“You know  it never has been easy

Whether you do or do not resign

Whether you travel the breadth of extremities

Or stick to some straight line…

In the church  they light the candles

And the wax rolls down like tears

There  is the hope and hopelessness

I’ve witnessed all these years.”

-Joni Mitchell, from “Hejira”

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STORM  WINDOWS IN SOUTHWEST FLORIDA

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In this small part of the planet

Nobody  stores  storm  windows,

Though probably,  storms  away  won’t

Muster  much  more  blow

Than in  this  small part of the planet.

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TWO  ALARMS    ( Impatient On  All )

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Is  or isn’t it odd

that the gods have their own take

on what all gets  the go ahead

and all  just what must wait?

I was brought up to believe in

That  All’s  “seen through”   for some reason./

All would happen  ”as it should”/

But What when intuition warns    it’s  all gone  wrong,

and it’s all  gone wrong all day?

When two alarms should’ve gone off when rising?

When once again you wince & wait on your own way?

 

 

OLDE FACADES

March 22, 2017

West, we rode & wrested away of, save the olde facades of   Savannah.

When in Jesus-sodden Southern Georgia

Some sign solomn told me  “try him”,

I ran & ran that mantra by

& waited ’till my lips straightened.

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Here,  I take my sweet (& dear, fleeting) time

Rake  up  raw  data…

 

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I’m readyish I guess for you to take my order

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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)

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

 

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.

THERE’S FOG

November 27, 2016

 

“Life is short, and Art long; the crisis fleeting; experience perilous, and decision difficult.”  -Hippocrates

.“In the fog you are sheltered against the outside world, face to face with your inner self. Nebulat ergo cogito.” (fog therefore I think) -Umberto Eco

 

 

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)

LOST/JUST

September 15, 2016

 

 

I

For now, awhile, I won’t let you pull me from the wreckage/

But, how you hold my hand, for both of us

Until the jaws of life  arrives/

Tho’ I’m not at a lost of words, I’m lost

In thought / “I’m lost”, I thought,

“And hiding from the hidden costs.”

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         II.  Birdsong
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I’ll dare to speak of sparrows

in shrapnel-filled WW I  battlefield winds,

in sharp scarlet dawns/

They’ll sing to find their kind

if they’ve  lived,

A song will find its way back,

between the  blood & budding daybreak.

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   III.    J U S T
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it could be/ a branch of a tree

perched at a high hill

would have a new bud  just

breaking through/ it would be just for you

and in time  a blossom.  You’d just

lift yr arm up/ and pull it down/ just in time

to drink it through

with yr deepest stealing breath.///

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(from 2009)

FROM PROVIDENCE TO HALIFAX

August 11, 2016

When it’s come to

Coming to in a ditch  without bruises from a beating

& the new thorns are actual thorns

& not all metaphorical ones

All I knew then   I once was thinking

I’d drink my way from Providence to Halifax

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An  “attendant” was sure hell bent

On adjusting my posture

The arms that aimed to secure mine;

They’re hardly hair-free like hers was, were soft. freckled and warm.

YES, THE SEQUENCES GO

August 4, 2016

 

 

 

Yes, the sequences go, this set’s pro-

gressing.  We stand in our streams,

Study up our storm weather,

We’re all under the weather.

Yes, the compass is off-putting.

Yet we’ll Guess & fully dare  come push there the river?

We’ll willfully  dare   footing?

Or go on down   downflow?

Or go on

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