Winter winds could
only find us cold
on our old
and ancient porch
perched high here in our new air
searching here through our new words
The latest launch on,
off this roof porch in
an old haunt,
this chilly sleepy village,
Off this nest
(FROM A WAZE /& TODAZE/ ON HOLIDAZE/ G’ON GETAWAZE)
twist a knob on the dash
Adjust the width on the hole on the window
Just so you might read the road’s edge
Roll down yr window, fold down yr sleeves
For this hour at least
Fueled with guts & grace
Not to get caught in that dead-end place
Through too late darknesses
(onto too early empty dawns)
On to one Firecolors promise
Of one sunrise
, (image “Dark Place III” / Georgia O’Keefe)
confusion/ some/ frustration
smack immersed in blue smoke
up in the projection booth,
“I couldn’t and shouldn’t
have ordered this show.
And that’s just truth.”
Just wrong epic screenplay
Is not long enough.
If there’s subtle subtext
It’s lost in the rough.
It’s known how laugh tracks go,
My own is so low
It’s too private a joke.
You’ve drawn yr own conclusions
My own solutions are silly as a shepherd’s 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,
Chosen, a good chaser.
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.
“Those bells’ve been ringing now for years,Someday I’ll give it all away,That’s how you sing Amazing Grace” -LOW, from “Amazing Grace”
As specified in final arrangements
The kids could only draw near enough
To temples, & to what resembles temples,
To take big pictures, big sky country shots,
& pot shots,
For a faraway featuring of folly.
Go down always face down the hall,
A dawn displays holy sun rays smoke
And on the just rightly out of tune upright bass
My at rest in peace bare-chested Daddy
Just barely jazzin up most all of a
New England Protestant hymnal
Ones his mother Grace
Sang through softly over & over
Busy with handiwork as ever
I take my ten tablets.
Wash ’em w/ Irish.
It’s my time
& no time for nonsense.
I’m ready I’ll try to pull hard
for a merciful god.
Finally I’ll try my hand
To move a pen
To move my words
To move me.
. (from 2009, slainte)
I say I’m assuaged
By way of words, of Terse persiflage,
Those prosesy phrasings
Poets sure can conjure.. They sing