November 14, 2015
At, um, elevenish,
a trumpet dumbs up & slows down
that pendulum wiper Swish
(a trying heaven’s muted trumpet)
goes down to ease up at least this town swish
& that conundrum That one goes down
my vitals are stabler/ I’ll stay more at peace/
I’ll stay here
while rain & dark run on
on down some
September 2, 2015
Settling into some rest
I’m sitting on my brother’s back deck
The setting is the Great Northwest
I’m betting I’d best be getting a call in
For the Jaws of Life to rework this wreck
August 29, 2015
When my time’s up,
I bet, When it’s time to settle up,
& I’m front & back up against the barricade,
I bet, I dare to gawk and glare
Past the barricade.
I’ll scarcely be scared
The least bit biblically
Humbled by heaven.
I could not certainly see
The foals and fawns there,
& All our infants.
Eaglets soar there
I would not mind waiting.
“Very little grows on jagged rock Be Grounded Be crumbled So wildflowers will come up Where you are”
August 22, 2015
The next step/ waiting maybe wrong
in dark matter
An other thing/ A rung on a dark ladder
As it happens/ Not to happen
The next step/ leg stiff/ Fixing to flex
To a leg lift/
I’m fixing to find/ A gift of intentions
To move me to move/
Given/ Attention enough
To move on/ Away from the station
. from November 8, 2009
August 19, 2015
To those I try to love, & back.
One ought to honor one of us.
I will brave..then save embraces
before I leave, For I believe
That by my storing away more rare mercy,
Like a stout man stocks a pantry,
This sustains this suspect man, surely.
Make that..his take on “surely”
August 18, 2015
Some once in a team, making way, seem to trust
Insisting on following instructions
Until falling structures sift on to dust.
I find a way less haunted;
New shadows show, this too dark room
They’re a grayer gray than they had wanted.
I might tip the stone off this night’s tomb.
Out already old
I’ll gaze back at the steps I stood,
Laced with my blood.
But by god’s will, new ground will not be cold.
August 8, 2015
“Is this It?”
I’ve always kept this away
I’ve sleep before this one feeling
Can fuck w/me alone (my eyes on the ceiling)
I’ve kept it at bay
With whiskey, & the fantasy of Art
I’ve consistently insisted on
Not being too damn smart
Illusion and delusion and confusion
For a start
It’s not all how you look at it
it’s how you don’t,
“Is this It?”
July 28, 2015
One apple, one all too ready for it’s own fall,
Rolled towards him.
Looking up from his hands, all
His distresses, in this Rousseau Tableau of his;
Big leaves, big cats, his own lions;
Lively definitive lines,
Staged amidst his hazy distress.
Staged front and neat, his sweet fruit…
His way for his fall
. (2009 & now)
July 15, 2015
from a philosopher:
Love is the difficult realization that something other than oneself is real.
In philosophy if you aren’t moving at a snail’s pace you aren’t moving at all.
Philosophy! Empty thinking by ignorant conceited men who think they can digest without eating!
The cry of equality pulls everyone down.
Happiness is a matter of one’s most ordinary and everyday mode of consciousness being busy and lively and unconcerned with self.
The absolute yearning of one human body for another particular body and its indifference to substitutes is one of life’s major mysteries.
Falling out of love is very enlightening. For a short while you see the world with new eyes.
We can only learn to love by loving.
IRIS MURDOCH – whose birthday we remember on this date.
. (thanx to http://itsjustatheory.com/2015/07/15/happy-birthday-11/ )