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.

LOOSE CHANGE

September 19, 2015

I don’t even half choose

to carry loose change.

It lets itself be known  to me.

A quiet man  might be noisy.

I search for the underlying themes

That surface, as blue gills & dying perch will do.

I search an unresolve.

I search an unsettlement I mean to settle up,

Which flotsam, which riches  from the deep end;

Raucous & compelling, can tell all  in sleeptalk?

.

Finally

Find a pen

And something to write on.

Mind,  legs-open for

Something to write on.

.

.

.                                                                                                       (from 2009)

H A L C Y O N D E R

October 31, 2014

This  season

The storms  staid off

Or didn’t  set in

I needn’t pack  sand bags

Nature spared me  the necessity

To save myself from flood

Anyway

Loose Change

October 13, 2014

I don’t even half choose

to carry loose change.

It lets itself be known to me.

A quiet man  might be noisy.

I search for the underlying themes

that surface, as blue gills & dying perch will do.

An unresolve.

An unsettlement I mean to settle up,

Which flotsam, which riches  from the deep end;

Raucous & compelling, can tell all  in sleeptalk?

.

Finally

Find a pen

And something to write on.

Mind,  legs-open for

Something to write on.

.

.

.                                                                                                       (from 2009)

A  sun  upon  us  all

It was one wondrous puzzle

Wondering where the shadows go

.

It’s not like the night in us

Lies deeper in our darkest room

It’s rather that the truths  lie

Undercover undercovers in our oldest  gloom

It’s no mystery, It’s no mistake

That the nightime is the right time

To pull up stakes  &  go

To where one goes

WEATHERVANE

May 28, 2014

 

 

 

either  one  can

weathervane

in a spin

a  hurricane  can

windfall  upon,

mindful  for  yr

isadora  duncan

scarfish  flourish/ must

there  be

a  catch

to  watch

yr  purity

 

BACK TO WORK

April 9, 2014

 

 

 

 

“The sight of home gave little comfort, save to remind me that it offered a cave in which I could hide from my failures. A drink,a chair by the fire, a pile of miseries yet to be exploited–these were the crude tools I would use to put the events of the day behind me. Then, I would go back to work.”           –from “The Visionist”, Rachel Urquhart

 

 


i)

s t  I N K

.

of all the lies

in the air

that this liar

is truly unaware of

(is  ’truly’  the right word?)

of all the lies

casual and caressing there

the air currents  n

night-blooming jasmine (lie)

Golden ones have come from…

(I’ve told em. All alchemy.)

emboldened lies, all born, I imagine,

from an open pen draining onto pages,

.

from nothing.

 

ii).

.I’VE   IVORY

.

.Shiny gold pen 

As a shade-less light bulb

(it can be a candle)

Best  Klieg-lights this  crèche ,

Best showcases this birthplace.

.

On my knees

To lure verities,  (surely,  scour our trees)

To cure maladies,

Wrest fallacies from unsound foundations,

Whisper one less lonely

Wise,  recognizable incantation;.

Take this shiny gold pen…!

.

It’s nearby,  go forth,  go further.

I clear my path,

&   Go over…

&   I’ve  Ivory!

Simba’s  mammoth  cemetery!

(they must go deep)

Precious sunned bones poised on  as symbols

Archetexture   actually

I take a sacred see of symmetry

.

iii)

When poetry’s  god  the old notions

When poetry goes poetry in motion

All of a sudden certain

Privileged glimpses are blurting out

.

All of a sudden

Uncertain unseen forces

Focus for for instances,

What wording output

(shushshush  on  sources)

It’s a code I can tap

Out

.

.