I got word from my brother,

A suggestion from one lover;

It’s still  finely time to fill in those spaces,

I will take on cyber lawyers, to fill out a cyber will.

 

My cards splayed out on tables,

A gasp goes down  ’round the drawn crowd,

As they turn to peak at my color

Already leaking from my face.

It may be that they maybe wait.

.

.

Something. I turn up  to yearn her coming  colour,

Sumptuously  flushing her chest and her cheek.

I can very hardly wait.

She’ll  start  to  try  to  speak…

And I’ll find and see

All in all, the riches mined & left shining

After finalities,

Are just filthy lucre

Aside memories

 

Advertisements

Besides  all this topsoil outside

I’ll look at  the usual  illusionary.

Overhead,  I overheard  (to choose)

The visionary over the confusionary.

OK  If it’s on..I can play &

Make a big deal over small talk.

I’m confused enough to know  (for sure)

I’m observant of even lousy POVs

While I wait.

 

A P P E A R

March 3, 2014

“THERE ARE SUCH A LOT OF THINGS THAT HAVE NO PLACE IN SUMMER AND AUTUMN AND SPRING. EVERYTHING THAT’S A LITTLE SHY AND A LITTLE RUM. SOME KINDS OF NIGHT ANIMALS AND PEOPLE THAT DON’T FIT IN WITH OTHERS AND THAT NOBODY REALLY BELIEVES IN. THEY KEEP OUT OF THE WAY ALL THE YEAR. AND THEN WHEN EVERYTHING’S QUIET AND WHITE AND THE NIGHTS ARE LONG AND MOST PEOPLE ARE ASLEEP
— THEN THEY APPEAR.”

– TOVE JANSSON, MOOMINLAND MIDWINTER

.

.

.

the night fills book shelves

of newselves

and ghosts ancient that go silent

after you dare to glare it down.

the night fills full boxes

of hoaxes

all honest, bold-faced hazy facades

and full frontal epiphanies

.

.

.9acfb14d8b02cb0856dedaa081028c1aWhite Night Edvard Munch – 1901

 

I contend,

Honesty,

When  honestly watched,

Starts  in  intention.

When looked at, no nonsense,

Before it cums sneezing  out,

When all one world,  as it appears,

Is  appraised,

It’s  appeased

By  half hard facts

&  a ton of impressions

To   meagerly manipulate

A clay  reclaimed

Setting The Table

October 10, 2012

“It is difficult to get the news from poems, yet people die miserably every day for lack of what is found there”        –William Carlos Williams, poet

.

.

.

Aw heck,  on a lark,

I likely heard a   “Hark,

Hear all this  beck and call”.

There, I see it had hailed from  icy altitudes.

So, when I wised up some, and tried to listen,

At this end, I waited, and while I waited, I understood.

It wasn’t  the explanation,

It was the going  on & on  deal,

Passing time,

It was  setting the table,  not the meal.

 

1 HYMN

September 28, 2012

 

.

.

.I hate that

It came out  not right

Translating  with all my might

I misspoke.. you mistook…

I’d cracked a crooked smile, not smirk

I’d factored in the farcical

Nature  of  nature.

.

.

.

.

It’s that  it’s sad that

Few hymns  from pews  will praise

Coincidented   chaos.

Sad, we’re not force-fed all the fanciful

Nature  of  nature.

 

Like Neutral Luck

September 15, 2012

Some souls surely cry

“..If it wasn’t for the bad luck..”

Break for a deepbreathe breathy sigh,

“..I’d have no luck at all.”

Look,  My luck is neutral.

It lies like algae

On secluded moon moody ponds.

It doesn’t flow, or creep.  I fell

FadeToBlack asleep on a chair;

My book & pen, and nearly me,  there

On to the floor.

Alone, on knee,  bent,

I’d known I  loved rehoarding

My words, and alphabets–

They’d shifted some,  and had come

To a new sense.

 

Would it likely be by odd luck?

Or meant as, also likely,

Immense?

 

R E N E W A L

August 27, 2012

It’s the quicksand edge of a rain squall

It’s a sick man on the ledge of it all

It’s the shore shifting in a violent fright

In a midnight storm

In a maybe might/

A long winter before the glint and glimmer

of words  onto daybreak’s birdsong,

When enough  renewal’s  been suffered to,

Enough  burning  and churning and yearning

has been  laboured  through

 

.

.

.

.

.                                                                   (2009)

,                   (i)

No stranger is entering the room.

(I’ve thought of it a thousand times)

A final scene , in frozen zoom.

Effluvium;

A muskscent  from a love above, yet menstrual metallic.

A  joke on angelic.

She drapes my drawn face. damp.

I shapen  long words for my last breaths and

She thrusts  every page I’d saved.

(stark boy to dark man/ all my sacred words)

She threw every page down (after waving them around).

And in sacred words of her own,

“Read  ’em  and  weep”

Then blessed  her lips

Onto  mine.

.

(ii)

a friend of a friend, on the phone,

she shared a sharp poignant piece of her.

Sharp & important to her. It pierced me to hear.

Death bed of her dear friend,

Whispering   from the Mystic,

He gathered his loves up…

,

and asked if his paintings were boxed up.

.

.

.

.

.

(2008)

gold & ivory

August 3, 2012

 

 

 

s t I N K

———–

.

of all the lies

in the air

that this liar

is truly unaware of

(is  ’truly’  the right word?)

of all the lies

casual and caressing therein

the air current  sweetened in

night-blooming  jasmine

(  ’current’/now  is the correct word?)

the golden ones have come from…

(I’ve told em.   All alchemy)

emboldened lies, all born, I imagine,

from an open pen draining onto pages,

.

from nothing.

.

————————–

.

.

I’VE   IVORY

—————-

.

Shiny gold pen when an old

Shade-off light bulb

(it can be a candle)

Best Klieg-lights this crèche ,

Best showcases this birthplace.

.

On my knees

To lure verities,  (surely,  scour our trees)

To cure maladies,

Wrest fallacies from unsound foundations,

Whisper one less lonely

Wise,  recognizable incantation.

Take this shiny gold pen…!

.

It’s nearby,  go forth,  go further.

I clear my path,

&  Go over…

&  I’ve  Ivory!

Simba’ s  mammoth  cemetary!

(they must go deep)

Precious sunned bones poised on as symbols

Archetexture   actually

I take a sacred see of symmetry