OF FINAL NIGHTS

July 16, 2017

 

 

 

The taste of  spray,

Back splayed against the lighthouse wall,

Is saltier/ The roar of  final nights

Saddled on sea wall gusts

Is Fiercer/ When strength one requires

To withstand and understand  such threats

Is steadier/ The beacon’s cliff path

Is grounds for  light/

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(from 2011)

 

F O R G E S

May 1, 2017

 

 

 

 

 

 

There ought better be a beacon
on a pacific coast cliff could be
where hope’s light works with sea horn
where a night light works without warning
It forces & forges  the blackest  fog & forests
There can be a candle
in a window with enough heat
to fire the hearth
to light one lone solitary stone room
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(from 2010)
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.”Writing is nothing more than a guided dream” -Jorge Luis Borges

 

RICHARDSON

April 27, 2017

 

” Had Richardson sat in the piercing shade…”

You’ll say,  “In lieu of  with us   in the

Cruel, as a rule, sun on us.

He’d, it’d suffice to say,  suffer less,   unless

It’d be meaningful to a man like him to  show.”

I’ll  go,  “Sure enough, he’ll tough it home to suffer,  tho’

I think that ,yes, later at  blackest ink late,

He’ll love chopping onions, through all of their skins,

To sweeten his red sauce.  String section perfecting chaos as its tuning just begins.

One escape, esconsed in wet white cotton drapings,

Kind  chimey  showers

Keep rhythms  in Richardson’s shapings.

They  can   steepen,   that man’s dreams’  healing powers.”

 

RIGHT OFF THE SHADOW

January 4, 2017

Unless  these  kisses

Fortuitous   but for the most part,

Stay imaginary, yet not useless,

Stay  &  not  start.

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I  will  wear  Hope’s

Clandestine  cloaks

& will not fear  openly  for the most part,

Right in defining light/ Right off the shadow

Where  cooly  I  coddle  our  heart.

 

Lost light  looks in

Falls in  off my ownly window

& Stays on my wall-stocked stairwell

& Steers over  my bar  for mirror play

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Yes I’d probably yield to my propensity,

As today embarks,

To do a darkumentary

Chronicling my chromatic day

 

20160407_114141 (1)

 

I got word from my brother,

A suggestion from one lover;

It’s still  finely time to fill in those spaces,

I will take on cyber lawyers, to fill out a cyber will.

 

My cards splayed out on tables,

A gasp goes down  ’round the drawn crowd,

As they turn to peak at my color

Already leaking from my face.

It may be that they maybe wait.

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Something. I turn up  to yearn her coming  colour,

Sumptuously  flushing her chest and her cheek.

I can very hardly wait.

She’ll  start  to  try  to  speak…

And I’ll find and see

All in all, the riches mined & left shining

After finalities,

Are just filthy lucre

Aside memories

 

WINDFALL

May 1, 2016

ANDREWWYETH

 

 

An apple, itself ready for it’s  fall

Rolled towards him.

Looking up from his hands,

his distresses, in his Rousseau Tableau;

Big leaves, big cats, even lions;

Definitive lines

Staged around his hazy distresses.

Clearly and neat, his sweet fruit…

His  way for  his fall up.

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.                                 (FROM 2009)

IMAGE FROM ANDREW WYETH

 

GETHSEMANE

March 25, 2016

 

 

 

There ought better be a beacon
on a pacific coast cliff just for us
where hope’s light works with  sea horn
where a night light works with a warning
there forces & forges  the blackest  fog & forests
There can be a candle
in a window with enough heat
to fire the hearth
to light one lone solitary stone room

 

 

STILL FULL IN CAFTANS

February 15, 2016

MASSPHOTO

 

You need to know

You needn’t load these new cameras

It’s less necessary  this new era

I imagine now  new images

ejaculate pointblank to blank pages

Get-sets galore fill gallery folders

I heard Gatling gun wordings

for fun  function as captions

I read that the wind full in caftans

Help to heft up our boulders

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still tho’

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(FROM 4 or 5 yrs back/ dedicated to  DEVIANTART)

image: g.r.melvin/  http://namelessneed.deviantart.com/

N E W   T H I N G S

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i)

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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

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.                    ii)

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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

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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