IMPALPABLE

February 24, 2017

 

Neruda’s  impalpable ash”

Chants away/

In the fray of my own tiny ruins.

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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

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I’ve come to have left out

Crucial  rescue  tools

From my matutinal

Lost-combination  locked bag of tricks.

In touch  information.

Out

 

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(3 yrs back)

 

 

 

 

how Art thou? Do you drink from the deep sink of inspired creations at an art museum, gallery, or maybe a street art fair on a street near you?sometimes?
Do you have something on one of your walls that only you could only fall for?
And, can’t help but stare?
It’s an important thing,dontcha think?
It has been from an early age for me.
I’m told that soon after I found my father who had killed himself (the Hemingway), while all the distraught adults who knew and loved him were off balance with emotional and practical adjustments (like selling the house and moving on)
One forgotten first son had got into several paint cans and expressed quite a colorful statement on the backside of the new house for sale.
I
I was perched  high for me
in a pinepitchtree
and waited out what I did
as I watched our house’s back side
where I painted from all the paint cans
stacked out back. Though very new plans
made us move away from that life.
Daddy had died and left that life.
Somebody and something could only cover
my work.

II

a french girl with hair from the girl in Breathless
was our art teacher that visited
Miss Blue’s 3rd grade class,
and liked my painting so much
she asked if she could take it
for a contest, or a book she was working on.
The blurry greens and blacks,
browns and blues,  was a ship deep in a storm.
I never saw it again but
somebody and something could only recover
my work.

 

 

still, tie me to the mast.

and

I must get the next good grasp
still, the next limb up
to see some.

CHOSEN PRE-DAWN ALCHEMY

February 1, 2017

 

 

There’s some/
Confusion/ some/ frustration
Smack immersed  in blue smoke,
Go check up the projection booth.
“I couldn’t  and  shouldn’t
Have ordered this show.
And that’s just  truth.”

Way  wrong epic screenplay
Is not long enough.
If there’s subtle subtext
It’s lost in the rough.
We know how helpful laughtracks go,
My own master is so diasterly low
It’s just too private a joke.

I’ve known
You’ve drawn yr own conclusions.
My own solutions are silly as  shepherds are  asea.

Desires and Go-forth fires   I’m put out.
Dire old deserts. It’s cold certainly.
I’ve a drought to drink about.
For me, chosen, pre-dawn alchemy,
Actually,
Chosen, is  a good chaser.

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

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.                                                                   (from 2010)

 

 

of all the lies

in the air

that this liar

is truely unaware of

(is  ’truely’  the right word?)

of all the lies

casual and caressing there

the air currents  n

night-blooming jasmine

(is  ’current’  the correct word?)

the stolen ones, emboldened lies

(I’ve told em. All alchemy.)

are all born, arabesque,

of an open pen pumping onto paper,

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from nothing.

Some Absorbing Errand

July 23, 2016

True happiness we are told, consists  getting out of oneself, but the point is not only to get out- you must stay out; and to stay out you must have some absorbing errand.”

-Henry James, from “Roderick Hudson”

 

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Let the record show

 

Too wretched still/ 2 weeks sans coastal sunsets/

To wreath Night’s long door/  I long for

The right time alone  & wait &

As I wait/ I’ll eliminate/ obvious suspects

Crowding my space I’ve longed for/

To my credit the thing about editing out

All the non essential/ It’s Everywhere/

A lot easy to pivot w/pen  then slice there/

I thot I can stick to plans/

Mic down the music some/ work that blinds slats/

Then I’ll recede that

Loveleaking hand off a needy cat and/

Speaking of love, lean forward & force

A poem to her.

I B I S

July 10, 2016

“Just be quiet and sit down/The reason is you are drunk/And this is the edge of the roof”                                                                                                                       -RUMI

“…And be prepared to bleed”   -Joni Mitchell, from “I Could Drink A Case Of You”

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They spin me ’round  one time, two

At three, they scattered then, their laughter

Left with them, leaving me to

Compose  myself

To something that may matter

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2

There’s Ibis outside, on my back lawn, my rain.

And I have

To photograph them there,

Then, stage the image at DeviantArt or Flickr,

Where some drummer will steal it

(good eye & hand talent, w/the accent on eye)

Then, those Ibis will be  re-staged

On their “releasable” CD cover,

Or maybe on his big bass drum.

Maybe if I was loaded or dumb

I’d upload it to Facebook

So high school “friends” (we kept it mum)

May be bored enough snoops…

They’ll  see my birds,

Then back,  Away.  Poof

I’ll snoop myself/ Craigslist for free

“Missed Connections” is the only place

To see who’ve noticed your face

And wanted you,  destinyly.

 

 

Sacristies.

July 2, 2016

 

 

 

Toe heel  toe heel towards

Light in the woods

Right around  leaves, debris. Eyes downward.

I mean to  indianwalk  to the sacristy.

There,  Icon art  & artifice

May not or may marshall  my resources

To  may not or may dispel my discordance.

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I  just  could  crest  over  woods

O’er horizons

F O R G E

May 28, 2016

 

If I were to infer,

To placate  all  I  ought,

I’d see that I’d work words to a cinder,

Hammer  raw  ore  ’till tender,

For all I wrought.

 

vintageRussian Postcard

 

 

 

There’s often been unfocused fire

Before the rhododendron,

Like off a roadway, on a hot day,

Sure, unfocused  fire

Blurring this entire English garden.

Bumble birds and humming bees,

Warm words tumbling, tumbling on great grass.

Late last night it wouldn’t cease;

The dream is in the English sun.

I took cream in my steaming , strong tea.

Virginia, Leonard Woolf  I could see

With her lot

Iris Murdoch & John I could see

With her lot

Barrie and Carroll

Knelt on all fours

For hours

Playful, cerebral  somehow.

I’m thinking,  As I burrow my brow

Rough for this pillow

I’ll settle, Right now, Near the shade of that willow

& succumb  to cats on a lawn

& three  secret facts of tea roses.

 

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(from 2009)