If I’d insist on playing the pacifist

(I’m maybe miscast)

I’d resist being all-too-willing

to killing time.

If I would want to resist the persistent praying

For my mercy, for all our mercy,

Inarticulate verses of mercy,

Maybe I’d want to take steps,

I’d want to take things into my own hands,

Maybe I’d want to take on the task

Of yanking my mask off,

Of thinking of thanking

myself more.

Tho’  I’d  heed  less

Jesus

IT’S DELICATE BUSINESS

February 23, 2017

 

 

It’s a damned near full moon

It’s clear,  a bracing

evening.  I’ll exhale out

to trace the treeline  off

to a nothing northern florida town.

She sat at a flea market

where tons of townies in camouflage jackets

pressed past her at her table and chair.

Her pronounced pretty eyes

were the ideal quirk for gypsy fortune tell work.

Green, like beach glass.

How might they see me?

How can she be expected to espouse

All Ahead  for me   there?

At that table & chair there, exposed

to that flea market crowd?

Men, off to gun tables.

Women, drawn up the way

where puppies are given away

(hunting dogs no doubt)

How Soul-intimate can my gypsy and I get?

Can she pull out

All that’s in

In all of this dumbed down din?

It’s delicate business…

There’s this inarticulate air here

Against which…without a hitch..

.I want to wonder over every word..

I want to wonder for every prophetic word.

How can we do this with clothes on?  Absurd.

.

I can see, by the chance

of this damned near full moon,

I’ll watch the line of my breath dance

just off the distant treeline,

Off to tomorrow’s full sun soon.

.

.

.

.

(at least a half dozen years back)

DOUBLE O

February 13, 2017

 

 

Here’s   far from hardly   a chink in his ardor

His duplicitness

Is  super  obvious

To himself  most of all

A double agent  deepbreathing quiet

So dominoes don’t fall.

.

Here’s   far from hardly   a mark on his honor

His cowardice

He can cover  less & less

From  himself  least of all

Bravery he saves  to muster love enough

To face away  nothing ,  to  praise   all..

 

 

 

 

 

(6 yrs back)

RIGHT OFF THE SHADOW

January 4, 2017

Unless  these  kisses

Fortuitous   but for the most part,

Stay imaginary, yet not useless,

Stay  &  not  start.

.

I  will  wear  Hope’s

Clandestine  cloaks

& will not fear  openly  for the most part,

Right in defining light/ Right off the shadow

Where  cooly  I  coddle  our  heart.

 

R E D H O U S E

October 11, 2016

I  can  do  candor

My favorite secret

Reads & takes stock

On a Miami-lime rocker

Far, on a Vermont autumnal

Calendar’s glossy next month’s

Promissy  call.

 

1010161718

 

 

 

 

“There’s a red house over yonder/ That’s where my baby stays..” -Jimi Hendrix

SOLID THINGS DO

September 19, 2015

There’s this secret I’ve kept so discreet

From lovers, & brothers, & mothers.

I’ve mis managed to become  so mum

It was only clearer to me

After  self therapy

The  other day,  or another.

.

From  this  encompassing  dream,

I   finally  wanted

All the  solid things  I was sold  to get,

When it’s important  to want one.

.

I   Get

Silk  batik ties, Italian silk shirts,

Dead men’s tweed  jackets,

Dry cleaned,  & all in the closet.

.

I  Wait For And Get

Too new Peter & P.J., Gabriel and Harvey,

Unheard of, they’re still in their jacket.

Too new Laurie Anderson, Richard Thompson,

Unheard of, they’re still in their jacket.

.

I  Waited  For  &  Get a

Big  Bio book   of Elliott Smith,

and the case is still closed

.

I   Get

New  Yorker’s

Drawings  &  Captions

All of them  (All these years)

Data   on   disc

unplayed  &  unsmiled  to. (sadly)

I   Got

New  Yorker’s

Drawings  & Captions

The Board Game…

.

..

Why  I  With-hold

All  that  pleasure,

I haven’t a clue.

It’s half-like  half-holding  love

At arm’s length,

& watching it  do

.

“LIGHT INEFFABLE”

April 22, 2015

They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night. In their gray visions they obtain glimpses of eternity, and thrill, in awakening, to find that they have been upon the verge of the great secret. In snatches, they learn something of the wisdom which is of good, and more of the mere knowledge which is of evil. They penetrate, however, rudderless or compassless into the vast ocean of the “light ineffable,”

from Poe’s “Eleonora”

.

.

LIKE  LIGHTENING

.

pray, tell

There’s but one pretty way to spell out

my long sentence.

If random luck holds out   perhaps

The power, like lightening  stabs

down my stance,

I’ll light up  Dark dancing static

X Rayed,  & loony like on a cartoon.

Man, I’ll be lit up like a mantle

in a lantern soon.

Windfall clarity

should  scare me then.

If I should flinch when I  have,  by chance

One unscrambled avalanche,

Doled out sure/steady

As an hour old Soulful  pillow  rain

It  means

I’ll miss  all this  when

The  words  come,

Spilling these spaces.&

.

I’m  pervious

I ain’t nervous of naked undersurfaces

B R E A K

May 20, 2014

 

 

 

 

Stoicism is a prison/

Though I break out/

Though I break down/

Through the  pull of a merciful act/

I can be old and too weak to hold back/

I can imagine a troubled

panicked angel tangled double;

One cat caught in a grate/

A girl unfair in a wheelchair/

Nears and dares her balance, her endurance, her tolerance/

She Strains all of her weight/

She shows the pain that she’s used to  on her face/

Then relief,

and they’re both free

She and the cat both refuse to

Cry more,

Like those that might see

,

,

,

,

                                                        (from 2008ish)

 

 

 

SUSPECT MAN

May 20, 2014

   

      

   

On to one I try to love, & back;

One ought to honor one of us.

 

I will brave..then save  embraces

before I leave, For I believe

that storing away more rare mercy,

like staples stock a pantry,

sustains this suspect man, surely.

Make that..his take on  “surely”

,

,

,

,

,                                                         (from 5 years ago, & still)

A FOND, OLD, FARAWAY ROOM

October 24, 2012

“Anyone who falls in love is searching for the missing pieces of themselves.  So anyone who’s in love gets sad when they think of their lovers.  It’s like stepping back inside a room you have fond memories of. One you haven’t seen in a long time…”

“.. A fond, old, faraway room?”

“Exactly.”

-from “Kafka On The Shore”, Hanuki Murakami

.

.

.

We mind that there mustn’t be dust

On those closed blinds.

Behind  those  blinds,

We  find  us.

We find ourselves  salving

Our sore selves,

Saving  us  so

Fleetingly.   Completely.

And after each chapter,

Which did us delirious,

It can be  meant as some payment,

It can serve to defray..

It can’t save us, when in a night and a day,

without fail, We derail.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I choose the rooms that I live in with care,
the windows are small and the walls almost bare,
there’s only one bed and there’s only one prayer;
I listen all night for your step on the stair”

Leonard Cohen, from “Tonight Will be Fine”

.

.

.