Oils

I damn near

drove off the interstate.

At very late in a night,

That every fate told me to

Look  Right  to

A   dawn   near.

Nature’s Beauty  forced me off course.

Nature’s Beauty saves me  of course.

leg lifts just before those swift train doors close; an exercise

The next step/ waiting maybe wrong

                                               in dark matter

An other thing/ a rung on a dark ladder

A nothing/

As it happens/ not to happen

The next step/ leg stiff/ fixing to flex

to a leg lift/

I’m fixing to find/ A gift of intentions

To move me to move/

given/ attention enough

to move on/ away from the station

 

Fifth Of November

“Remember… the 5th of November”    –John Lennon, from “Remember”

 

           FIFTH  OF  NOVEMBER    -  -ESTER MORGAN, from “Beyond Calling Distance”

I draw the curtains, turn the TV up.

The dog’s already cringing, despite a shot

to calm her down. She trembles

 

like the cringing on a lampshade

as a distant earthquake starts.

Hair-trigger hearing; she barks

 

as the postman changes gear

a mile from home, cocks her head

at the silence before the phone rings.

 

She senses storms hours in advance,

cowering as the wind roars and flattens

fields of corn in the distant Borders.

 

Now her ears, fine-tuned into the dark,

are flickering, picking up the spurt

of each struck match, the sizzle of fuses.

 

She creeps into my lap, her tremor

thrilling through my ribs, I croon

It’s alright, but she’s deaf

 

to comforting. Her eyes slide sideways

showing their whites. I see clouds

scarfing the moon like gun smoke

 

a crowd of pale faces lifted to the sky,

children covering their ears

ready to scream.

 

After A Flutterby Fancy

There’s been a unfocused fire

Before the rhododendron,

Like off a roadway, on a hot day,

A unfocused  fire

Blurring this entire English garden.

Bumble birds and humming bees,

Warm words tumbling, tumbling on great grass.

Late last night it wouldn’t cease;

The dream is in the English sun.

I took cream in my steaming , strong tea.

 Virginia, Leonard Woolf  I could see

                                       With her lot

Iris Murdoch & John I could see

                                        With her lot

Barrie and Carroll

Knelt on all fours

For hours

Playful, cerebral  somehow.

I’m thinking,  As I burrow my brow

                             Rough for this pillow

I’ll settle, Right now, Near the shade of that willow

& succumb  to cats on a lawn

& three  secret facts of tea roses.

Additional examples

Hell  Yeah

Zelda/ had to add to

“Under the influence”

When sensible went all to hell

& her man meant to write it right

“Tender Is The Night”.

 

 

 

It’s no joke

That when Yoko

Rocked his world

(All the while he

Rocked his world)

The melodies weren’t maladies

There was healing

Shared   with feeling

From a hard man

Bent  by  tender.

                                                                          for S.

On Waiting

you might understand

tonight  it’s that no one stands at the station

that the train sped by

where you wanted off but waited

for any indication

you were good to go

you might understand

lightening morning, late that more waiting

won’t shift dark back.

stars sift back into hiding

coquinas get back in wet sand

both staid and still, hid in plane sight until

when it’s good to go

you might understand

today it’s hard to know you’re not

                                               guarded & unguarded

back in our own room

at full bloom, in our garden

but back home to feel “real life” resume.

Lover, your heart will go onto

the pros & cons, contemplating

                                                  while waiting when we’re

   good to go

If I’d insist on playing the pacifist

(I’m maybe miscast)

I’d resist being all-too-willing

                                        to killing time.

 

If I would want to resist the persistent praying

For my mercy, for all our mercy,

Inarticulate verses of mercy,

Maybe I’d want to take steps,

I’d want to take things into my own hands, 

Maybe I’d want to take on the task

Of yanking my mask off,

Of thinking of thanking

                                          myself more.

Tho’  I’d  heed  less

Jesus

godsend

An apple, itself ready for it’s  fall

Rolled towards him.

Looking up from his hands,

his distresses, in his Rousseau Tableau;

Big leaves, big cats, even lions;

Definitive lines

Staged around his hazy distresses.

Clearly and neat, his sweet fruit…

His  way for his fall up.

Off/ On

I have staved off   lost passions

I’ve held on cold cliffholds

I stayed and endured elements,

Harsh, and all part of a hard whole

Where   lost passions

Sounding far, in the fog,

Meaning more in a quiet man

Than a kind word,

Can  work

To urge  his stoic stand

On

OFF/ ON

I have staved off   lost passions

I’ve held on cold cliffholds

I stayed and endured elements,

Harsh, and all part of a hard whole

Where   lost passions

Sounding far, in the fog,

Meaning more in a quiet man

Than a kind word,

Can  work

To urge  his stoic stand

On