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.

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. 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

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 

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.”

Jack of All Trades…Master of Pun

By: Devon Phaneuf (4.19.2019)

One who saw two three times for five or six different ways to find seven while he ate nine tin sandwiches. 

A man…a fable,

A string un-strum,

A pun-un-drum,

A none solve able,

A Teutonic harmonic,

A phonic mnemonic,

A semantic romantic,

A dialectic eclectic,

All things are connected,

No thing rejected,

Just accept it...

Conceptual Notion Machine 

With gears it grinds.

It's ears they find, 

Ideas in mind.

A scene not blind.

Hand over hand,

It conjures the land.

Of shores, a strand,

Of time; of sand.

Head over heels

For life it kneels

(With gears, and wheels):

It's self reveals!

Hear here! It jeers.

Their there! It veers.

Now arriving in tears,

Through fluid it peers.

"So much beauty...

It is my duty...

To color a view key.

To behold a true sea."

Measure

by D.L. Phaneuf 6.16.2020

Taken by parts or wholes.

Heat evolved by coals.

Life to make one’s soul. 

Dirt within a hole.

Water to break the levee,

Weight to make it heavy, 

Space enough for room,

Perfection of a vacuum.

City within a block,

Boats moored at the dock,

Rivers once that flowed, 

Waves without a node.

Friction needed to grip,

Surface designed for slip,

Grit defined as coarse, 

Material left to source.

Taking time to measure,

All of one’s treasure,

Feeling less together,

Rain drops in wet weather. 

Man:Kind

A numerological sonnet by D.L. Phaneuf 1.11.2018

(11 lines, 11 syllables per line, 101 words, AABBCCCDDEE)

All that you see laid out before you (and me),

Is not trickery, no act of forgery.

Rest assured: my efforts I make not lightly.

In this world, men remain who live politely.

You will find my intent is far beyond kind.

From my mind: you’ve only just exposed the rind.

An axe you must grind to get the fruit behind.

With me as your guide (as one in whom you confide),

A path can be lit for that which you have tried.

Despite the creatures whose hearts are much maligned,

I give you fire raging yet quite benign.

Vision

By: Devon Phaneuf 

What light from yonder window breaks?

What fight o'er fonder men among snakes dost thou awake?

The greatest epiphany of a man is for him to maintain that no thing is mundane and that he is to blame...for shame.

Vision is the art of decision, for intention is the munition of invention...an arms race against attrition.