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)

 

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

IMPALPABLE

February 24, 2017

 

Neruda’s  impalpable ash”

Chants away/

In the fray of my own tiny ruins.

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If I touch/ near the fire/

Impalpable ash..”

Chimes away/

And supports the clearing away  all

Insubstantial,

Makes way to take less blinding steps away

From  cave  to  climax

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I’ve come to have left out

Crucial  rescue  tools

From my matutinal

Lost-combination  locked bag of tricks.

In touch  information.

Out

 

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(3 yrs back)

 

Evidently a Lie / Obviously obtusely Truth;

It’s meant to be  a pair of documents,

Y’see, But I signed both.

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Caught, I could  share   the clench

He put on that  pair of documents.

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Bright lights washed this whiteish room.

The solemness thing   a candle brings,

Though I searched,  all the shadows had no shade in this room.

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We digressed some away from

the heart of the matter

When he stressed  my stories were

fog & mirror

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I’m sure I concurred  that if

Scenes and factors shift

From tellings to retellings,

It seems the fact is   seeming  shifty.

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My “But plainly, a  planned  lie,

A tall Alibi, that had ironclad  unchanging,

‘Mimicry!’  is one word-for-word bed story,

Read to children.

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Isn’t that  one good bet

That wins & sets the liar free?”

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I think he let it sink in, and then set.

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“And you expect me to reject

Classic casebook investigation technique

& instead of  doubting inconsistency,

Instead ..One consistent story

Is a tell tale “good bet”

for Guilty?  And yet,

changing ones tune again & again  is uniquely

Honest?   it’s best to revise to clarify..

As one more clearly

recalls  new  old  details?

Just as pieces of night dreams

Resurface  into..Really??!”

“Really??!!!”

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“Um, yes.”

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.                                       (from long ago, or maybe not)

DOUBLE O

February 13, 2017

 

 

Here’s   far from hardly   a chink in his ardor

His duplicitness

Is  super  obvious

To himself  most of all

A double agent  deepbreathing quiet

So dominoes don’t fall.

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Here’s   far from hardly   a mark on his honor

His cowardice

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)

CONCISION IN THE COPSE

February 10, 2017

 

 

seattleoregon-sept-10-060

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

 

DARKEST POND

February 8, 2017

 

A late,  the too latest,  drive

Car thick  with ambient music

On  back  home

On back roads   I can come upon,

In deep,  way back,

The darkest pond,  I can  plumb

The darkest pond

I can Cool off

I can char

Edgy angular contours

In deep

 

LAPSELESS PACT

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/

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We’ll lose the car keys of sensibility/

We’ll lose some  to the dark scenes of seniority

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Together                                                   so

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We  will  never  forget  to  never  let  go

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.

S T A L L

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.

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(from 5 or 6 yrs back)