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.

 

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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

 

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”)

 

 

An ordinary miracle

Might  make my day  good night.

An everyday freak  hailstorm

Should soften the  certain gravitas of  agony..

Would my monday to monday/ Gone on to a good gravy, when

My  dumptruck  of good luck   sails in?

All this will be laid to waste.

Then  strong  sprouts/ in not long/ will  no doubt

Green  the  place.

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(5 yrs back)

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

 

 

OLDE FACADES

March 22, 2017

West, we rode & wrested away of, save the olde facades of   Savannah.

When in Jesus-sodden Southern Georgia

Some sign solomn told me  “try him”,

I ran & ran that mantra by

& waited ’till my lips straightened.

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Here,  I take my sweet (& dear, fleeting) time

Rake  up  raw  data…

 

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I’m readyish I guess for you to take my order

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how Art thou? Do you drink from the deep sink of inspired creations at an art museum, gallery, or maybe a street art fair on a street near you?sometimes?
Do you have something on one of your walls that only you could only fall for?
And, can’t help but stare?
It’s an important thing,dontcha think?
It has been from an early age for me.
I’m told that soon after I found my father who had killed himself (the Hemingway), while all the distraught adults who knew and loved him were off balance with emotional and practical adjustments (like selling the house and moving on)
One forgotten first son had got into several paint cans and expressed quite a colorful statement on the backside of the new house for sale.
I
I was perched  high for me
in a pinepitchtree
and waited out what I did
as I watched our house’s back side
where I painted from all the paint cans
stacked out back. Though very new plans
made us move away from that life.
Daddy had died and left that life.
Somebody and something could only cover
my work.

II

a french girl with hair from the girl in Breathless
was our art teacher that visited
Miss Blue’s 3rd grade class,
and liked my painting so much
she asked if she could take it
for a contest, or a book she was working on.
The blurry greens and blacks,
browns and blues,  was a ship deep in a storm.
I never saw it again but
somebody and something could only recover
my work.

 

 

still, tie me to the mast.

and

I must get the next good grasp
still, the next limb up
to see some.

CONCISION IN THE COPSE

February 10, 2017

 

 

seattleoregon-sept-10-060

If I lost strict control  some

I could prick all billion bubbles

If I left  my lost  some

I could remangle my mumbles

‘Till concision  at any cost cums

I’d come  to untangle dareknots

‘Till a guilt spilt relief

Stains the air & remains there

 

N O I S E

February 4, 2017

 

 

 

“May  our  miracles

…Not  be  cruel.”

I tipped my head up,

Away from my novel.

So uncharacteristic

From some televangelistic

Noise at the end of Pop’s assisted-living room.

The old & Southern bible guy

Was odd  about numbers, too.

Not magic mathematics about chapters & verse,

But worse,  what words add up to,

& seven is this

& five is that.

His numbers were different from mine.

Maybe,  I was getting it wrong.

The old & Southern crowd was all nodding.

It takes a stadium.

Maybe  I’m

Imaginin’,

Tho’ mostly sure   that’s it.

 

 

 

 

(7 yrs back)

S A D D I S H

August 8, 2016

 

“It’s a desperately vexatious thing, that after all one’s reflections and quiet determinations, we should be ruled by moods that one can’t calculate on beforehand.” ―

                                                           George Eliot, Adam Bede  

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She’s  pulling  up  stakes.

For fulfilling dreams wait for her there.

Somewhere else.  Somewhere farther

From this dry dream here.

I love her so I can let it go.

From two hundred to twelve hundred

Miles to walk, away.

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1

It  stands  to  reason  that

I understand  It’s a good plan  to move,

It gets me in the throat.

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2

I  could  call  it  logical.

get it./ We’ve yet to use unwise  love.

“I’ve got a good hooded coat.”

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3

I  guess  it  makes  some  sense.

It gets me to make  no move.

It got me in my throat.

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It’s all  a saddish  & maddening wishing well.

I’m still a man

Who can sit so still