Ruse

RUSE

by: Devon Phaneuf (12.17.2017)

Rejoice! O'er the communion of your own confusion.

Long tales rust nails of truth a-fixed once to hold confession (in a booth!).

Truth?! Truth you say has no proof? Twas God who gave life, and the noose?

Find you no amusement in my voice? What about life as a choice?

No, No, No child; let not your mind wander so loose. It is unsafe to think us so obtuse. Now praise God for lighting the spark of your fuse.

I will not. I refuse. This is no crime, I'll sign no truce.

Language is to aloof to deny that absolutes may simply be spoofs.

Call your troops. Deploy your chutes. I'll drink not from the cup of your juice.

We have only one sin, the illumination of such a ruse.

Dr. Suess's 116th

Dr. Seuss’s 116th

by D.L. Phaneuf 3.2.2020

Happy Birthday to the Doctor of whose is who says. The man who reminds us that it is we who chooses who wins or looses. With words whose uses should not confuse us, yet instead induces miles of smiles. And while the innocent ones and 'twoses' he easily amuses with gentle stories of earthly bruises, I believe it's his intention that rescues us from forgetting that there are in fact acts that have no excuses. The physician of our soul is who Dr. Seuss is.

D Generation

D Generation

by D.L. Phaneuf 3.21.2020

Can poetry evolve to survive in 2021 without a sound board? Without a number from 1 to 10 on the Billboard? 

Are folks too interested in what gender, race, party, creed, or color is next to claim to have been molested? What human was recently arrested? Where next to divert ourselves detested?

Distraction is definitely the main attraction and I wonder if you, me, us...we can re-rail the train to deliver us from these mundane days of disdain...?

Will "progress" fool our collective dream of stars, earth, moon, and mars; yielding a time whereby our soul's left? A time when all mass has lost heft and to other possible beings our pettiness is pure jest? At the preset rate: Our efforts upon this nest; civilizations ages from now will filter through rubble and arrive at one guess. After centuries of research they will conclude that we made a mess of a life truly blessed.

Spectacular Vernacular

Spectacular Vernacular 

By: Devon Lee Phaneuf (7.30.2020)

A centrifugal horn or bugle,

Makes a sound in the room around,

Hits a wall (which we call the bound),

Bounces back to find its center.

With an ear to the ground he listens...

To hear an echo...a resound.

Through a molten mantle it uproars,

“I am the core!!!”

“The very origin of this world,

Whom without your life would unfurl.

Stars of disaster spiral and twirl,

Yet I am your pearl.”

“The gem of existence,

Your cosmic resistance.

A fight you cannot win,

Without my enlistment.”

Just for the Record

Just for the record

By D.L. Phaneuf 12.10.2018

May the grooves prove not smooth such that sound they do not lose for my ears to hear and not refuse. 

Be it blues, jazz infused, or progressive one-two-glues, hit me with a tried and true sonic view; loaded with hues of do-do-ta-do's stewed together for me to sip like brew. 

My how the time is few, that part we flew right through! Now, frisk that disc like you knew what to do: flip the tip and grip the lip to dip the trip in a jip, I want to groove to side two.