A Fond, Old, Faraway Room

January 8, 2018

 

 

 

“Anyone who falls in love is searching for the missing pieces of themselves.  So anyone who’s in love gets sad when they think of their lovers.  It’s like stepping back inside a room you have fond memories of. One you haven’t seen in a long time…”

“.. A fond, old, faraway room?”

“Exactly.”

-from “Kafka On The Shore”, Hanuki Murakami

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We mind that there mustn’t be dust

On those closed blinds.

Behind  those  blinds,

We  find  us.

We find ourselves  salving

Our sore selves,

Saving  us  so

Fleetingly. So Pretend-Completely.

And after each chapter,

Which does us delirious,

It can be  meant as some payment,

It can serve to defray  cost

It can’t save us, when in a night and a day,

without fail, We will derail.

Alone, All memories lost

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I choose the rooms that I live in with care,
the windows are small and the walls almost bare,
there’s only one bed and there’s only one prayer;
I listen all night for your step on the stair”

Leonard Cohen,RIP, from “Tonight Will be Fine”

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(from a hundred years back)

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DOLLAR-STORE GLASSES

January 5, 2018

I wear dollar-store glasses
they help me work on perspective.
I live for nothing I can think of.  fact.
It’s suggested I might strive for focus.
In my day bed i might live
with one window & uncertainly my curtain cracked

I can wear one seventy five
On dollar-store glasses
I passed par for an old guy.
I’m far from passed, muy alive.
Tho’ she could present a good argument
Contesting that mad “muy” adjective.
I’d abstain again & again
And I’d hate to publicly substantiate

11-17-2005-07 Read the rest of this entry »

GOOD OLE COLD MORNING SONG

January 2, 2018

 

 

“Way over yonder in a minor key, Ain’t nobody that can sing like me”  -Woody Guthrie

 

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.I said  I’d sing

For you  some morning

Well We’ll wait  when we’re nearer

Near  closer your ear

I’ll sing out  without warning

It’ll be a bit absurd

I’ll hack into  newest birdsong

I will await  re-entry  then

I  pipe  up  then

(you can see his breath as he greets dawn)

Sheets down

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.”The cold front couldn’t stay out front still/

I guess you can rescue

Family plants  being killed,/

Button top buttons!,

And cheat out the chill”

MUY GOOD JOKE

December 31, 2017

picasso is said to have said

“Art  is the lie that tells the truth”.

seems  if he did, seems valid.

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(Though  some tries  along these lines

can only shine as sly & slippery lies)

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His muy good joke/

& lucky for our sake/

Actually/  the accidental awaits

us/  Fog & smoke machines make

bonfire smoke signals rise up

until unreasonably  sound  Beauty clears/

Us holding the pen? we’re  without a net nor warm blanket.

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Sure, sweating stallions are dynamic

& may have beauty

but some  Clomp! the blossoms

god & me made.

clods  now

HAT ON A SCARECROW

December 29, 2017

 

I’m all for the metaphors that can pinpoint elusive love

I’ve a butterfly that lights right upon you like

A wild bird will dance onto a tame wire.

Randomish and skittish,

O lovely luck of above.

Odd that the hat on a scarecrow

Has enough shine to ensure a lure enough

to bug and bird alike,

To draw, and not repel them,

Their wings aim down to light.

———————————————————————————–

“She’s gone, he’s gone too, and in the darkness; heaven and earth hold hands, the hands that loosened for a moment.”

from “The Piano Teacher’, Elfriede Jelinek

B L U F F

December 15, 2017

 

 

 

My god my marygold

You’ve had such a holy hold

On this old drifting imagined world

You’ve banged open the till

Abundant with bundles  apparent now

Inside this  2-lane roadside  joint

Trucks rocketing by

You’ve had such a holy hold on my

sprouting spouting spurting words of my own godly modern love/

My own heart murmuring/ my idleWild  chit chat/

My own head concurring nodding plodding plotting

“Don’t take this cup from me”.

I can ante up.

What I can bring to the table.

What I can ad lib/ to fib  my own fable.

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.                                                            (from 5 or 6 years back)

 

I know  a show of hands

Could go help  solidify

Some  Freedom Solidarity

In  some look-in lobster  tank.

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Odds are  dismal to abysmal.

IF I can be more frank,

When the  independent  finch, for instance,

Finds her very own  airy currents home,

It’s a cinch  she might not light

(Her, broken on a branch?)  (perchance)

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When It’s one chance

We had once gone

before  on the long ground,

We  look  down.

 

SOME SKETCHY SANCTUM

December 4, 2017

 

Some seem to see the floor of the sea

as a sketchy, yet effective sanctuary.

They’re thinking, I think, that it’s tucked away

good. &  Could be quite quiet.

Sure would be  you’d dream good there.

Surely, it goes  you must breathe free much slower.

Sure,  bluegreen cracks for surface lightening.

But, You’ll see  that jeweled fishes,

Stilled  with  witness,

Flee at the softest flourish.

And bets are..sandbeds there are busy with movement.

How can my dreams take when I’m floating awake?

 

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Splash something stronger at the base of my pint glass

It’s  more  fertile  earth

For to birth the guts & gas

One might need at night

To go on   & drive clear off

Dark  high-wire  highways

Onto red dirt, rolling on cooling red dirt, to dead ends

So bleak  a laugh comes out as a clearing cough

My Lofty Thoughts

November 24, 2017

It’s not been my story   to take inventory/

It’s  I can’t even fake  the worry

About what I have, What would I want/

I suppose  I could pose  but I can’t/

It’s  said/

An  unexamined  life

Is  good  as  dead/

I said/

It’s  a body afloat, & its solid thoughts  float too, y’know/

& My Lofty thoughts  not  caught  oughta ride

On all tides too  High and low

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.                                                                        (from way back)