C R E S C E N T

April 13, 2015

My ache in my neck

Disables him some

His taking this strange stretch

To check out this chart, um,

On one wall, like  Art,

To notice how tonight’s moon might

Look w/its own share of sunlight.

For  my/

Ache in my neck/ Sorry/

I’m hostage to/

Necessity.

 
I can Recognize, but hell,
I can’t Realize so well.
I’d drink more coffee but my cardiologist insists I don’t
I’d drink more coffee but my heart man
prescribes “not so smart, man”.
I’d think more whiskey would push me
to bask at last in a primal light,
but my general practitioner generally frowns
about practicing until I get it right.
I’d read more
but eyes see less.. I digress,
I’d come 2/pray more/give in/give more/dream-sleep in/weep for once/
walk the lit dark like I used to/
take the darklight I’ve refused to.
I can Recognize, but hell,
I don’t Realize so well.

.

.

.

.(from way back)

Setting The Table

October 10, 2012

“It is difficult to get the news from poems, yet people die miserably every day for lack of what is found there”        –William Carlos Williams, poet

.

.

.

Aw heck,  on a lark,

I likely heard a   “Hark,

Hear all this  beck and call”.

There, I see it had hailed from  icy altitudes.

So, when I wised up some, and tried to listen,

At this end, I waited, and while I waited, I understood.

It wasn’t  the explanation,

It was the going  on & on  deal,

Passing time,

It was  setting the table,  not the meal.

 

Like Neutral Luck

September 15, 2012

Some souls surely cry

“..If it wasn’t for the bad luck..”

Break for a deepbreathe breathy sigh,

“..I’d have no luck at all.”

Look,  My luck is neutral.

It lies like algae

On secluded moon moody ponds.

It doesn’t flow, or creep.  I fell

FadeToBlack asleep on a chair;

My book & pen, and nearly me,  there

On to the floor.

Alone, on knee,  bent,

I’d known I  loved rehoarding

My words, and alphabets–

They’d shifted some,  and had come

To a new sense.

 

Would it likely be by odd luck?

Or meant as, also likely,

Immense?

 

PROMINENT

August 29, 2012

“Truth  Be  Told…”

Is an old  start to a story

You never heard from Grandpa Gallagher

As he held court

For any ear  near his

Prominent  living room chair & ottoman.

.

Oh, the  OUTSPOKEN!

gold & ivory

August 3, 2012

 

 

 

s t I N K

———–

.

of all the lies

in the air

that this liar

is truly unaware of

(is  ’truly’  the right word?)

of all the lies

casual and caressing therein

the air current  sweetened in

night-blooming  jasmine

(  ’current’/now  is the correct word?)

the golden ones have come from…

(I’ve told em.   All alchemy)

emboldened lies, all born, I imagine,

from an open pen draining onto pages,

.

from nothing.

.

————————–

.

.

I’VE   IVORY

—————-

.

Shiny gold pen when an old

Shade-off light bulb

(it can be a candle)

Best Klieg-lights this crèche ,

Best showcases this birthplace.

.

On my knees

To lure verities,  (surely,  scour our trees)

To cure maladies,

Wrest fallacies from unsound foundations,

Whisper one less lonely

Wise,  recognizable incantation.

Take this shiny gold pen…!

.

It’s nearby,  go forth,  go further.

I clear my path,

&  Go over…

&  I’ve  Ivory!

Simba’ s  mammoth  cemetary!

(they must go deep)

Precious sunned bones poised on as symbols

Archetexture   actually

I take a sacred see of symmetry

 

Interstitial

July 9, 2012

Her  cri de coeur,

Her  plea,  a  quieter  call

Was now  that she knew  I knew all

That she was/ That it was all

I could do

Was now

To love her?

 

I’ve been suffering fools madly all Monday/

It’s enough

What I wear

Hasn’t flamed up  to ash  from constraint/

I’ll find a physician

To pencil in  penicillin

In case I caught  brain rot/

,

Their ready rashness to harsh judgement

Would be  the best of jests,

&  it could be,  “Look at the kook  calling the pitches”

If I could only switch off my furious

If I could only fix my furious

I could even mock the blue-ribbon true dolts that stole my talk

Temporarily I guess

intertubing

June 18, 2012

call off yr search

It’s all been a hoax

I haven’t been far

I have only been barely fair

I’ve barely fought my fog-like fugue

It’s hugely due to pointless and errant

intertubing,  buoyant

On turbulent,   or at least

Aimless  sees

s t I N K

.

of all the lies

in the air

that this liar

is truely unaware of

(is  ’truely’  the right word?)

of all the lies

casual and caressing there

the air currents  n

night-blooming jasmine

(is  ’current’  the correct word?)

the golden ones have come from…

(I’ve told em. All alchemy.)

emboldened lies, all born, I imagine,

from an open pen draining onto pages,

.

from nothing.

.

.

.

I’VE   IVORY

.

Shiny gold pen when an old

Shade-off light bulb

(it can be a candle)

Best Klieg-lights this crèche ,

Best showcases this birthplace.

.

On my knees

To lure verities,  (surely,  scour our trees)

To cure maladies,

Wrest fallacies from unsound foundations,

Whisper one less lonely

Wise,  recognizable incantation.

Take this shiny gold pen…!

.

It’s nearby,  go forth,  go further.

I clear my path,

&  Go over…

&  I’ve  Ivory!

Simba’ s  mammoth  cemetary!

(they must go deep)

Precious sunned bones poised on as symbols

Archetexture   actually

I take a sacred see of symmetry

.

.

.

.

.

.                                                                                                       (from years ago, still & for always true)