Pretend you Don't

Pretend you Don't

Don't
Pretend you don't,
please,
pretend you don't-
don't say anything
and pretend you don't
don't
for me.

-Matthew Koutzun

Dedicated to One

Dedicated to One

Not all
or many
or some,
but one.

One person
one mind
one thought
for you.

You know who
oh, yes you, don't
pretend you don't
know who you are.

Cause us artists
we can't stop creation
and us writers
can't stop writin'
it's a scent
we follow blind.

That's why
this is for you
why, it's only for you
why it's only for that I try.

-Matthew Kouztun

There is Silence in the Noise

There is Silence in the Noise

There is silence in the noise
a deafening one
of spaces

between

the beats beats beats


One that if taken together
not molded apart
makes spaces

between

beats longer longer longer


But take the beats
silent or noise
or space

and

have it all it all it all

-Matthew Koutzun

Lost Post

Lost Post

I thought you were gone
and lamented the work I had put into you.

I had strained
and captured,
lost the vision
and then recaptured
the essense of what I wanted to say when making you.

And then when I wanted to put you out
I did and then found you to be gone.

I had lost
and mourned,
had a vision
that cannot be recaptured
no way now to say what I wanted to say when making you.

And then I repaired and forgot
I thought I would never forget but I found I did.

Then I found you
refound you
had a past
that needs no recapture
archived away in a place I never dreamt you'd be.

But now you're here and you're now expressed
and I have you not long till I'll have another.

-Matthew Koutzun

This Post is actually based on the loss and revival of the poem I just recently wrote, lost, and found: "It's a Box". I had wrote the poem, and then as I press the publish button I received an error sign. It was the death of me. I had worked really hard on it!

I had had the idea for the poem since walking in the morning. I had forgotten how most of the structure and lines were to be by the time I made it to a computer so I had to push creativity to bring back the mood I had. I usually find it easy to hold a mood or idea in place but this one was more troublesome than most, vague in areas and fixed in others, so I had to rebuild at parts. What I came up with was a great poem which is now one of my quick favorites. Which is why when the error sign came I almost lost it.

A day went by and I thought, "well, usually when I'm tapped creatively I go back and look at past work." I find it easier that way because it really does set you back on the creative track you were riding then. And looking at my posts I saw it, marked "draft". Saved sporatically by the new blogger system! I am so happy now that it's back and the incedent inspired the poem I wrote now catching and analysing myself in the moment. So yeah... that was my little story of a little lost poem refound...

Poets

Poets

"At the touch of love
everyone becomes a poet,"
spouting merth and merry
to skies and to sea.

But "at the touch of love,
[for me, I too become] a poet,"
but such merth and merry buried
and the words conspire and delve inside.

For "at the touch of love
everyone becomes a poet,"
but lines and scenes
are none alike.

-Matthew Koutzun

It's a Box

It's a Box

It's a ruse.
It's a shame.
A little box
and all the blame.

It's commited.

It's formed.

Opening up

and your scorned.

It's a love

and it's wasted.

Painful mess-

romantics taste it.

It's a rage

and it's a truth,

and it builds

till there isn't any use.

It's a

conspiracy.

It's a

crime.

It's that dead ringer look

you got in your eye.

It's when you lost it

when you opened up

Pandora Box

unopened-

-reopened-

-ripped apart.

But it's opened

and it's used

torn to pieces

pulled, stretched, puzzled, pulled, held, caressed, told it's better, told they're worse, told of future, faced the past, blasted together, mashed away, and given sweet sleep.

And it's hopeful.

And it's last.

To come from a box:

broken-

recast.

-Matthew Koutzun

Coloured of Night

Coloued of Night

Lightness of step
and prism of colour
of one rich red hue
and the next powder blue.
Green splayed in the light
and of yellow wrapped in tight
of purple running off after you.

And of darkness delight
of turning off the light
a million rainbows
prismed; between me and you.

-Matthew Koutzun

This is actually the lightest I've written in a while. And it seems to sugar sweet. I think the blood has gone to my head as I write this sentence to hide the fact that I feel so good and have the artist intent that I should always feel bad. Artist's Pride of loathing is my downfall, been wondering why I shouldn't feel happy, and realize that I really always should. So hurrah for sugary sweetness. The only ones I apologize too are the diabetics.

Prism:Line / Prison:Bar

Prism:Line
Prison:Bar

Please tell me who coloured you
all those shades of violence.
Bruise purple
and tough pink?
Tough skin
and bruised pride?

Tell me who made you strong,
enough that you now don't cry.

Please tell me who coloured you
all those shades of pride.
Smolder red
and sturdy blue?
Sturdy ego
and smolder heart?

Tell me now who crippled both
so you now can't move; can't stride.

-Matthew Koutzun

Simply Put

Simply Put

Simply put:

I have nothing.
I have friends
family
a home
yet want more.

I have security
it what small quantities it is
and what I need to get by,
but have nothing.

Scrooge found this so himself
and find it I can not.

Simply put,
I'm tired.
Of searching,
of falling,
of failing,
and of calling.

And the boredom,
and the stagnation,
and the disposition to the deflation
of the ego that kept me strong.
Falling
Catching
Leaping
Calling.

Calling.
Calling.
Calling.

Simply put
I call out
and a million helpful answers come.
But simply put-
it's me who won't decide.

-Matthew Koutzun

Oh, My Misery Love

Oh, My Misery Love

Oh, I know it's there;
I know, I remember it there,
that deep down inside me misery love.
The hate and bile filled dream
of sadness and soliloquy
my deep down inside me misery love.

It's been years since I've had it
and these days I demand it
that deep down inside me misery love.
And if I could fish I would bait it
once it I have it I hate it
my deep down inside me misery love.

And they all say I'm crazy
for loving my hurtful filled baby who gives me
that deep down inside me misery love.
And I'll take much more
than all the sweet things I could adore for
my deep down inside me misery love.

Matthew Koutzun

I don't know what it is, but I find myself wanting that love that makes us crazy and sad. I want to be depressed and longing, and have tears come a calling, and pine for a love that won't come.

Covet and Wane

Covet and Wane

Goodnight sun, goodnight moon-
you know you love the day,
as much as you covet the night.

And one comes after the other,
regardless of which you love,
so have both- wax and wane with each.

Matthew Koutzun

1907-2007

1907-2007

I am here
inside, before my time they call us,
since we don't seem real yet even though
we've lived nine months.
Life not counted until breath.

I'm here,
the school
my first.
Nerves that I can't stand
standing on end
be cajoled by all my siblings-
younger-
pushing me out the door.

I am here,
at home,
they've denied me to walk 4 miles to school.
I walk them on the field as I watch
smaller footsteps to move foward.

I am here,
Mother is crying
and Father is silent,
water spilled on the ground,
and one of us gone,
we leave in the morning.

I am here
they haven't sent me on the berg yet.
They told me that's where grandma would go
before she died
now that we moved to Canada-
Years I was scared into believing.

I am here
Believing and crying
and crying to believe,
and we went to the place
where the believers cry
and believe.
And we travelled home from that place
it was Easter.
Blood in mouth,
on my dress,
it made me dizzy,
the body: dough-
never helped.

I am as I lay,
the last. Years from then
and on the berg I pass.
And hand from hand I'm carried,
a wave like wave
to the boat home.

I am home,
Home was a boat across the ocean I once believed.
But a hundred years later.
Home only means
up.

Matthew Koutzun

Where?

Where?

Did you disappear?
On plane, by car?
By some comment made from afar?
There is such thing as happenstance
and that of plutonic romance.
So give a fuckup a chance?

Matthew Koutzun

When They Broke the Chick's Egg, A Mirror to Hold

When They Broke the Chick's Egg,
A Mirror to Hold

Looking at myself in the mirror
I see myself younger than I really am.
Soft brown hair,
falling finely on soft brow,
over shallow deep eyes,
that have seen nothing, but much.
Two lips, the bottoms full from biting,
the top thin from inexperience,
although never lacking.
Light bleached skin,
touched only by flouresants,
and high cheeks of expectancy.

I rush to my bed and hide under the covers.
I want to be 16 again,
and feel nothing- over or around me.
I throw the sheets off of me to relinquish the feeling,
and then smuggle them back on
for the security and fear I find underneath.
And they come for me calling,
"come back,
no fear- no foul to be had hiding."
I peek at monsters run amuck
and know I'll join them soon;
eventually.

-Matthew Koutzun

Taking Seconds.

Taking Seconds.

After taking the first bite,
there is the moment of immense flavor of new experience.
And after the second,
there is one of loss and gaining:
loss of the fresh beginnings on the tounge-
the gaining of fullness in yourself.

Matthew Koutzun