April 29, 2017
“She call me just to talk/She’s my lover she’s a friend of mine/..and I get trouble with my breathing/she says boys don’t know anything/but I know what I want/I want everything/And she was made in Heaven/Heaven’s in my world…”
Mark Knopfler,Dire Straits, from “Expresso Love”
“I’m in Heaven/I’m in Heaven/I’m in Heaven/ When you smile”
Van Morrison, from “Jackie Wilson Said”
ON THE DAWN END OF OUR NEW RENDEZVOUS
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
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.
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.
March 3, 2017
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
(photo credit/Jared French/ Clinton)
.mangata: reflection of the moon on the sea at night (Swedish)
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/
and they’re both free
She and the cat both refuse to
Like those that might see
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.
Someone new/ anything new.
Venture steps forward
Away from the old?
Nature’s warmblooded creatures
Home in on settleings less cold.
love is stages of undress”
. (from 2009)
December 31, 2016
C H E E R S
uncannily, I can amuse me
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”.
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
. (Have a fortunate New year)
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
. (from 2010)
September 15, 2016
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.”
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.
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.///