BY MY BACK DOWN

April 12, 2017

 

 

Blackened breezes rustle

Sacred/ olive trees, skies muscled thick.

I took a sight that set me more lost

More sour than seasick.

I see him, knees bloodied,

Face drawn/ down

to earth.

I was being/ once/

Just a man also.

I spied/ by my back down

To my murk/

I cried/ by my own shadow,

But did not cry out,

To interrupt  all that   too intimate.

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When I was a young/ more willful man,

I fasted/ from dawn friday

Until the last of easter/ Today

I’m past that/ I take  the families

To the best italian place,

For sacrificial lamb & blood red wine

& all before that, maybe grace.

Still  and  night  wind/

And still standing in/ Deep in the shadow end/

Waiting in the wading pool To see my moon bounce to me some/

 

Wait!  At the airport bar the atmosphere swooned bountiful/

Maybe sating   metaphoring mating whoring fourth down plays/

Bountifully Enhanced  Last Chancing that face it,  basicly it’s too late not to dare/

Back here I’m not so rough, I swoon my own way, I tarry, and my moon’s enough

Jared French, Clinton, by PaJaMa

(photo credit/Jared French/ Clinton)

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.mangata: reflection of the moon on the sea at night (Swedish)

 

 

B R E A K

February 22, 2017

 

 

 

 

 

Stoicism is a prison/

Though I break out/

Though I break down/

Through the  pull of a merciful act/

I can be old and too weak to hold back/

I can imagine a troubled

panicked angel tangled double;

One cat caught in a grate/

A girl unfair in a wheelchair/

Nears and dares her balance, her endurance, her tolerance/

She Strains all of her weight/

She shows the pain that she’s used to  on her face/

Then relief,

and they’re both free

She and the cat both refuse to

Cry more,

Like those that might see

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(from 2008ish)

NEW HEART SETTLELINGS

February 14, 2017

 

 

Eyes out to recognize   passion:

It’s flatbacked against a dark wall

In the basement, burrowing deeper into sad shadow.

I’d bet it’s hiding some, a child’s cruel game.

When people see they’re empty

They write in to newspapers & ask real advice,

Exposing & espousing about

“Spicing up”  their  love lives.

Girls & boys buying new nightclothes,

Sex-scents, and other eaus,

Bought to butter up their battered beaus,

Enhancing  romance drugs

From teevee, junk mail,

And toys that are tools

For fixing whats failed.

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There’s always 

something new,

Someone new/ anything new.

Venture steps forward

Away from the old?

Nature’s warmblooded creatures

Home in on  settleings  less cold.

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“life is like a stage, I guess

love is stages of undress”

 

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.                                                                    (from 2009)

TRIAL NEWS/ I’LL AMUSE

December 31, 2016

 

 

C H E E R S

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I own my own muse
uncannily, I can amuse me
it’s fairly common knowledge,I think, that some Irish may
consider a spot of poteen and a pint at the end of a well-spent day…
God’s pay for a day’s good work. Earned.
when I get home from work, mornings, I spill a half swallow of irish whiskey in my glass, turn to look out the back window,raise my glass some, and To the sunrise’s orange and yellows, To the trees & water
I’ll whisper “yes, here’s to ya,then”.
Coupla nights back, I noticed there was just half a swallow in the bottle I might savor in the next morning after work, and get the empty bottle out to the recyclable bin before the early truck. Before I headed off to work
the night before though, it was apparent that my sweet & neat mate, thinking logically that the bottle was another empty to go out, the night before, took it out.
the next morning, after getting out all the rest of the trash out to the front that needed to go,walking the 30 yards back up my broken driveway to the house, I stopped. I smiled, then started laughing as I walked back to the road, all the time thinking of the imaginary guy across the street (& what he’ll say to his wife), opening his blinds for the 6AM sunrise, slippers & robe, looking out and seeing the real life guy across the street walking out to the road, lifting the top up, and reaching deep down into the bin, pulling out a bottle, unscrewing the top and tipping it back for that last swallow.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – — – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

A friend of a friend was a new nurse in a new high rise hospital where she mostly has clerical duties. One midday in the lunchroom, her break is broken when a man across the way from her starts making alarming choking sounds. A room full of nurses might humorously seem like an ideal location for choking, but our friend of a friend nurse has been away from hands-on medical aid for some time, she’s been busy on the computer w/the files for years, and could only notice that the other more proficient nurses seemed to be ignoring the situation. Confused and frustrated with their behavior she rushes over to the man (He’s a large man, not unlike myself, this big Irish head’s gotta ride on a big body. size isn’t everything)
She awkwardly positions herself behind him and begins to vigorously hug him,again and again from behind. It’s a bit difficult because of the man’s size, but she presses on. again and again. His choking breaks up some to a rasp and he mumbles that he’ll be all right.
After he shyly ambles off, our nurse turns to scowl & glare at her fellow professionals when one of them declares, “the police have been called, he’s done this before.”
I’m thinking that things aren’t always as they seem. Maybe this guy wasn’t a manipulative, sexual deviant. Maybe he was at the point where he Must have a hug. The things we do for love.

A guy I kinda know once talked about going to a professional massage therapist and decidedly took a Viagra beforehand. I’m thinking that things aren’t always as they seem. Maybe he so loved it when his lover laughed, it would be so precious when he told her. The things we do for love

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.                     (Have a fortunate New year)

T R I B U T E

December 7, 2016

 

 

 

It’s likely/ It could be

That when Leonard Bernstein,

At his piano bench…

It was very late when he,

In a creative trance,

Had opened an envelope

From a Mr. Stephen Sondheim,

And started to work on

A musical phrasing for

“There’s a place for us”,

He eyedropped a gold teardrop

Into a test tube, & heaven reacted,

 

& now can make me ache

20,000 late nights after

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.                                                                   (from 2010)

SUM RHYME

December 5, 2016

 

 

 

Summing up some/things you can’t count on

Is  dumb.

When the wind whisks debris

Away. To kingdom come

And comes back   to tease.

Where my moon rebuffs  enough

Sunlight  to shake me awake

Until daylight   spoils the spell.

When passion is a ebbed sea,

Then ennui may dwell,

Grave missteps must only step up &

Soon it’s counted. Moonlit debris.

 

A SINGLE SIGNALLING

October 12, 2016

 

 

 

I and It may not be monstertruck obvious.

Just as a cat’s purr  can spur you through a thunderstorm

Or just a night, Or origami maybe might

Amaze you in new ways for focus,  and sight  of

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A  single  signalling;

When one  child of seven

On a church swing

Offers  “You’re funny”,

I’ll take it  as honey

On manna from heaven.

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The world’s love’s not worth leaving, all in all.

Mine’s a frontline free for all an’

It’s  Mercy  itself  inside all this breathing.

An air strike has been called in

And tear gas’s  got me weeping.

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Same as a mammoth

Dropping to his knees

(I’ve seen it from my cave),

Or,  a sweet whale sweating and letting go

Off the side of his seas,

Too far off from saving wave,

Or, when  one wheelchaired child really sees

Enough in him, not his flesh,

To reach  especially  hard

To  a  high  gardenia.

 

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(from 2010)

 

 

 

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)

“Would you complain because a beautiful sunset doesn’t have a future or a shooting star a payoff? And why should romance ‘lead anywhere’? Passion isn’t a path through the woods. Passion is the woods.”
― Tom Robbins

 

 

I wonder when one day

We’ll pocket our passions

They’ll fasten  in look-see  neck  lockets

Soon it’ll just seem fair

To wear them

She’ll share hers in sunlight sidewalks.

 

Fashion  will see to it  someday & night We

Could  unabashedly

Could undress off our soft underthings

Could  show  softer

Bold  and  tender

Expressings