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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OUTFITTINGS

June 8, 2017

Some beers and some whiskeys for chores, and morning correspondence.

Soon, off for driver’s licence and all the taxes they’ve attached to it.

I want my immigrant outfittings,

Rosewater holds my hair.

Legal photos are important these days.

Though no great grandchild will glimpse at me and try to recall all

I’ve maybe wondered.

 

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”)

If I should shift off my myth-making,  not forsaking my pathos,

I could concede defeat on  conceits  I’ve concealed,

 

Turn tail on my inner errant paths,

&  Find my feet,   for far, afield.

ARISING SOME RHYME

June 28, 2016

I’ve had a bad rhyme

A  sour note

I was not remotely awake

When I had the prime of my years.

The  ones  now  are  worn.

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I’ve made a dull matinee idol

A dreary ticket draw

I’ve been not nearly awake

I’d shied away my fears

The near ones now are warm

STARES

May 29, 2016

 

STARES

 

Where is the wound that shines?

Over 50 years on,

Over this, his day,  on?

My back way against all this memorial day here,

I’ll intentionally send me to a ill-shielded shy there,

Back at again to that  day where

I’m Far too young  to fathom,

Or even  notice   Yr. Crevasse,

Yr  Grande Malaise,

Yr. countdown…Yr. Pass.

It makes me madly think now

It takes  the saddest thing    to tell now..

Stuck in a stack of old NewYorkers

There’s this old drawing

A mere boy  drawn in black & white

Stands on a step of his own basement, stares,

He did look down on his own  livid  apocalypse,

His lips, and the caption say

“It’s  A.O.K.”

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Here is the wound that shines

Tonight, a glint off yr. cracked onyx ring.

I lift it  in my open fist to my lips.

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For always, again, rest in peace, daddy 3/21/1929-5/29/1959

ONE WARNING

May 22, 2016

 

 

It’s not only at night

One ought to be quiet

So as not to .startle

A sleepwalking man

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So  you stay still

Mostly  I still do

I wouldn’t awaken

A sleepwalking man

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He’s steering past scenery

He’s deaf to the dreadful din

It’s as if imbedded in him

An old ghost holes up

And mostly he still goes

All lost.

He’s explosive

World wrecking

But mostly he’s expecting

All lost.

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.                                           (from 2010)

Lost light  looks in

Falls in  off my ownly window

& Stays on my wall-stocked stairwell

& Steers over  my bar  for mirror play

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Yes I’d probably yield to my propensity,

As today embarks,

To do a darkumentary

Chronicling my chromatic day

 

20160407_114141 (1)

ESPIAL

April 10, 2016

“I swing the brush and was conducting the Chaos”

Got on my knees, needed & got  grout out

I showered shame off my inner shins

Got out some to name nine or so sins I never believed in

I showed  god everything  I never believed

Fleshing out these precious hours especialiously  their spectres

“But how many are fleeing anything to that?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

” ich schwinge den Pinsel und dirigiere das Chaos..”  from

https://herschelmann.wordpress.com/2016/04/08/fruehjahrsputz/

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“Mais combien fuient rien qu’à cette idée ?”  from

Peur, souffrance intérieure

 

 

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20160407_113540(image:”Expectorate”  http://namelessneed.deviantart.com/art/expectorate-601720396 )

BEWILDER MENT

March 24, 2016

I’m  immune.

Or, I’d use precautions

For yr considerations, then.

“It’s worth the risks”, went

This washed-up  high-wire act,

Misfortune  forced  his bewilderment,

Abandoned in his barren field, in fact.

I’m immune, y’know.

Let me get go through my window.

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