Still  and  night  wind/

And still standing in/ Deep in the shadow end/

Waiting in the wading pool To see my moon bounce to me some/

 

Wait!  At the airport bar the atmosphere swooned bountiful/

Maybe sating   metaphoring mating whoring fourth down plays/

Bountifully Enhanced  Last Chancing that face it,  basicly it’s too late not to dare/

Back here I’m not so rough, I swoon my own way, I tarry, and my moon’s enough

Jared French, Clinton, by PaJaMa

(photo credit/Jared French/ Clinton)

.

.mangata: reflection of the moon on the sea at night (Swedish)

 

 

B R E A K

February 22, 2017

 

 

 

 

 

Stoicism is a prison/

Though I break out/

Though I break down/

Through the  pull of a merciful act/

I can be old and too weak to hold back/

I can imagine a troubled

panicked angel tangled double;

One cat caught in a grate/

A girl unfair in a wheelchair/

Nears and dares her balance, her endurance, her tolerance/

She Strains all of her weight/

She shows the pain that she’s used to  on her face/

Then relief,

and they’re both free

She and the cat both refuse to

Cry more,

Like those that might see

,

.

.

.

.

.

(from 2008ish)

DOUBLE O

February 13, 2017

 

 

Here’s   far from hardly   a chink in his ardor

His duplicitness

Is  super  obvious

To himself  most of all

A double agent  deepbreathing quiet

So dominoes don’t fall.

.

Here’s   far from hardly   a mark on his honor

His cowardice

He can cover  less & less

From  himself  least of all

Bravery he saves  to muster love enough

To face away  nothing ,  to  praise   all..

 

 

 

 

 

(6 yrs back)

T R I B U T E

December 7, 2016

 

 

 

It’s likely/ It could be

That when Leonard Bernstein,

At his piano bench…

It was very late when he,

In a creative trance,

Had opened an envelope

From a Mr. Stephen Sondheim,

And started to work on

A musical phrasing for

“There’s a place for us”,

He eyedropped a gold teardrop

Into a test tube, & heaven reacted,

 

& now can make me ache

20,000 late nights after

 .

.

.

.

.

.                                                                   (from 2010)

A SINGLE SIGNALLING

October 12, 2016

 

 

 

I and It may not be monstertruck obvious.

Just as a cat’s purr  can spur you through a thunderstorm

Or just a night, Or origami maybe might

Amaze you in new ways for focus,  and sight  of

.

A  single  signalling;

When one  child of seven

On a church swing

Offers  “You’re funny”,

I’ll take it  as honey

On manna from heaven.

.

The world’s love’s not worth leaving, all in all.

Mine’s a frontline free for all an’

It’s  Mercy  itself  inside all this breathing.

An air strike has been called in

And tear gas’s  got me weeping.

.

Same as a mammoth

Dropping to his knees

(I’ve seen it from my cave),

Or,  a sweet whale sweating and letting go

Off the side of his seas,

Too far off from saving wave,

Or, when  one wheelchaired child really sees

Enough in him, not his flesh,

To reach  especially  hard

To  a  high  gardenia.

 

.

.

.

(from 2010)

 

 

 

“Would you complain because a beautiful sunset doesn’t have a future or a shooting star a payoff? And why should romance ‘lead anywhere’? Passion isn’t a path through the woods. Passion is the woods.”
― Tom Robbins

 

 

I wonder when one day

We’ll pocket our passions

They’ll fasten  in look-see  neck  lockets

Soon it’ll just seem fair

To wear them

She’ll share hers in sunlight sidewalks.

 

Fashion  will see to it  someday & night We

Could  unabashedly

Could undress off our soft underthings

Could  show  softer

Bold  and  tender

Expressings

NIGHT CURRENTS

February 12, 2016

I’m turning & tossing

For yr talk/ yr noise/

Take my private call

Of the wild/

A must call most primal/

& y’mustn’t fail to stay ’till

My tail falls off.

.

.

teachers to small children the world over,

pastors to parish,

they all will tell the pretty truth

(aside the pretty lies, “pretty lies”)

that crystalline snowflakes

are unique. unique.

and maybe later

in both

secular schoolrooms

and sunday school classes

( the world over)

small children might make snowflakes for themselves;

they’ll fold lacy paper exactly in half,

with a good crease,

and taking their round-ended scissors,

they’ll cut their very own unique cuts

so that when everyone unfolds their lacy paper

and lifts it above their heads

everyone can laugh  at their uniquenesses

.

but one thing that ministers & mentors,

rabbis & nuns will not add

is that those one-of-a-kind snowflakes

are  all

alone

in their descent

on icy black currents

all their night fall

.

.

.

.

.                                 (from a coupla years back)

IT’S THE SAME THING

February 12, 2016

C’est la meme chose
Children fall down &
too quickly look for help,and pan-ache.
Men fall &
look to see that no one’s seen
then too quietly ache for help,
quiet a noise as they can make

.

.

.

.

.

.                                       (from 2010)

THE WAITING

February 19, 2015

Image

I couldn’t keep my shirt on

I actually had a hand at the door

I wouldn’t wait for the EKG guy

.

The express lines were full up at the IGA.

So was the cart in front of me, the one in my way.

My body required liquids  I needed to buy.

& me, I wouldn’t wait for the EKG guy

.

My car needed work (I see I did too, OK?)

Ever  still again, Time stalled & would stay.

Never, “Our time is up for today”

I’d bet Time’s  a fleeting debt, not a gift.

I about bolted  but my Ford’s on the lift.

.

You’d think a man with wait issues

Would shy away some

From a long-distance love, he could only see some.

How he’d wait & wait for  her laugh on the phone

How he’d wait & wait for  her letters to come

How he’d wait & wait for  liaisons  alone

How he’d wait & wait for  a time all their own.

.

.

.

.Artwork  “The Waiting”  kindly loaned by Christian

http://chriseastmids.deviantart.com/

.

.

.

.                                (from a year ago)

JUST/MISS

February 17, 2015

When I don’t hear from her

When we don’t talk

Instead of what might

just happen in late night

screwball comedies,

A black & white

Cakewalk

Where he keeps

Just missing her,

& unknown to her, her one & only is so near,

& you watch & wait for them to wise up,

For when their timing improves.

When I don’t hear from her

When we don’t talk

Instead of just sitting tight,

& trusting the plot twists,

& trusting our protagonists,

& holding still for all that insignificant subterfuge

Until it all plays out that

They can finally take cuts in the

Everything’s-Fine waiting line/

Instead of that

He keeps just missing her.

.

.

.

.

Yesterday at the yoga class

I was asked to exhale out

All the inside I saw as unsettled.

And all this matter turned to air.

Then, to take in a new air. A More awake. A More aware

Just

Miss

.

.

.

.                                 (FROM A YEAR AGO)