MY OWN PARADE

April 18, 2017

 

Walking, mostly neat in clockwork close meter,

Warmer ghosts  from my former  features;

All the roles, All the resume’,

Falling in line,  Just the crew to rescue me.

Faded as sad old soldiers, parted.

(Vain fantasies say  old glories stay guarded)

Again, always, They had  heaved it all in a heavy chest.

Again, always, they had heaved in their chest

Taking it to heart & head.

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I’ll call it for you  my own VFW

hall. I have my own tall tales to tell,

We’ll share lies, & libations.

I’ll wear my  mightier  pen.

I’ll share  sham wisdom  wide open.

But first, false memories in verse.

& what’s worst,  I’ll con, & confide  open.

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“I’m ready to go anywhere/ I’m ready for to fade/ Into my own parade”

—————-Dylan (the troubadour one), from “Mr. Tambourine Man”

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“Every hero  becomes a bore,  at last.”  -Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

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.                                                                                                                       (5 yrs back)

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It started with you and I hurrying to catch a just waiting old bus. We’re loaded with bags & bundles. The archaic bus starts to move away then stops for us. We step up, an older unlikely looking driver, a short, shaggy grey haired woman in a smock-like shift is standing, away from the wheel, welcomes us. There’s room for us to sit on opposite sides of somehow open area in the center of this crowded bus. We let down our loads. The woman behind the seat i drape my coat on become obviously relieved when I re-drape it so it doesn’t drape into her space.

The train/bus moves and mainly flushed imagery outside the windows move by and demand my attention away from your smile & nod across the way/ you’re in a place just off the windowed panorama./ Soon I call over, “Look Dear, the city we love”/ & cimematically the chiaroscuro  of the lit skyline curves away.

Our clothes change to the clothes of a past time; cloth heavier, less well-fit, colors wrong./ Our bodies change./To strangers./ But we readily accept this subtle, bizarre shift. Images still slide by outside. After some time they stop. Our kindly driver is walking us up into an old shop of  older clothes. I undress completely to re-change, but the new clothes are newly ill-fitting. It seems that the proprietor of the place that it seems we’ve broken into is coming too quick so we rush to re-dress back into our less awkward costume. As odd, new bodies in old attire, we rush again back to our bus/train.

I’ve got a POV shot  to where you’re outside on a corner, and I’m inside without a word./ You’re queen-waving with a warmly resigned smile and I’m waving all the while./ Movement ramps up immensely./Leaning into windsweep/ Up on the front boat lip/ The oldest woman driver nods and calls over it all, something like (somehow) “Leap forth now!”

I swim in strong strokes. the waves are steady & uniform too.

I’m standing dressed but still looking like some one else,/ looking for someone else/ Others look unfamiliar/ face to face/ Then, someone I know,/ also bearing an older,different appearance/But I recognize her/ She calmly shows a shy smile./ Faces still proceed/ Like looking into a swirling dance room floor at a bustling Gala or ball./ I strain and strain again to re-see her./ But  awoke.

I’ve seeked and seen the one we lost this week.

 

FULGURATES

October 31, 2015

It’s a fact

I think

The shadows have been acting up

Their glint fulgurates   My way

On the very very side

Distracting

Me  away from  whatever

It clearly demanded

My attention

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I always turn my head

Leonid_Pasternak_-_The_Passion_of_creation

if need be

I definitely

might not

frighten so easily,

sure, sometimes I shouldn’t

shutter, some times I couldn’t

muster the clarity to clear away

glint visions,  spark trails

witnessed, I guess, near edges

meant visions,  dark tells;

hinted, half blessed, fear edges

nearby

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.                                                (2009 & still)

(Image: “The Passion Of Creation” by Leonid Pasternak)

IN OTHER WORLDS THEN

August 11, 2015

Mostly, I’m the first out
Or the first to close out.
The long cold walk to the studio I stay at,
Mostly, truth be told, steadies me alot,
It’s Then,  I woulda been  in other worlds then,  and not
Fixed   in this one
Here, Where the shadows come shifting too near &
Become way too clear like day-glow on moon-lit snow.
S’ real trick to outrun

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.

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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

if need be

I definitely

might not

frighten so easily,

sure, sometimes I shouldn’t

shutter, some times I couldn’t

muster the clarity to clear away

glint visions,  spark trails

witnessed, I guess, near edges

meant visions,  dark tells;

hinted, half blessed, fear edges

nearby

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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.                                             (from 2009, slainte)

Bridge’s Out”

March 9, 2015

“Bridge’s out”

A boy in a blue scarf shouted.

But a girl with high boots and a cape

only whispered  “Icy  isn’t  safe”.

Both their lines seemed to lift steamlike,  upwords,

opposing  most all  downfall  white

(On his hair,  in her eye lashes).

White  lit it all,  it meant to mask the night.

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Ethereal, yet so real, their faces were so pale.

They are, I thought, not far from fainting.

I strained to scout beyond them,  they stood out

Stark  against wood and trail.

It confused me, admittedly, I might see a  painting.

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“Watch yourself”,  their voices, close,

It sounded some  like me  who

confoundedly joined their chorus.

Starting down to the river,

I shake off a shiver under my clothes.

I take a deep icy breath, then take a step nearer chaos.

I must discuss

A dark circus is in town

A boy in a spin, and trees swing around

He drops, and the swing stops

New dewfrost falls, he’s lost

In all the bare trees

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A heavy disguise

Could be of use here

So cover your eyes, please

Your lover’s indecent

And trying on lies

His heart’s denying hard here

It’s a fact;  Abstract lies

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Squeezebox  hymns  seem

To squish by inbetween

Aligned  treebark

Lighted & Loudened by a fullmooncloud

Lions let free/  Dark

Circus tonight and if I might

Mix in that crowd

A heavy disguise could

Be of some use