DAWN’S ON ME RHYME

January 21, 2016

I’d say of me   I’m savvy.

I’d say  that plea  “C’est la vie”,

&  Mash the rest  w/gravy

.

.

I could conclude  at dark’s end.

I’d sharpen that plea, for

“..Aussi  une  nuit  noire”,

& Watch the rest  w/ “save me”

 

.

.PM2

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ANNUAL RENEWAL/ANCIENT PORCH

January 15, 2016

CK2013 004

 

 

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)

SUCH SHAPES

November 18, 2015

 

 

“I cannot too much muse
Such shapes, such gesture and such sound, expressing,
Although they want the use of tongue, a kind
Of excellent dumb discourse.”
from “The Tempest”, Shakespeare
.
.
of all the lies/ in the air,

that this liar/ is truly unaware

(can “truly”, lord, be the capable word?)

of all the lies/ casual and caressing there

the golden ones have come from…

(I’ve told em./ All alchemy.)

emboldened lies, all born, I imagine…
elicited

of a silence

gifted

of a silence

too true.

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/for more

https://namelessneed.wordpress.com/2013/12/07/poetry-to-poets-about-poetry-david-whyte/

TO TOO EARLY EMPTY DAWNS

October 31, 2015

blackplaceIIIO'keefe

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)

CHOSEN PRE-DAWN ALCHEMY

October 15, 2015

There’s some/
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.

I’ve known
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,
Actually.
Chosen, a good chaser.

A WAY

August 18, 2015

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Some once in a team, making way, seem to trust

Insisting on following instructions

Until falling structures sift on to dust.

.

.

First  light

I find a way  less haunted;

New shadows show, this too dark room

They’re a grayer gray  than they had wanted.

First  light

I might  tip the stone off this night’s tomb.

.

First  light

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.

.

AMAZING GRACE

July 18, 2015

Image

“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

J U S T

May 9, 2015

I.     Lost

.

For now, awhile, I won’t let you pull me from the wreckage

But, how  you hold my hand, for both of us

Until the jaws of life  arrives/

Tho’ I’m not at a lost of words, I’m lost

In thought, “I’m lost”, I thought,

“And hiding from the hidden costs.”

.
 II.  Birdsong
.

I’ll dare to speak of sparrows

in shrapnel filled WW I battlefield winds,

in sharp scarlet dawns

they’ll sing to find their kind

if they’ve  lived,

a song will find its way back,

between the  blood & budding daybreak

.
   III.    J U S T
.

it could be/ a branch of a tree

perched at a high hill

would have a new bud  just

breaking through/ it would be just for you

and in time  a blossom. You’d just

lift yr arm up/ and pull it down/ just in time

to drink it through

with yr deepest stealing breath.///

.Image

.

I take my ten tablets.

Wash  ’em w/ Irish.

It’s my time

for medicine,

& 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.

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.

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.                                             (from 2009, slainte)

I say  I’m assuaged

By way of words, of Terse persiflage,

Those prosesy  phrasings

Poets  sure  can conjure.. They sing

To me