.

.

dutifully  sometimes you should shrug

& do yr lines

dutifully  from the p.o.v. of the third guy 

in a lousy joke,

of the third guy,

on cue, in yr line

waiting there  at the gates of heaven,

the punch-drunk punchline chump.

in one ya heard at a barber shop or church,

though i frequent neither.

i heard they put out quite the ambiance there

with the reading materials, murals, & make-believe talk there

.

.

.“Nearly everything we are taught is false except how to read”
Jim Harrison

.

 

 

Day 11, 28 Days of Unreason

 

 

Advertisements

SEASIDE OUTLOOK BENCHES, SEARCHING THE STRAIGHT SEA

 

 

Down near  out of waiting, or out of lord’s luck

Down on their seaside outlook benches

Grown  men  searching

Aim down for sombre storming

Strict on the straight sea

“Comfort me”/ “Come for me”

& Sure more  in ecclesiastical clenches

& More  in a chimerical clutch

Love’s  fanciful  watch

.

.

.

.                                                                         Friday 55, at Verse Escape.

Maybe I’m madly wrong
My perspective’s askew.

.
Driving here drowsy, & now all along
I’ve dreamt there is time to see it all through.
.
Could be I’m way off.  Way off course.
My Heart’s compass’s needle must still be true.

.
A cloudy road’s option is straight on, of course
Seemingly there would be one way  to drive through.
.
Maybe I’m madly wrong
My POV’s askew
Driving here lousy, & now all along
I’ve dreamt there was time to see it all through

 

 

 

 

Best not be so sure nor positive
On the turning point,
Unless talk show representatives
Have affidavits to fill out
To protect them when they project
Yr. image and Yr. more imaginative story
From coast to coast, but don’t worry,
Viewers love viewing

When things turn around.
You can fudge the exact time
It all went down.

B L I N D I N G

February 27, 2018

“Ill  at  ease”

Will be one accurate way,

When  I can think then straight about it,

One apt way to shout it.

They  say  they

“Say it as it is”, (they’re pissed)

They say  ” just being honest, man”

“No B.S.  man” (slurring pissed)

They’re weak to only “speak their minds”.

And when I,

Gently as I can,

Retranslate to that guttural, but frank tongue,

I  see

They’re consequently

Hurt.

&  then there’s me  in this blinding  open lot

W/blood on my shirt.

SOME SKETCHY SANCTUM

December 4, 2017

 

Some seem to see the floor of the sea

as a sketchy, yet effective sanctuary.

They’re thinking, I think, that it’s tucked away

good. &  Could be quite quiet.

Sure would be  you’d dream good there.

Surely, it goes  you must breathe free much slower.

Sure,  bluegreen cracks for surface lightening.

But, You’ll see  that jeweled fishes,

Stilled  with  witness,

Flee at the softest flourish.

And bets are..sandbeds there are busy with movement.

How can my dreams take when I’m floating awake?

 

tumblr_mm3fgcRvi91s2xab7o1_400

My Lofty Thoughts

November 24, 2017

It’s not been my story   to take inventory/

It’s  I can’t even fake  the worry

About what I have, What would I want/

I suppose  I could pose  but I can’t/

It’s  said/

An  unexamined  life

Is  good  as  dead/

I said/

It’s  a body afloat, & its solid thoughts  float too, y’know/

& My Lofty thoughts  not  caught  oughta ride

On all tides too  High and low

.

.

.

.

.                                                                        (from way back)

REFLECTING ON THIS STALL

August 22, 2017

“Under the willow tree I hide my mirror,

small enough to be mistaken for morning dew.

I look for a point of origin, something to explain how and why

we all must see it through.”          

 

 

Encased  in  impasse,

I couldn’t even eye other passengers

past my papers.

I wouldn’t watch what

my window offered:

small towns, & all their lights,

Reflections, inside, of us riding passersby.

We keep on sweeping by.

.

Inspecting  these all  aspects of my work,

Taking stock,    this stall  is a lock still.

Y’see, yesterday’s night

I ran nine yellow lights,

& Just as there were dares that didn’t time out right

I’ll just decide to still ride

 

.

.

.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the sublime opening verse is from my favorite online poet

Allison Grayhurst, from “Eating From An Imaginary Spoon”  https://wordpress.com/read/feeds/168535/posts/1567304886

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

RYE INROADS

August 4, 2017

On  inroads, scraping,

& Faced with less escaping;

One  reclamation.

.

.

I’ve  erased  all boasts

Of   encroaching  clarity.

Thought I’d caught a glimpse.

 

 

 

 

.                   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

.

.

.

.

.

(from 9 years back)