REFLECTING ON THIS STALL

August 22, 2017

“Under the willow tree I hide my mirror,

small enough to be mistaken for morning dew.

I look for a point of origin, something to explain how and why

we all must see it through.”          

 

 

Encased  in  impasse,

I couldn’t even eye other passengers

past my papers.

I wouldn’t watch what

my window offered:

small towns, & all their lights,

Reflections, inside, of us riding passersby.

We keep on sweeping by.

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Inspecting  these all  aspects of my work,

Taking stock,    this stall  is a lock still.

Y’see, yesterday’s night

I ran nine yellow lights,

& Just as there were dares that didn’t time out right

I’ll just decide to still ride

 

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the sublime opening verse is from my favorite online poet

Allison Grayhurst, from “Eating From An Imaginary Spoon”  https://wordpress.com/read/feeds/168535/posts/1567304886

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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A BARGE

August 13, 2017

A barge I bet  can float through our wait

Hours upset, but in an instant I can’t hate

Hating hundreds of roads apart, while  hearts

Skinwalls near  forever here, & there with you  wait.

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.          (unfinished)

G L A R E

August 11, 2017

I’ve had a share of furtive glares & glimpses

Clandestine tiny glares & glances

I now redden to reminiscences

I’m now ready  to try new roads

Step surer into newer eventualities

Bet dearer  on far-fetched gains

I’m pretty sure to shift to uplifting new payloads

Pretty sure  no hurricanes

It could all work out,  take root,

It’d  adapt.

If I’d  freely feel  to enrapture your eye

& I  enchant  your  glare

RYE INROADS

August 4, 2017

On  inroads, scraping,

& Faced with less escaping;

One  reclamation.

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I’ve  erased  all boasts

Of   encroaching  clarity.

Thought I’d caught a glimpse.

 

Fragments On Lofty

June 23, 2017

 

 

It’s not been my story  to take inventory/

It’s  I can’t even   scare up  scant worry

About what I have, About what I would want/

I suppose  I could pose  but I can’t/

It’s  said/

“An  unexamined  life

Is  good  as  dead.”/

I said/

I’m a body afloat, solid thoughts go float too, y’know/

Lofty thoughts  not  caught  can ride

On both tides  High and low/

I’d deny having lied, but replied.

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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.

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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.

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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

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(unfinished)

1)

S U R E

 

There’s business on the burner.

These semi serious matters

sort of  need sorting out.

A lot of it needs looking at,

and some just ditched out,

not the other way around,

like when sure  attic treasure gets pitched down

to the cellar.

 

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2)

M E R E

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I think! that there’s a theory in

quantum physics

that holds that

the mere act of observation

changes and shapes events

observed.

The science of truth

isn’t my strong suit.

But I can watch from a garage roof;

take semi evaluative notes,

& make up semi reflective reports,

&  fake some

control.

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3)

REFORM   DREAM

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Surfacing from a waterfall bottom’s

Churning pool,  into mists,

The tall intense man they call The Baptist

Pulls you up,  and through, by your hair.

It all means too much now.

The colors hurt, and light on water

Diamonds up the air.

Though  new, non-consise  power  leadens you,

You rise again  to surface

Just  all  you

 

B U R D E N S

May 18, 2017

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PETITIONS

“The blind man loves you with his eyes, the deaf man with his music.  The hospital, the battlefield, the torture room, serve you with numberless petitions. On this most ordinary night, so bearable, so plentiful in grave distractions, touch this worthless ink, this work of shame. Inform me from the great height of your beauty.”

-Leonard Cohen, “Petitions”, from Death Of A Ladies Man

 

 

 

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U N B U R D E N E D

One  way  to  be  unburdened

Might be   small talk, not hearsay,

A  Big-hearted  acumen,

Bare  arms,  &  mercy

A W A Y

May 16, 2017

Sudek

photo credit: Josef Sudek (“the poet of Prague”)

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They some time may say/ Time  dwindles  away/

I  say   swindles.

 

-gray r. melvin (“the poet of vague”)