Notably to nobody but me
Sea oats punch up any
Photograph, black & white, or otherwise.
There’s something about their
Well-lit grace in a breeze,
Against infinity.
.
Those sea oats punctuate oil paintings
With strong lines.
Strong lines might serve as titles,
Strong prose might suit me,
“Graceful in the yielding,
Steadfastly stands the beauty.”

.

.

.for Pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber

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MUY GOOD JOKE

December 31, 2017

picasso is said to have said

“Art  is the lie that tells the truth”.

seems  if he did, seems valid.

.

(Though  some tries  along these lines

can only shine as sly & slippery lies)

.

His muy good joke/

& lucky for our sake/

Actually/  the accidental awaits

us/  Fog & smoke machines make

bonfire smoke signals rise up

until unreasonably  sound  Beauty clears/

Us holding the pen? we’re  without a net nor warm blanket.

.

.

.

.

.

Sure, sweating stallions are dynamic

& may have beauty

but some  Clomp! the blossoms

god & me made.

clods  now

 

 

 

.                   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)

from Dark

June 14, 2017

I’ll start.  It’s so dark you’ll know

Your thefts of thoughts

There  left to grow

Then grabbed!

Black  blossoms

Profuse

Still proceeding from its seeds  plus

Silence, from its silence.

.

.

Upon  a  pond

Where big calm mists meet surfaces

Water bug clouds  dance down aways

And I stand to see through tree trances

This moon is broken enough to lend to substance

For  near and far bearings,  distances,

And  at first. existences.

.

I swear here’s where the strings swell in

 

PRE-POETRY

May 31, 2017

Foraging is one way we fauna

Have found purpose in all this breathing

We’ll search, and trust that sustenance

Will surface to topsoil in time for reverence

.

.

.

 

 

(unfinished)

L I M E

May 8, 2017

I’m  ripe  with  dereliction

My repast  still  strewn out before me

I’ll lap seeds from fruit eden fronts me

Though I’ll stick slow to my sloth….

To my depiction

 

CRECHE SHEPHERDS

April 8, 2017

An imaginary friend, a French kid, he calls

(They  call  the  wind  mistral)

All the Northern winter wind..mistral.

En Francais, one says, Eventhough  baby  jesus…

Creche shepherds are threatened by mistral.

They hold on to their hats, insteada solomnly go

Doffing their fuckin desert chapeaux.

 

mistral

 

 

N E W

March 13, 2017

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

 

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

.

still tho’

.

.

.

.

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

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

Ink can slip onto  and stain a page

I think it can permeate a world around

it that can see it then re-see it new

and adapt it to the stage.

The symbals clash, the lights rush up. Both astound

A staring crowd.  So start up yr. casual

stroll from the wings, not forgetting yr. casual

role.