B L U F F

December 15, 2017

 

 

 

My god my marygold

You’ve had such a holy hold

On this old drifting imagined world

You’ve banged open the till

Abundant with bundles  apparent now

Inside this  2-lane roadside  joint

Trucks rocketing by

You’ve had such a holy hold on my

sprouting spouting spurting words of my own godly modern love/

My own heart murmuring/ my idleWild  chit chat/

My own head concurring nodding plodding plotting

“Don’t take this cup from me”.

I can ante up.

What I can bring to the table.

What I can ad lib/ to fib  my own fable.

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.                                                            (from 5 or 6 years back)

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SOME SKETCHY SANCTUM

December 4, 2017

 

Some seem to see the floor of the sea

as a sketchy, yet effective sanctuary.

They’re thinking, I think, that it’s tucked away

good. &  Could be quite quiet.

Sure would be  you’d dream good there.

Surely, it goes  you must breathe free much slower.

Sure,  bluegreen cracks for surface lightening.

But, You’ll see  that jeweled fishes,

Stilled  with  witness,

Flee at the softest flourish.

And bets are..sandbeds there are busy with movement.

How can my dreams take when I’m floating awake?

 

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alas

November 17, 2017

I say  “shudder to think”  is a gothic cliche’

But at times  all too accurate,

The  strictest  depiction,

When I would  shudder & shake some

As I stood  on my sidewalk  in lieless sun

With what I witness,   with what I thought

alas

 

There’s not  much white light

In the shadows I can cast

 

AFTER A FLUTTERBY FANCY

November 6, 2017

 

 

 

There’s often been  unfocused fire

Before the rhododendron,

8-15-2007-12

 

Like off a roadway, on a hot day,

Sure,  unfocused  fire

Blurring this entire English garden.

Bumble birds and humming bees,

Warm words tumbling, tumbling on great grass.

Late last night it wouldn’t cease;

The dream is in the English sun.

I took cream in my steaming , strong tea.

Virginia, Leonard Woolf  I could see

With her lot

Iris Murdoch & John I could see

With her lot

Barrie and Carroll

Knelt on all fours

For hours

Playful,  cerebral  somehow.

I’m thinking,  As I burrow my brow

Rough for this pillow

I’ll settle, Right now, Near the shade of that willow

& succumb  to cats on a lawn

& three  secret facts of tea roses.

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.                                (from 2009)

photo mine

EDGY ARTIST SELL

September 8, 2017

 

 

Peter Sellers (9/8/1925-7/24/1980)

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I heard a ways back/that the actor Peter Sellers/stormed off a set/(a clunker cliche’/”stormed” as a verb)/That Sellers acted up, disturbed/by all that was wrong when a man in the crew/

wore green and purple.

Sellers balked at doing the scene and walked off/quite mad./Purple and green./An omen of death,I guess/not for you/

Edgy artist/Peter felt put out enough about it/the stuperstition thing/to blurt it/stand by it/insistassuming others to buy it.

Stuperstitious/I’m edgy/it just doesn’t hurt./Tonight I wear my purple tee shirt/The one I sport under my sportjacket For and at my favorite Art concerts/ My sisters…/

my snug Mr Greenjeans, and Airwalks are on/I ride on a stride so fucking strong/

soundsynch on my full ON! phone/

juju mon/ Rajiohead/ Could carry me dead on.

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(from 2009)

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.

.

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

SHE WAS THE FIRST TO GO

August 18, 2017

 

 

 

It might have been one long neon light

In the laundromat that set her off

When it flickered & popped

At us/ All of us up late

Our eyes were hypnotized some

All bets were off

On what might happen

She was the first to go

To distract us from our books & hand-machines,

Pull us from our puzzles, also  our magazines

Her  saying all that nonsense  fouled by fire

Interrupted  that late night scene

Her  calling  names  out

All intense,  Her pleas

We stared some  & stuck out that someone’d stop her

Her call to fallen reveries

Her  own  effin reveries

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(2012)

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)

I SEE MY PRE-DOOM ROOM

July 24, 2017

 

 

I sweat my bed.

I do all  but dread  there,

One hundred undraped  dreamscapes.

I’d replay and replay

Heaven’s elevator tunes on tape.

Is it true  I did

Fluid-loss & exhaustion,

All that turning and tossing?

I sweat my bed.

First thing is shower head to head,

It takes cold water to weigh

This old man awake to stay down,

Away from high ground.

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I’d  walked  hard

To find my feet,

To find a way unled

In this far town.

Winds of that farthest town

Of hers are zephyrean dread.

SOME ON LOSING YOU

July 22, 2017

 

 

 

“Outside… I’m masquerading,

Inside…My hope is fading..”

-Smokey Robinson, from  ” Tracks Of My Tears”

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I’ve seen  winters and  springs

Since I’ve seen a winning hand

But I’m at a loss to say

About losing.

It’s not farfetched to say

I’ve not too far to fall

But it’s best & for the best

For rain and tears to fall

I’m meant not to miss all this all

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I encounter seeing faces I have seen, Countenances

I believe  I know,   abit a blur

I can see the many apparences

Surely, all the one, to me  all lure.

Always

From somewhere  a ways

So familiar in a dream that

Sentences formed for her

presences   are pointless,

When a smile from an eye

is enough.   Not enough.

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A close look!  Too late.  Those closing elevators.

One shine on a glass, as she passes.

A wave or a nod wayover another streetside.

A bolt  from our sure bond  that burns

From another car just as it turns.

We’re silent together and calm

Fifty arms apart in a crowd

In a loud throng.

I’ll see you for a sliver

In all this  time & space, long

In all this  space & time, a pace or two somehow wrong.