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.
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.
“I’m ready to go anywhere/ I’m ready for to fade/ Into my own parade”
—————-Dylan (the troubadour one), from “Mr. Tambourine Man”
“Every hero becomes a bore, at last.” -Ralph Waldo Emerson
. (5 yrs back)
April 14, 2017
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
Tho’ I’d heed less
February 24, 2017
Neruda’s “impalpable ash”
In the fray of my own tiny ruins.
“If I touch/ near the fire/
And supports the clearing away all
Makes way to take less blinding steps away
From cave to climax
I’ve come to have left out
Crucial rescue tools
From my matutinal
Lost-combination locked bag of tricks.
In touch information.
(3 yrs back)
February 13, 2017
Here’s far from hardly a chink in his ardor
Is super obvious
To himself most of all
A double agent deepbreathing quiet
So dominoes don’t fall.
Here’s far from hardly a mark on his honor
He can cover less & less
From himself least of all
Bravery he saves to muster love enough
To face away nothing , to praise all..
(6 yrs back)
February 10, 2017
If I lost strict control some
I could prick all billion bubbles
If I left my lost some
I could remangle my mumbles
‘Till concision at any cost cums
I’d come to untangle dareknots
‘Till a guilt spilt relief
Stains the air & remains there
February 8, 2017
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/
We’ll lose the car keys of sensibility/
We’ll lose some to the dark scenes of seniority
We will never forget to never let go
January 26, 2017
If I should shift off my myth-making, not forsaking my pathos,
I could concede defeat on conceits I’ve concealed,
Turn tail on my inner errant paths,
& Find my feet, for far, afield.
November 8, 2016
encased in impasse
I couldn’t even eye the passengers
just past my papers.
I wouldn’t watch what
my window offered:
small towns, and their lights,
or when slow-mo reflections night riders
riding inside also swept by.
continual inspections of my work,
a spread display on a tray freed before me,
confirmed my stall is a lock still.
Y’see, yesterday’s night
I ran nine yellow lights,
& when my dreams weren’t just right…
I must decide to just ride.
(from 5 or 6 yrs back)