Fragments On Lofty

June 23, 2017

 

 

It’s not been my story  to take inventory/

It’s  I can’t even   scare up  scant worry

About what I have, About what I would want/

I suppose  I could pose  but I can’t/

It’s  said/

“An  unexamined  life

Is  good  as  dead.”/

I said/

I’m a body afloat, solid thoughts go float too, y’know/

Lofty thoughts  not  caught  can ride

On both tides  High and low/

I’d deny having lied, but replied.

.

.

.

.

.

.                                                                                                           (years & years back)

ASSIGNMENT BLAME

May 23, 2017

paper_stacks_by_tamsone-dq1d9a

Still nights I will not change I will cringe

I’m tightly bound to make  my inner fringe

Break down  in private next door rooms

They’ll up & drop tears  from my say  they assume

I’ve meant no harm  though my charm

Might be misplaced /  an anvil fills my frail arms

.

.

.

 

 

“The Artist’s Dream” by Emil Holarek

Emil Holarek

A W A Y

May 16, 2017

Sudek

photo credit: Josef Sudek (“the poet of Prague”)

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

They some time may say/ Time  dwindles  away/

I  say   swindles.

 

-gray r. melvin (“the poet of vague”)

 

 

An ordinary miracle

Might  make my day  good night.

An everyday freak  hailstorm

Should soften the  certain gravitas of  agony..

Would my monday to monday/ Gone on to a good gravy, when

My  dumptruck  of good luck   sails in?

All this will be laid to waste.

Then  strong  sprouts/ in not long/ will  no doubt

Green  the  place.

.

.

.

.

.

(5 yrs back)

 

If I’d insist on playing the pacifist

(I’m maybe miscast)

I’d resist being all-too-willing

to killing time.

If I would want to resist the persistent praying

For my mercy, for all our mercy,

Inarticulate verses of mercy,

Maybe I’d want to take steps,

I’d want to take things into my own hands,

Maybe I’d want to take on the task

Of yanking my mask off,

Of thinking of thanking

myself more.

Tho’  I’d  heed  less

Jesus

CRECHE SHEPHERDS

April 8, 2017

An imaginary friend, a French kid, he calls

(They  call  the  wind  mistral)

All the Northern winter wind..mistral.

En Francais, one says, Eventhough  baby  jesus…

Creche shepherds are threatened by mistral.

They hold on to their hats, insteada solomnly go

Doffing their fuckin desert chapeaux.

 

mistral

 

 

 

“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”

.

.

.

STORM  WINDOWS IN SOUTHWEST FLORIDA

.

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.

.

.

TWO  ALARMS    ( Impatient On  All )

.

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?

 

 

OLDE FACADES

March 22, 2017

West, we rode & wrested away of, save the olde facades of   Savannah.

When in Jesus-sodden Southern Georgia

Some sign solomn told me  “try him”,

I ran & ran that mantra by

& waited ’till my lips straightened.

.

Here,  I take my sweet (& dear, fleeting) time

Rake  up  raw  data…

 

.

I’m readyish I guess for you to take my order

.

 

N E W

March 13, 2017

i)

M  U  C  H

often it’s uncertain   to see,

to see the true things through,

but certainly sometime’s there’s time

when surely much of what’s new

when noticed might matter

to you or rather

to me

.

.                    ii)

.

D  U  E

I fear I forget that the frail,

nearly unable, but

when a whisper of   Will…

when they muster an incalculable

measure of  reach

to straighten, and lean up

for what’s due.

That’s alot to wait for

.

The Freshest thing in the clearing

by the pond’s sunk boat,

near a nest,  There’s this ringing

drop, possibly  just now dotting

one leaf,  left  just new

by all the dew

That’s what I wait for

 

STANDING BY CLOSE

March 8, 2017

young  acidTongued  Erato,

go forward  yr foul followThrough,

spitWhisper her cryptic  figures.

i’d  dampen  the  barb,

reshapened of fogWebs.

i’ll soften all  blows against the  liveWire

i’ll try to translate  all i need

from  freed  ashes

from the spillFree  gashes in the flare’s hottest fireGrate.

.

.

.

.

.

If I could face the palace/Going holed up in a hotel/Is not one way I’d go