16F

May 14, 2018

A windowseat is great

In an all night diner

It was unfair the Airport

Shorted  me  enough

Stuffed me, a long-legged  man

With a long-winded rant

I stifled in my windowseat.

.

My legs were cropped up crinkled

Like the babies sitting next me

Their cries exited and were emitted freely

Some cries  deep inside  deep inside me.

.

I bet one windowseat would be great

In a darkened diner

My inner world would wander

That  eighteen  wheeler

Lots of legroom  not so tight

Roads to walk  upright

 

Advertisements

GUTS FOR LOVE (revisited)

September 30, 2015

 

REFUSING  DAWN  and    GUTS  FOR  LOVE

i)
I can Recognize, but hell,  I can’t Realize so well.
I’d drink more coffee but my cardiologist insists I don’t
I’d drink more coffee but my heart man prescribes “not so smart, man”.

I’d think more whiskey would push me to bask at last in a primal light,

but my general practitioner generally frowns about practicing until I get it right.

I’d read more but eyes see less.. I digress,

I’d come 2/pray more/give in/give more/dream-sleep in/weep for once/

walk the lit dark like I used to/ take the darklight I’ve refused to.

I can Recognize, but hell,

I don’t Realize so well.

.

.

ii)

Right away I’ve forgiven

What I’ve been given.

I might say I’ll take it

What I might now have.

I’ve taken my lot, my vacant lot.

And I’ll water down the ardent growths

That break through spots, my weakest spots.

I’ll wander down the advent of loss.

I’ll instill my wander  with intent.

I’ll start to still instill my wander with intent.

.

.

.

.

.

.

(from 2009 & 2010)

 

 

 

“If you’re really listening, if you’re awake to the poignant beauty of the world,
you’re heart breaks regularly” -Andrew Harvey
since I’ve always remedied the conscious agonies of knowing the world is filled with misery with a simple
but there is beauty in the world.
a child smiles in one of those shopping cart seats in a grocery store, one of those secret connection smiles,simple innocent soul to burdoned soul and I’m AOK for a moment.

 

 

 

BREATHING EXERCISES

July 3, 2015

She won’t roll away & not watch me.

Y’see, I won’t  seem to take…

When I dream (or wake),

To take  another breath before

The scene fades, before

Lights go up,

Then down  to more of a zoom.

She waits in our bedroom for me to resume.

.

II.

We went to go to a yoga class.

Where a barefooted, hair-pleated group leader;

Beautiful, and calmer than a

Merciful last coma,

She insisted that our  deep breath  is

The gist of all of it  (within, & out).

We rearrange the short & tall of it.

The Gist to change the depth, see,

Of our sea of possibility.

When we inhale

We re-memorize  our own gods.

We exhale our hell.  barefoot.  on a mat.

Whew. To that.

.

III.

When I get to go to the Gulf of Mexico

I’ll try out the drink,  1st thing.

I’ll try not to think when I try to let go

&  sink when I  deadman’s float  all day,

Into what I think of as a spiritual drift, in a way.

I’ll hold onto my own  breath,

Face down,

Head down.

Image

(painting,David Hockney)

,

.

(FROM July 1, 2014/  On holiday again/  Later on, my fine blog community et al)

THERE’S FOG

March 6, 2015

There’s fog.
Then, there’s people landing planes at all hours.
There’s dogs chasing birds
on runways. And one way those people in those towers
can plan to, and see to, land planes is
the guts to go with the guages.
They heartfelt dealt with data,
Trusted all they’d seen
on their farforeign &; onlyman-made monitor screen.
As dogs flushed their fog,
hands hover over lights
and cover their old bets,
their usual action.

,

,                                                                            from 2009

presentation appreciation

August 21, 2014

Swallow

& Tho’ I’m so tightlipped sometime

I’ve often a soft spoken voice

I’ll go take this choice  this time

Pretend what’s set  went off

What followed

Got flat out

Presented

I could concur  then

Consent

My  “Amen”

Impalpable

August 11, 2014

Neruda’s ” impalpable ash”

Chants away/

In the fray of my own tiny ruins.

.

If I touch/ near the fire/

Impalpable ash..”

Chimes away/

And supports the clearing away  all

Insubstantial,

Makes way to take less blinding steps away

From  cave  to  climax

I’ve come to have left out

Crucial  rescue  tools

From my matutinal

Lost-combination locked bag of tricks.

In touch  information

Out

Should I get older

I recognize me,  more blind,

Crinking my neck back, there, as

I look up at the cliff terrace

And A windowed hideaway behind,

Not so unapproachably high,

Fixed over our Pacific, finally,

That we thought might couldn’t be.

Hard rain, hell, wept down a wet

that mixes well w/regret, on my shirt

.

                                                  2

.

One can look past all our four shoulders

From inside the glass wall

On the backside of our Adirondacks

And maybe just make out

What we’re watching and talking about.

A man closely following his own footsteps

The long stretch of the shore,

But looked up at the both of us,

Here Hand in hand, and how then the heavens poured.

I’VE IVORY

July 18, 2014

 

  

 

Shiny gold pen when an old

Shade-off light bulb

(it can be a candle)

Best  Klieg-lights this  crèche ,

Best showcases this birthplace.

.

On my knees

To lure verities,  (surely,  scour our trees)

To cure maladies,

Wrest fallacies from unsound foundations,

Whisper one less lonely

Wise,  recognizable incantation.

Take this shiny gold pen…!

.

It’s nearby,  go forth,  go further.

I clear my path,

&  Go over…

&  I’ve  Ivory!

Simba’s  mammoth  cemetery!

(they must go deep)

Precious sunned bones poised on  as symbols

Archetexture   actually

I take a sacred see of symmetry

.

Even I’m

Silent Partner in this stronghold.

Before I go on,

I’ll go on & make sure

The blinds are drawn.

.

.

When I’m

Aware/Awake It’s gone cold,

For me to know it,

I’ll go on & need you some

I’ll go on & remind me some

I’ll go and turn my life down some

I’ll sit myself down until

I’ll see myself still enough

To behold

You, me, both,

Silent partners in this stronghold.

NOT TOO WINDY

July 6, 2014

It’s too windy for flimsy masks
All thankfully yanked at on hardened air
The call & wash of wave then wave mark
The times of our lives
.
The charade route marches
Its way today through town
An older man hoists his girl
Up upon his shoulders
Her/his quizzical smile is quiet
But her/his flush on her/his neck is evident
Veils down