MY OWN PARADE

April 18, 2017

 

Walking, mostly neat in clockwork close meter,

Warmer ghosts  from my former  features;

All the roles, All the resume’,

Falling in line,  Just the crew to rescue me.

Faded as sad old soldiers, parted.

(Vain fantasies say  old glories stay guarded)

Again, always, They had  heaved it all in a heavy chest.

Again, always, they had heaved in their chest

Taking it to heart & head.

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I’ll call it for you  my own VFW

hall. I have my own tall tales to tell,

We’ll share lies, & libations.

I’ll wear my  mightier  pen.

I’ll share  sham wisdom  wide open.

But first, false memories in verse.

& what’s worst,  I’ll con, & confide  open.

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“I’m ready to go anywhere/ I’m ready for to fade/ Into my own parade”

—————-Dylan (the troubadour one), from “Mr. Tambourine Man”

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“Every hero  becomes a bore,  at last.”  -Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

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.                                                                                                                       (5 yrs back)

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

E A S T

December 16, 2015

Maybe there’d be no way/ I could pay the cost/

Of  her  loss.

Far from that regular regret/

I’d be sure to be insular

Damned with that debt

Of  her  loss.

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Waking away from that fast break, not

Scraping out that last brick (at last), not (at least)

Escaping, sky free,  to flee East.

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I bet I’d get her a pagoda.

 

porcelainPagodaBerthaLum36

 

(image: “Porcelain Pagoda”, Bertha Lum, 1936)

I guess I’ll go slow

To better spot

My  placid  place

Destiny’s  tiny  dot

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Must not allow the powers that better be  not

They’re  sure  to  supersede

at Their break-neck speed

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Some other man wants

Another  chance

I’ll take mine in

40  years

(in unmarked 10s & 20s)

SENTIMENTAL BREAKDOWNS

December 19, 2014

tumblr_mjddb5XC541s2xab7o1_500

Have been staving off

Seeing we’re sick of ourselves

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It’s been sentimental journeys  for me.

All these holidays  I regress, I see

Regrets, old loves I love.

Bets say  they won’t  see me.

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Have been staving off (often) (or else)

Seeing we’re sick of ourselves

CLIFF TERRACE

September 2, 2013

Should I get older

I recognize me,  more blind,

Crinking my neck back, there, as

I look up at the cliff terrace

And A windowed hideaway behind,

Not so unapproachably high,

Fixed over our Pacific, finally,

That we thought might couldn’t be.

Hard rain, hell, wept down a wet

that mixes well w/regret, on my shirt

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                                                  2

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One can look past all our four shoulders

From inside the glass wall

On to the backside of our Adirondacks

And maybe just make out

What we’re watching and talking about.

A man closely following his own footsteps

The long stretch of the shore,

But looked up at the both of us,

Hand in hand, and how then the heavens poured.

 

Like Consequences, Early

June 18, 2012

 

As rising tides of daylight’s ocean/

Slice wide  through the blinds & the shrubs behind the blinds,/

The sun,/

Regretfilled notions/

Upset upon me   1  by  1/

Apparitions

“There are women..women

And some hold you tight

While some leave you counting

The stars in the night”

-Bernie Taupin, from “Come Down In Time”. w/Elton

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I raced a gravel road to see her, and see

Hearts did pace the  opening scene

proved to promise  Acts 2 and 3

The porch was the set there

Appropriate for a proper summer affair

I do remember cucumber soup served  cool, too

She also had a flower in her  hair-up

For flair.

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A  sundress  and  a driveway

Fit in a photo  it can seem.

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You might use yr  might   on

yr dramas  and  yr dream,

So  for yr own part,  you’re not at a loss,

To see a sure tragedy, a sea of regret,

& Hold on sure long, for yr love,  I would bet.

Frozen Rhyme

August 23, 2011

Sure I can

Be shy of  decision after decision

I can   stay still

While  all the world

Will whirl as it will

& when it’s all done

I’ll stay stiller yet

But not inside  I bet

Should I get older

I recognize me,  more blind,

Crinking my neck back, there, as

I look up at the cliff terrace

And A windowed hideaway behind,

Not so unapproachably high,

Fixed over our Pacific, finally,

That we thought might couldn’t be.

Hard rain, hell, wept down a wet

that mixes well w/regret, on my shirt

.

                                                  2

.

One can look past all our four shoulders

From inside the glass wall

On the backside of our Adirondacks

And maybe just make out

What we’re watching and talking about.

A man closely following his own footsteps

The long stretch of the shore,

But looked up at the both of us,

Hand in hand, and how then the heavens poured.