Jen tagged me to add an eighth stanza to the Open Source Poem. Spicy Cauldron explains the idea behind the Open Source Poem here: “Well, when a blogger is tagged, she or he has to answer a set of questions, usually, which are then passed on. Often, you have to say who tagged you and who you’re tagging, so that anyone interested will be able to follow the path onwards. Some of these tags do the rounds continuously, sometimes getting back to you, remarkably, more than once or twice. I imagine some tags will never actually end. Now, what if we did something along those lines with a brand-new poem?”

And that’s what eight bloggers (including myself) have done so far. Take a look:

1

If every moment has a continued existence in the mind,
isn’t it kind to think that the medium, here before you,
his handlebar moustache marking him out as eccentric,
the tweed trousers a mistake for his years, only forty,
stands some suspect chance, admittedly, of revealing
to you, the seeker, some hint, a shadow of her heart?
http://www.spicycauldron.com

2

To even have a shadow of a heart, one must first have had a heart,
Admitted the senses, the feelings of humanity to oneself,
Taken a part in that human game known as life, confessed their mortality.
How could I then be known to anyone else? How could he know me?
For him to truly know me, I would have to have knowledge of myself
And that mystery of self is hazier still to me than to he.
http://musingsofkhlari.blogspot.com

3

But that mystery is the reason, for being here
To try and understand, to learn which path to take
Entrusting ones life to the ethereal plane and its whims
Or is it to a showman, a flim-flam, a fake?
Taking your inner demons and twisting your soul for profit
Who is the eccentric now?
http://purpledragonslair.co.uk

4

Rilke says, “Every angel is terrible.” He means, Beauty
burns us down. Consider dusk. What does it mean?
Every day cows return to the barn. James Wright says,
“I have wasted my life.” Anyone could say everything
and not live up to that. Cows in barn. Angels asleep.
The medium before you. Consider the dusk.
http://immaculateconniption.blogspot.com/

5

Consider the medium before you, the dusky
moment continued in the mind, a shadow the heart
throws over reason, its little mystery squeamish
at angles, at cowbells, at trousers, at veal
and its reveal, at game rules on boxtops on lazy
hazy Sundays. Whose innertube turns in foam below
the treatment plant?
http://www.lovesettlement.blogspot.com/

6

The boiling medium of frothy toxic outfall
swallows whole the medium so recently before you,
yet his inner tube drifts on until stillness reflects
only rainbows and shadows. The prostitution of his
genuine eccentric talents has eroded reason and illusion
until his life dissolves. (yet ripples and echoes remain.)
http://jamiward.blogspot.com/

7

The medium felt himself sink and then thought of a story:
Monet once left his greatest masterpiece in the rain.
It melted from distinction and form into chaos and mud.
“From this,” he said, “I will make my new heart.”
One person’s whoring can be an eccentric’s rebirthing.
The medium wondered why his pulse throbbed so strong.
http://alifelessconvenient.com

8

Who gets to assign the value
Of any one act without knowing the intent
or the need behind it?
Consider the medium, finding the shadows of her heart:
Is it still prostitution if no one feels sold (out)?
The medium’s worth is recognized, and the skill valued.
http://dailydoseofqueer.com

I now tag Winter at Desperate Kingdoms to complete the ninth stanza. I tag Nate! (Edited 03/25/06)