“You know  it never has been easy

Whether you do or do not resign

Whether you travel the breadth of extremities

Or stick to some straight line…

In the church  they light the candles

And the wax rolls down like tears

There  is the hope and hopelessness

I’ve witnessed all these years.”

-Joni Mitchell, from “Hejira”

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STORM  WINDOWS IN SOUTHWEST FLORIDA

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In this small part of the planet

Nobody  stores  storm  windows,

Though probably,  storms  away  won’t

Muster  much  more  blow

Than in  this  small part of the planet.

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TWO  ALARMS    ( Impatient On  All )

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Is  or isn’t it odd

that the gods have their own take

on what all gets  the go ahead

and all  just what must wait?

I was brought up to believe in

That  All’s  “seen through”   for some reason./

All would happen  ”as it should”/

But What when intuition warns    it’s  all gone  wrong,

and it’s all  gone wrong all day?

When two alarms should’ve gone off when rising?

When once again you wince & wait on your own way?

 

 

IT’S DELICATE BUSINESS

February 23, 2017

 

 

It’s a damned near full moon

It’s clear,  a bracing

evening.  I’ll exhale out

to trace the treeline  off

to a nothing northern florida town.

She sat at a flea market

where tons of townies in camouflage jackets

pressed past her at her table and chair.

Her pronounced pretty eyes

were the ideal quirk for gypsy fortune tell work.

Green, like beach glass.

How might they see me?

How can she be expected to espouse

All Ahead  for me   there?

At that table & chair there, exposed

to that flea market crowd?

Men, off to gun tables.

Women, drawn up the way

where puppies are given away

(hunting dogs no doubt)

How Soul-intimate can my gypsy and I get?

Can she pull out

All that’s in

In all of this dumbed down din?

It’s delicate business…

There’s this inarticulate air here

Against which…without a hitch..

.I want to wonder over every word..

I want to wonder for every prophetic word.

How can we do this with clothes on?  Absurd.

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I can see, by the chance

of this damned near full moon,

I’ll watch the line of my breath dance

just off the distant treeline,

Off to tomorrow’s full sun soon.

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(at least a half dozen years back)

LAPSELESS PACT

February 6, 2017

 

 

When we get a might old  & quite daft/

We better wear sweaters as we waffle whether there’s a cold air night draft/

When we don’t remember/ all the holidays in september/

When we won’t remember/ When the hearth needs more timber/

We’d do windows wide open mornings/ & doors too  snow storming/

Fruit  left last long past their sweet-point/

Just short of when  vermin/ just cavort into the joint/

We’ll start to tell our dreams, last night/

It’s a cinch/ we’ll end on that rain-drenched island, right?/

We’ll toss & turn on real green moss/

& you can barely feel  we’re wearing wet white/

On a hunch/ Our punchlines/ Without fail/ Will get filled in/

On a promise/ Our premises  will trail off  & off & off again/

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We’ll lose the car keys of sensibility/

We’ll lose some  to the dark scenes of seniority

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Together                                                   so

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We  will  never  forget  to  never  let  go

PORTENDING A PORTAL

August 16, 2016

 

 

When the carousel  comes to where…

When the maelstrom makes certain turns to…

“This is where I came in!”

I’ll quip, and wink, and break up the fourth wall

I’ll step off,  & start off,  forcing a freefall,

& any form of  free  I will welcome.

If I find my feet  I can become

A pilgrim  on path,

A pilgrim back  filling his path.

 

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.

 

 

I guess I’ll go slow

To better spot

My  placid  place

Destiny’s  tiny  dot

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Must not allow the powers that better be  not

They’re  sure  to  supersede

at Their break-neck speed

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Some other man wants

Another  chance

I’ll take mine in

40  years

(in unmarked 10s & 20s)

C L I P

January 31, 2013

     

     

“There are, it seems, two muses: the Muse of Inspiration, who gives us inarticulate visions and desires, and the Muse of Realization, who returns again and again to say “It is yet more difficult than you thought.” This is the muse of form. It may be then that form serves us best when it works as an obstruction, to baffle us and deflect our intended course. It may be that when we no longer know what to do, we have come to our real work and when we no longer know which way to go, we have begun our real journey. The mind that is not baffled is not employed. The impeded stream is the one that sings.” ― Wendell Berry
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                     C  L  I  P
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I’ve dreamt  and forget..

I only kept

One excerpt, one clip

I took back

Here to look back to

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You could see down

To two  in the water,

Not drowned.

You could see that down there

That they were freely moving.

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Y’see

We ride out on

That river of grasses,

That  for a while now

Made for miles

Between us.

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We’d ride out on

The one door, the one

We always want open

We’d ride one door

Still open

Wide to a wide world.

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(from ago,  & still)Imagephoto from sunni

 

 

“LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT”
-Wislawa Szymborska  (7/2/1923-2/1/2012) RIP
                                                   Nobel Prize for Literature 1996
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.Both are convinced

that a sudden surge of emotion bound

them together.

Beautiful is such a certainty,

but uncertainty is more beautiful.

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Because they didn’t know each other

earlier, they suppose that

nothing was happening between them.

What of the streets, stairways and

corridors

where they could have passed each other

long ago?

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I’d like to ask them

whether they remember– perhaps in a

revolving door

ever being face to face?

an “excuse me” in a crowd

or a voice “wrong number” in the receiver.

But I know their answer:

no, they don’t remember.

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They’d be greatly astonished

to learn that for a long time

chance had been playing with them.

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Not yet wholly ready

to transform into fate for them

it approached them, then backed off,

stood in their way

and, suppressing a giggle,

jumped to the side.

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There were signs, signals:
but what of it if they were illegible.
 Perhaps three years ago,
 or last Tuesday
 did a certain leaflet fly
 from shoulder to shoulder?
There was something lost and picked up.
 Who knows but what it was a ball
 in the bushes of childhood.
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There were doorknobs and bells
 on which earlier
 touch piled on touch.
 Bags beside each other in the luggage room.
 Perhaps they had the same dream on a certain night,
 suddenly erased after waking.
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Every beginning
 is but a continuation,
 and the book of events
is never more than half open.
.(this poem inspired a brilliant cinematic ruby,

Kieslowski’s “RED” )