BREATHING EXERCISES

June 29, 2017

 

 

I.

She won’t roll away & not watch me.

Y’see, I won’t  seem to take,

When I dream (or I 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, hairpleated 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 possibillity.

When we inhale

we rememorize  our own gods.

We exhale our hell.  barefoot.  on a mat.

Whew. To all that.

III.

When I get to go to the Gulf of Mexico

I’ll try out  into 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 breath,

face down,

head down.

 

Muscles Quip

June 26, 2017

I confess

My prowess is

To wait & to watch &

To wit  if fate slips me a quip

Take a sip & reassess then readdress

The matter  no later than  now

 

Fragments On Lofty

June 23, 2017

 

 

It’s not been my story  to take inventory/

It’s  I can’t even   scare up  scant worry

About what I have, About what I would want/

I suppose  I could pose  but I can’t/

It’s  said/

“An  unexamined  life

Is  good  as  dead.”/

I said/

I’m a body afloat, solid thoughts go float too, y’know/

Lofty thoughts  not  caught  can ride

On both tides  High and low/

I’d deny having lied, but replied.

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.                                                                                                           (years & years back)

STILL FOR NOW

June 20, 2017

I imagine one magpie, done with one sky,

Still for now   might start right off balancing  on a line or a limb.

Not addled  by unfair air current.  Past  its  bends.

More fast..characteristically,

Intrinsically, instinctually…

Beating,  feet & hands down,

The land’s own  teetering friends.

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“I’m a bird, not an ornithologist”  Barnett Newman, painter

 

 

from Dark

June 14, 2017

I’ll start.  It’s so dark you’ll know

Your thefts of thoughts

There  left to grow

Then grabbed!

Black  blossoms

Profuse

Still proceeding from its seeds  plus

Silence, from its silence.

.

.

Upon  a  pond

Where big calm mists meet surfaces

Water bug clouds  dance down aways

And I stand to see through tree trances

This moon is broken enough to lend to substance

For  near and far bearings,  distances,

And  at first. existences.

.

I swear here’s where the strings swell in

 

OUTFITTINGS

June 8, 2017

Some beers and some whiskeys for chores, and morning correspondence.

Soon, off for driver’s licence and all the taxes they’ve attached to it.

I want my immigrant outfittings,

Rosewater holds my hair.

Legal photos are important these days.

Though no great grandchild will glimpse at me and try to recall all

I’ve maybe wondered.

 

IF I MINDED

June 7, 2017

I’ve been biding my live time

My trivial “real”-life trials

All the challanges this chuff can ignore

All the more he might’ve  imagined

If i minded any more

For somehow here  and not

For somewhere not

PRE-POETRY

May 31, 2017

Foraging is one way we fauna

Have found purpose in all this breathing

We’ll search, and trust that sustenance

Will surface to topsoil in time for reverence

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(unfinished)

1)

S U R E

 

There’s business on the burner.

These semi serious matters

sort of  need sorting out.

A lot of it needs looking at,

and some just ditched out,

not the other way around,

like when sure  attic treasure gets pitched down

to the cellar.

 

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2)

M E R E

.

I think! that there’s a theory in

quantum physics

that holds that

the mere act of observation

changes and shapes events

observed.

The science of truth

isn’t my strong suit.

But I can watch from a garage roof;

take semi evaluative notes,

& make up semi reflective reports,

&  fake some

control.

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3)

REFORM   DREAM

.

Surfacing from a waterfall bottom’s

Churning pool,  into mists,

The tall intense man they call The Baptist

Pulls you up,  and through, by your hair.

It all means too much now.

The colors hurt, and light on water

Diamonds up the air.

Though  new, non-consise  power  leadens you,

You rise again  to surface

Just  all  you

 

ASSIGNMENT BLAME

May 23, 2017

paper_stacks_by_tamsone-dq1d9a

Still nights I will not change I will cringe

I’m tightly bound to make  my inner fringe

Break down  in private next door rooms

They’ll up & drop tears  from my say  they assume

I’ve meant no harm  though my charm

Might be misplaced /  an anvil fills my frail arms

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“The Artist’s Dream” by Emil Holarek

Emil Holarek