to find them. Nails on
endless rows of fingertoes too short, too close,
too hurt. So hungry for an end
they forget to taste.

So soon we’ll suffocate.
But now will never breathe again.

Tomorrow we expire.
But now already has.

Forget the next. It’ll still come.

As long as there’s no tomorrow, we can
rise to enjoy the fall. Smile before the reasons flee.
Abandon all perspective. Escape causality.
Dance with silence before it shatters.

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July 16, 2012

I’m Not a Writer, I Write

When I get asked “Are you a writer?” it always makes me uncomfortable, even when I ask myself. Some days I don’t write. Does that mean I’m not a writer on those days? Where does the expectation of writing every day come from? Did I find it true for myself? Did I just unconsciously assume it as part of some vague notion of what a writer is? What benefit have I derived from that expectation? From saying “I’m a writer?” At this point, I usually scoff in frustration at this black hole of semantics, philosophy, and identity and settle for the simplest answer that makes the most sense: I write. And I just write, without worrying about what I am. But let’s dive down the rabbit hole to see what we find.

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July 8, 2012

Color Me Synesthesia (audio)

Here’s a recording of a poem I published a month ago, Color Me Synesthesia:

(If you don’t see anything above, listen to the track on SoundCloud.)

before, I was but a pencil line
_______________, simple little stroke,
lacking even a squiggle but you
you traced me well, gave me depth & Definition
a flair of ink, a dash of curve~ discovered
fingerprints with graphite, the shade of skin
with lead of many shades of gray,
revised my irises until they
were circles perfect, filled the lashes black
until they could.blink.perception, molded my cheeks
in the sculpture of touched joy or bliss,
trimmed my hair into a shapes of soft,
kissed grayscale lips until breath dribbled deep
inside and I learned to sing, tickled my ears
until they began to touchWords, danced by my nose until
   inhaling became a new addiction,
crosshatched an outline of a heart,
and looked beyond the eyes until/blinking/wasn’t/necessary.
And then I tasted color.
It warmed my skin until a sunburn was seductive.
Red seeped in and seduced my bloodstream,
pumping passion to the corners of existence.
Spilled blue all over my jeans. Flung yellow
at my skin to make orange orbs that shrunk into
peach pores covered in light brown forests of “oh”.
I heard every hue. And touched invisible.
Turned up the volume until I saw green waves of sound.
Showered me with lights until I tasted purple.
Danced with scent into a real dream.
Morphed my background to a limitless canvas. Created new dimensions to
raise me
from
the page. Invented time. so I could. slow down. and smell
memory. We peeked at infinity
the day you started to color me in.

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June 30, 2012

euloJune

Today I learned to breathe
and the air was full of fragments
that tasted like the moment.
I didn’t dare hold on.
Just inhaled all I could and waved
at dusk-soaked curtains and darker ocean folds
and warmer nights stretching into tomorrow.
A summer fever collapsed into a
delicate ember with beads of sweat,
pockets of cool breath, ice cubes
succumbing into wet,
all gentle ephemera.
Watched the flames flicker
a familiar lullaby,
the only patch of color in a forest noir,
debuted and left us where we are
lonely in a moonless dream
fed by memories that were just lived.
Sat idle, welcoming the dark
nose tickling with last hints of smoke
whispering a thousand ways of saying g’bye,
and then, I exhaled June.

 

Inspired by Delerium – “Apparition”

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