how Art thou? Do you drink from the deep sink of inspired creations at an art museum, gallery, or maybe a street art fair on a street near you?sometimes?
Do you have something on one of your walls that only you could only fall for?
And, can’t help but stare?
It’s an important thing,dontcha think?
It has been from an early age for me.
I’m told that soon after I found my father who had killed himself (the Hemingway), while all the distraught adults who knew and loved him were off balance with emotional and practical adjustments (like selling the house and moving on)
One forgotten first son had got into several paint cans and expressed quite a colorful statement on the backside of the new house for sale.
I
I was perched  high for me
in a pinepitchtree
and waited out what I did
as I watched our house’s back side
where I painted from all the paint cans
stacked out back. Though very new plans
made us move away from that life.
Daddy had died and left that life.
Somebody and something could only cover
my work.

II

a french girl with hair from the girl in Breathless
was our art teacher that visited
Miss Blue’s 3rd grade class,
and liked my painting so much
she asked if she could take it
for a contest, or a book she was working on.
The blurry greens and blacks,
browns and blues,  was a ship deep in a storm.
I never saw it again but
somebody and something could only recover
my work.

 

 

still, tie me to the mast.

and

I must get the next good grasp
still, the next limb up
to see some.

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YES, THE SEQUENCES GO

August 4, 2016

 

 

 

Yes, the sequences go, this set’s pro-

gressing.  We stand in our streams,

Study up our storm weather,

We’re all under the weather.

Yes, the compass is off-putting.

Yet we’ll Guess & fully dare  come push there the river?

We’ll willfully  dare   footing?

Or go on down   downflow?

Or go on

.

We fill a doorway.

Each, one foot far enough back in

Each room.  Dull lit.

We’re full astride it;

The dark side of the street.

.

.

I resist to find it strange when

This strongest wind’s

Air  is a blend of us riding just beside birdsong,

Our voices have started & stood (all along)

As our heart’s blood.

.

.

.

.

.                       (from 2012.  all along)

OF FINAL NIGHTS

November 20, 2015

 

 

The taste of the spray,

Back splayed against the lighthouse wall,

Is saltier/ The roar of  final nights

Saddled on sea wall gusts

Is Fiercer/ When strength one requires

To withstand and understand  such threats

Is steadier/ The beacon’s cliff path

Is grounds for  light/

.

.

.

.

.

(from 2011)

 

RECENT NOTES ON THE REVIVAL

October 29, 2015

Aw heck, I may let the bottles stack up

Yet, I got the mettle to

Keep the cat box, the dishes, the dirty deathwishes

All Clean.

.

.

For most of this month

Far lost family/ Lost loves

Are all in town/ All at once

I didn’t hear mention

Of a  come ’round  convention

To note  I’ve come’round myself some

To a sort of shortening survival balm.

But I  might note that loves  right here  some  awhile

Just need my focus.  & calm.

Must want my chanting on their smile,

It’s hard chanting for a heart to sing

Against that roar of a scattering  maelstrom

A heart’s distraction thing

GRAVITY

August 14, 2015

I know  a show of hands

Could go help solidify

Some Freedom Solidarity

In  a  lobster  tank.

.

Odds are  dismal to abysmal.

IF I can be more frank,

When the  independent  finch, for instance,

Finds her very own  airy currents home,

It’s a cinch  she just might not light

(Broken on a branch)

.

It’s a chance

She’s gone before on the ground.

.

SEASIDE OUTLOOK BENCH

April 25, 2015

bonita 14 011

Down near  out of waiting, or out of lord’s luck

Down on their seaside outlook bench

Grown  men  searching

Aim down for sombre storming

Strict on the straight sea

“Comfort me”/ “Come for me”

& Sure more  in ecclesiastical clenches

& More  in a chimerical clutch

Love’s  fanciful  watch

We fill a doorway.

Each, one foot far enough back in

Each room.  Dull lit.

We’re full astride it;

The dark side of the street.

.

.

I resist to find it strange when

This strongest wind’s

Air  is a blend of us riding just beside birdsong,

Our voices have started & stood (all along)

As our heart’s blood.

.

.

.

.                                       (from 13 months ago)

H A L C Y O N D E R

October 31, 2014

This  season

The storms  staid off

Or didn’t  set in

I needn’t pack  sand bags

Nature spared me  the necessity

To save myself from flood

Anyway

I’ve seen one version, one worn

Forest green persian rug torn up.

As I fear, my interior walls

Took on a new look,

New paint.  And it ain’t my call.

She knows I’m in no position to oppose

Transition.

.

I’ve a true aversion to all alteration.

Be remediable, & she won’t let all matters be.

.

.

still   is our still.

Still, I’ll step…

Steady. (we’re steady on

When I step in

Our place

Our embrace

We’re too ready and

Willful, & we wish for

.

to  stay  still.

.

Let us stay in this stasis

This  ecstatic  stasis