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| Tyler Joseph Wiseman's Poetry |
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| Published Works |
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Many of Tyler Joseph Wiseman's poems have been previously published in such venues as: And Come Now, The Dreams PP in Quill and Parchment Reminiscence of Vermont published in Write-Away poetry Vicious Tongues PP in Poet's Page Poetess II PP in The Sidewalks End, The Cyberwit Hard Copy Anthology Symphonies and in Write Away Poetry http://www.write-away-poetry.org Razorblade Facets PP in The Sidewalk's End The Buzz PP in Poetry Junction As I Have Walked PP in "This Hard Wind," "Poetry Junction," "The Zine," "Write Away," "Makata Unpoemed," and "Poetic Voices." Self Published in 17 states, 3 countries. Seasons of the Fall PP in the April Makata Unpoemed, Kookamonga Square, and the first issue of "The Zine" Northhampton, MA PP in in the August BBC publication Southwest Wales poetry, in the September issue of Above Ground Testing, the July 2004 issue of Autumn Leaves, and the first issue of the magazine The Zine Atlas Crawled Over Broken Glass PP in Scars; Children Curches and Daddies The Essence of Umbra in Poetry in Emotion Driven through Kentucky in Muse Apprentice Guild, Poetry Life and Times Feature Jewel I in The Essay, PL&T Feature By Descartes Light of Reason in The Vault Afterthought, Quantum Hope, Graveyard at S unset, Victuals for the Mind, Love Letter to the Supreme, Villainized, Grey Matters PL&T For the last 8 years I've traveled across 47 states and over 80,000 miles hitchhiking in order to disseminate my poetry to the masses, with 100,000 through misc. means. As a result, I achieved the status of self-publication in every state and a handful of countries by the age of 21, and at 22 found national publication in The Vault: Soul Fountain. I was covered on national television (NBC) reading my poem "When Rabbit Howls" at the 50th Anniversary of City Lights. Publications include Above Ground Testing, Makata, the Crystal Dawn Anthology, and The Sidewalk's End amongst others. 1.Driven Through Kentucky 2. Because of Casey 3. Remembering Woodstock 4. The Essence of Umbra 5. Afterthought. 6. Grey Matters 7.Love Letter to the Supreme 8. Quantum hope 9. Victuals for the Mind 10. Virgin’s Ode 10. Sing I 11. Northhampton, Ma 12. Atlas Crawled Over Broken Glass 13. The Essence of Umbra 14 Vicious Tongues and the Damage Done 15. Bleating of the Lamb 16. Tantalus Rising DRIVEN THROUGH KENTUCKY I recall distinctly the dashboard reflections, that halcyon puce mimicking the streak the rap tap of lighting bugs expiring . Love bugs were like Jupiter, fornicating by whimsy to make heroes who would flail themselves in futility against this beast of a windscreen . Then came the rain, washing it dirty with smoke and refuse of tired bald eagles leaving DDT offspring on the roadside You sought to speak to the almighty but he was gone a smear, roadkill smashed by some political machine BECAUSE OF CASEY Because he lured you with candy, a different kind of sweet, one that made you ache without; It beckoned with irresistible logic Seven Percent baby, ride all night which you did, because you couldn't sleep . The train blew the whistle, you saw it rollin’ on, knew that those tunnels were hollow until the stillness was punctured with a light fantastic, far and away from New York City . But it the left soon enough, and you were tied down to the tracks as the train, cold and black ran into you again, and again, and you screamed, but knew it was muffled by your lacking conviction . Because you raped yourself with steel, with the great desire to find unfeeling, you knew it couldn't be true, held hostage by the lack of willing the train rolled on all night but Casey forgot to turn on the light -------- REMEMBERING WOODSTOCK They said it was the new summer of love, in the fine Indian heat of 2001 Some said visitors would come, hold us up in our sleep, like Rip Van Winkle . I remember Mark, a odd manner of monk Who would hand out Mantras on paper and orange peels, or whatever was at hand for him to spread the feeling He used to be a lawyer, now all he seeks is enlightenment from the people of TriDharmaChakra or the street . I loved Sarah well, my friend, fellow ballerina and purveyor of gems fantastic and trendy, she had her shop, Paganalia, her paper and a cohort Chris, who desired things Far Indian . There was Grandpa, who habitually smoked his Buddha in the Artist's Cemetery except the day we bid farewell to a wonderful librarian, in memoriam for the many blessings from which her fell . Dharmaware was incredible, with Shiva and all his convictions, we would feast of lovely things in his home near Rock City Road . We all had the finest hopes and dreams, until shock and awe brought the worst of all things all 3 PP in Muse Apprentice Guild Afterthought Should a Summer 'Frisco fog roll in obscuring the clarion skies in murk or a Denver frost settle, heavy from the west and I should pen my oppression, know it is not for your eye my skies weep Would that I could articulate the passage of time in a cold November frost It would not be for your heart alone Supposing the spring waxes gaiety, flittering and fluxing in Vermont's day spring, were to drive my pen through here to unseen reaches it would not speak of our history, or causes lost Where once I carried mountains for you, and shrugged like Hercules awaiting Hesperides’ fruit, I yet knew the burden you asked was too great for even my strength was sapped by the vicious tooth of some venomous thing amidst leaves of grass so now every testament is to the Omnipotent 'I am' Grey Matters It's not the black, fading to pale that moved me so emphatically to better ends and finer friends upon the horizon nor the white, dulling with brilliance, like lightning weakening the tongue too often tasted, that recoiled to the melancholic lethargy All the grey matters that shuffled along with mortal coil and wrap became indistinguishable, shades left wailing and wanting upon the horizon It's burdensome to carry these mountainous skies, threaded by the sinews of humidity, and though, like Atlas shrugging, I too may cry clarion oaths it is inconceivable that there should be any hope Love Letter to the Supreme Was it the flavor of lightning, ozone's metallic trim upon the tongue that moved you so, to throes flinging tiers from your eyes and into the heavens? What did you want when this world began turning for your sanctity of breast, beating the stars plasma into every living source of new beginnings? Did you expect love to be perfect, or nobler yet through the adversity of temptation and ardor, hunger, pursuit and the ends gained from futile cravings of the unattained I love you for making me with every taint and stain, with crooked teeth, broken skin, and a bevy of tragic circumstance to feast upon in all saint's musings Quantum hope Be it that I have a thousand and one lives, each shall be spent in the pursuit of you, my daring to dream, my darling of constructive humanity I've walked a thousand and one miles in simple shoes, and the clay feet of times travail now dare to tread where angels scorn and fear This life may be spent on a sojourn soul, bygone when lost upon desire's precipices and made perpetually less whole with every moment, each experience which distances my immortal spirit from the exquisite nobility of your condition in purity I may be unworthy this go around to savor your cleverness and cloy, but it cannot be said for each incarnation Beloved, hope springs eternal of the infinite possibility inherent in our existential cycle I'll find you again in the next world rest assured Victuals For The Mind Savory, slavering in juices, sautéed thoroughly, it sizzles I anticipate that its flavor will chain me to my table, with all it's din and silences A glass of red, mildly acrid, is graced with the slightest hint of vinegar and spices, distilled to the point of the exquisite; lolling about, a swirl upon the tips Greenest white along the side, an iceberg juts above the surface, frosted in the sweeter sour cream, with paprika, Italian seasoning, a ranch hands delicious vegetable dip Finally, sated on the juices, quenched on the dry bouquet, and filled with the crispness I move on to the cake These poems PP in PL&T Virgin’s Ode I want desperately to savor the perspective in the eye of your hurricane How succulent the scents must be amidst your tempest of hair and hands, all fluttering with the redolence, your peach and sandalwood found wanting and satisfied on the wind Ah, I must imagine your softness tempered of its passion, to fade lax along the refined small of back, your heart's ebb to a butterfly breath expansive yet across all your continents Yet these are mere contrivance, and all my expressions to wit die on the page, with the poet 2003, Poetry in Emotion Sing I, for musing of the Rhodeia, for Chloris, Aphrodite, Zephryus of whom consummated satureia, sanguine flora of redolent surplus. Legend tells verily of woe, and wane in those lives denied the mortal coiling despite youth, vigor vitale to sustain now granted only death, within soiling A fragile nymph robbed of her jest and whim, a lover lost to the wooded reaches whose veil upon a lioness did dim with blood as this maiden sought far beaches. So it came to pass, her fairness would fast when the Gods Rose, set in stone to last. Northhampton, MA The grand spatter contentious of droplets patient caress to concrete majesty fashioned, the innumerable content of sand Solvent, swaths of light break towards unification Primrose streaks highlight the tears in blue nimbus Amazing grace, the chortles of colour, murmuring, shatter upon my flesh. The beads streaming down my grand arch and hollow are immaculate conceptuals Reunite, again invigorating florin senses of life recreated in each solidified breath Ascension each empirical blessing strewn upward through sinew are drawn blades of grass. We paint the skies with the blood of warriors, the scent of funerary pyres, and the cries of buzzards All eyes must someday leak again into the stratum to fall again, tears in heaven. Atlas Crawled over Broken Glass Watch now, the glass tesseract of our lives sparkle like new-borne snow upon Atlas' tongue . The tranquil pool humanity greedily craved was divined to be poison by a prophet bleeding ash while hungering to be human again It's pure hell (heaven) being closer to God when the world around you takes comfort in lies and lives lived for the simple satisfaction of the crystal cities promise PP in Scars: Children Churches and Daddies The Essence of Umbra In touching flame the chill pervades; shadow centers the luminescence and by it's pinprick contrast life remains centered around the essence Of umbra we find reconciliation between light and darkness Day and nights trend burns in a shadow core .. Within us there burns the Yin, Yang, and other essences we care to define in the least terms of understanding A bit for the great things, we are white, black, and the glaring reds which compose sunlight upon the skin .. The racing light screams antithetically to dark negatively concurrent, universally opposed in phantom words and essences The eyes corner wanders to forms on the borders of our imagination unenlightenment in shadow men Vicious Tongues and the Damage Done By your slanderous tilt I am wounded more grievously than any brilliant spear which, ordained from the heaven's clarion oath, might strike me down as Hippocrates, Persephone, Proteus falling to the sea Your silent language is an insidious succor, courting mischief with malice and while I am starved by the wonder of all these hideous silences your monstrous mechanizations grind my heart to sand and, so undone, I am fearful for it to beat again With all this maligned devotion you strike at me as it were I who cleft the devil's hoof and yet, for all this loathing, it's breadth, depth, scope, and meter I can only strike with compassion in turn for fear is fickle in all it's jade devices and ruled over by the perseverance of patience And the insurmountable temperance of words Bleating of the Lamb The skies are filled to brim with the pollution of my carnage, spilling across the din horizon, scarlet with the fading day; a throbbing wound that refuses leave from sense, regret, or memory It feels like the raw undertone of sorrow upon my face, blistering imperceptibly under the scrutiny of fate. The tears of a nation, millennia away from my milestone to fathom, strike with lightning reproach on TV affording no other remnant than misery Somehow it's difficult to see, obscured in the clarion rustle of thunder-heads, how justified ignorant bliss can be, with missiles scraping between banks of ancient intrigues, with towering cumulous breaking breathlessly in the dusk to foreshadow the doom in coming Tantalus Rising The idea was tantalizing, was it not? You felt the fruit upon your tongue, it's tanned succulence just above your parched and crack infested lips, and oh, how desperately you craved, for this alone would feed your fickle and agoraphobic exclusivity to the bonds which kept your motor running Roll on, baby, let it slide in so smooth that you can barely feel the ribbed ridges forged along the side of this alien counterpart enter you, can scarcely echo the screams of slaves burning, of the pustules rising from the social disease you've endured and spread at behest of your daily bread Guzzle it down baby, we need you running all night, need you to plunge your head in again to the forested masses to suck the seed and life from the product, the consumers, the very people who made you, themselves slaves to the lacking inhibitions of prosperity |
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