David Ben McReynolds: I am a graduate mathematics student at the University of Texas at Arlington. I enjoy poetry and I have been writing for about seven years. I will be published in The Attic in March 2000, but none of the poems I am submitting have been published yet..




Neon Squid Flashlight in a Dark Room

Fibrous vines of the neon squid,
clear and coated.
Cylindrical torso,
darting like a ballistic
through a lightless, aquatic empire.
Fluttering gills and sinking, shapeless forms,
weary of its viney wrap.
As if a distant nova, the squid ignites,
expanding to fill what is not yet,
until first seen,
its existence known,
its negation, the universe.


Copyright 2000 by David Ben McReynolds




The Porcelain Demigod

Hypoclorate white, porcelain trench, glaring up always,
with azure, watery reflections of myself.
You are the philosophical seat,
questioning my logic,
until you are full and cannot speak.
Keep your boa mouth shut,
a pathological microbe,
you are no trophy but
an operating room.
Named a triumph by sages
you are a demigod.
Cleansing, self-sufficient, after each meal,
jets of water, circling,
spout rotating counter-clockwise,
contents disappearing like a dated bedpan.
Intimate with all,
do not whisper,
soppy and septic,
with your oval, imitation tongue.
For, during congregation,
those that pray at your altar,
eat from your sterile plate.


Copyright 2000 by David Ben McReynolds




Dawn's Dance

Vapor climbing, a lacy, torpid tornado,
dancing in the unbroken spectrum of light,
just over the emerald stalks' still, silhouette at dawn.
This miniature forest, reacting to each vortex,
rippling out, cresting and crashing,
breaking and regaining the surface tension.
Now the sound of a distant train,
rambles of metal upon metal over wood,
drumming like a Nordic battle hymn,
creeping into the wind and,
carried off like an ant marching to its death,
perceiving the echoes.
Motion-countering motion,
nervous, prehistoric eyes searching left and right,
light climbing with the vapor,
highlighting its unpredictable path,
which began this symphony of light, motion, sound, and echo.


Copyright 2000 by David Ben McReynolds




Airplanes

As the evening cycle began,
seventeen hydrocarbon raptors swarmed above me.
Pondering the probability of a two thousand degree burst
of steel feathers and scorched synthetic fibers,
my cup lay as dormant as Mt. Rainer
overlooking Puget Sound.
Scurrying to escape inescapable death,
I lapsed the thresh of in and out,
satisfying my Saharaic thirst with an adhesive
compound only a few nanoseconds younger than the universe


Copyright 2000 by David Ben McReynolds




Vernal Blood Cub

Lion cub,
mock fighting on the Great Rift,
with scrimpy mane,
where have you gone?
Shiloh?
Waterloo?
Iwo Jima?
Berlin in late April, 1945?

Vernal blood cub,
dismount the viscid gloom horse,
in victory or defeat,
alive.


Copyright 2000 by David Ben McReynolds