BY MY BACK DOWN

April 12, 2017

 

 

Blackened breezes rustle

Sacred/ olive trees, skies muscled thick.

I took a sight that set me more lost

More sour than seasick.

I see him, knees bloodied,

Face drawn/ down

to earth.

I was being/ once/

Just a man also.

I spied/ by my back down

To my murk/

I cried/ by my own shadow,

But did not cry out,

To interrupt  all that   too intimate.

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When I was a young/ more willful man,

I fasted/ from dawn friday

Until the last of easter/ Today

I’m past that/ I take  the families

To the best italian place,

For sacrificial lamb & blood red wine

& all before that, maybe grace.

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)

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

 

 

WINTER AWARENESS SEMINAR

January 13, 2017

1       ONE WINTER ADDITION

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

(and in all their varieties 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

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but one thing that ministers & mentors

rabbis & nuns will fail to add

is that those one-of-a-kind snowflakes

are all

alone

in their descent

on icy black currents

all their night fall

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2        STILL, NOT STILL

It’s the coldest morning this year

And the Farmer’s Almanac says this year

There’s gonna be a winter of ’em

Me, I won’t mind

I like how loud the still is

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forty years ago a brother from Chicago

called the cold wind

“the hawk”

I wonder if it’s still true

I wonder if “that muthafuckin Hawk”

is still cursed & bundled against

in the only city cited for its big blow.

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3

When island settings lose their place

in imaginings,

When our mornings sun  there

warms our skin, bare,

There’s these shade floral sanctuaries,

And, I’m betting,  perfect for setting your eyes on…

God’s perfect line,  one horizon.

When all  won’t free you,

Won’t call you from all this freezing

Point of view,

This illusionary season,

What ttthen?

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(from a decade ago)

RIGHT OFF THE SHADOW

January 4, 2017

Unless  these  kisses

Fortuitous   but for the most part,

Stay imaginary, yet not useless,

Stay  &  not  start.

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I  will  wear  Hope’s

Clandestine  cloaks

& will not fear  openly  for the most part,

Right in defining light/ Right off the shadow

Where  cooly  I  coddle  our  heart.

 

ACHY IN MY AERIE

December 21, 2016

For the time being

I’m not being knuckled under some

Tho’ I do own a cramp  in my own home camp

I’m achy in my aerie home

I got soot at my feet I just gotta stamp

But I bed on shredded graffiti

My conquests just see it as confetti

Me, I just insist it’s imaginary

I can’t resist  It’s perfunctory

SUM RHYME

December 5, 2016

 

 

 

Summing up some/things you can’t count on

Is  dumb.

When the wind whisks debris

Away. To kingdom come

And comes back   to tease.

Where my moon rebuffs  enough

Sunlight  to shake me awake

Until daylight   spoils the spell.

When passion is a ebbed sea,

Then ennui may dwell,

Grave missteps must only step up &

Soon it’s counted. Moonlit debris.

 

 

 

 

“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.   Completely.

And after each chapter,

Which did us delirious,

It can be  meant as some payment,

It can serve to defray..

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

without fail, We derail.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“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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E N T R A P T (A Fragment)

October 30, 2016

Burning a blacker ceiling hole

Drilling a dark room through to blending smears on a pallet

Still making do on my back aching soul

Yearning readily to strain to make go

Dreams from  raindio.

Sirens sing on waves  & also

They’re  Racing through avenues.

As they’re both keen on captives

1 PART ALONE

October 27, 2016

 

 

 

“Where will I be  When I go back home?

Who will I see  When I’m all alone?

And What’ll I do?”

–David Crosby, from “Where Will I be?”

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The main I’ve heard

Is that people want a partner

“So I don’t die alone”

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umm, I Embrace,  Tho’ waste,  my own time.

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At the end of all my nights

I might had been clean & clever enough

For her to had laughed, and had left

Her hand on my thigh

As I wait down the night sky

Toughening up for day.

CRUMBLED SOME

October 19, 2016

 

It’s more than coincidence how

That “pillow”  rhymes/w  “shadow”.

If I had to,

& the sense  to know,

I’d set dark dreams aside.

If I lied some, & thought things

All tied up,

I’d fake it some, I’d hope

For a wide enough break,

& loose rope,

& in this broken cup

I hold my spirits up.

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.Heraclitus: “ the essence of things has the habit to hide”

 

“Very little grows on jagged rock/Be grounded/Be crumbled/

So wildflowers will come up”          -Rumi