STILL FOR NOW

June 20, 2017

I imagine one magpie, done with one sky,

Still for now   might start right off balancing  on a line or a limb.

Not addled  by unfair air current.  Past  its  bends.

More fast..characteristically,

Intrinsically, instinctually…

Beating,  feet & hands down,

The land’s own  teetering friends.

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“I’m a bird, not an ornithologist”  Barnett Newman, painter

 

 

WINTER AWARENESS SEMINAR

January 13, 2017

1       ONE WINTER ADDITION

teachers to small children

the world over

pastors to parish

they all will tell the pretty truth

(aside the pretty lies, “pretty lies”)

that crystalline snowflakes

are unique. unique.

and maybe later in both

secular schoolrooms

and sunday school classes

(and in all their varieties the world over)

small children might make snowflakes for themselves

they’ll fold lacy paper exactly in half

with a good crease

and taking their round-ended scissors

they’ll cut their very own unique cuts

so that when everyone unfolds their lacy paper

and lifts it above their heads

everyone can laugh at their uniquenesses

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but one thing that ministers & mentors

rabbis & nuns will fail to add

is that those one-of-a-kind snowflakes

are all

alone

in their descent

on icy black currents

all their night fall

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2        STILL, NOT STILL

It’s the coldest morning this year

And the Farmer’s Almanac says this year

There’s gonna be a winter of ’em

Me, I won’t mind

I like how loud the still is

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forty years ago a brother from Chicago

called the cold wind

“the hawk”

I wonder if it’s still true

I wonder if “that muthafuckin Hawk”

is still cursed & bundled against

in the only city cited for its big blow.

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3

When island settings lose their place

in imaginings,

When our mornings sun  there

warms our skin, bare,

There’s these shade floral sanctuaries,

And, I’m betting,  perfect for setting your eyes on…

God’s perfect line,  one horizon.

When all  won’t free you,

Won’t call you from all this freezing

Point of view,

This illusionary season,

What ttthen?

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(from a decade ago)

S A D D I S H

August 8, 2016

 

“It’s a desperately vexatious thing, that after all one’s reflections and quiet determinations, we should be ruled by moods that one can’t calculate on beforehand.” ―

                                                           George Eliot, Adam Bede  

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She’s  pulling  up  stakes.

For fulfilling dreams wait for her there.

Somewhere else.  Somewhere farther

From this dry dream here.

I love her so I can let it go.

From two hundred to twelve hundred

Miles to walk, away.

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1

It  stands  to  reason  that

I understand  It’s a good plan  to move,

It gets me in the throat.

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2

I  could  call  it  logical.

get it./ We’ve yet to use unwise  love.

“I’ve got a good hooded coat.”

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3

I  guess  it  makes  some  sense.

It gets me to make  no move.

It got me in my throat.

.

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It’s all  a saddish  & maddening wishing well.

I’m still a man

Who can sit so still

 

 

 

She won’t remember when

Without a word we wandered

Dark  collegetown  neighborhoods.

Where were the dogs & cops?  I wondered.

We were thrilled for the night  still.

Still,  there were all the satellites.

And very still, there was that light

In a candlelit  picture  window.

It  gave  a silhouette, a shadow   readying  a bed.

Buffing up a sheet,  she showed us,

Me and my sister Janny,

Her  heartstopping   Beauty;

A silent ballet shadow show  that

We acknowledged

Her  walkstopping   ethereal naked lines,

Then  continued on, still wordless

Then  getting stiller yet.

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(happy birthday, janice)

Still, not still

December 8, 2010

It’s the coldest morning this year

And the Farmer’s Almanac says  this year

There’s gonna be a winter of  ’em

Me,  I won’t mind

I like how loud the  still  is

.

forty years ago a brother from Chicago

called the cold wind

“the hawk”

I wonder if it’s still true

I wonder if  “that muthafuckin Hawk”

is still cursed & bundled against

in the only city cited for its big blow.