FROM A “SHELTER” -Night Ninety-ish

 

I strive to be steady on

And plow pass any plague

We, encased in our shelters

We will learn to pray

 

 

 

Our eyes are open to recognize   passion:

It’s flatbacked against a dark wall

In the basement, burrowing deeper into sad shadow.

I’d bet it’s hiding some, a child’s cruel game.

When people see they’re empty

They write in to newspapers & ask real advice,

Exposing & espousing about

“Spicing up”  their  love lives.

Girls & boys buying new nightclothes,

Sex-scents, and other eaus,

Bought to butter up their battered beaus,

Enhancing  romance drugs

From teevee & junk mail,

And toys that are tools

For fixing what’s failed.

.

There’s always 

something new,

Someone new/ anything new.

Venture steps forward

Away from the old.

Nature’s warmblooded creatures

Home in on  settleings  less cold.

.

 

Here, I say  I have

DELIRIUM TREMENDOUS

I’ve Delirium Tremendous

Side effects may include;

Absently staring into space (not time) / Walking into walls / Delusions (the good kind)/

-A cute optimism / A serious loss of scepticism, doubt, & down/

Control issues / Fact, being better than it seems/

A packed pocketful of dreams / Spells of snow angels/

Pretty picturewindows in a bomb shelter/

There’s a bird on a word /There’s a drunk in a midnight chord/

We all scream.. for vanishing cream/

Alas, Atlas, tonight at least…Don’t operate heavy machinery/

Blue Skies

.

.

straining

For fun I could fund you

Another check to ease things

And then I would send you

Good vibrations/ Just the thing.

.

But accent that  this one time

With springflowers (Is it spring?)

Actually, because you can’t do chocolate

(I just still disbelieve this thing)

Sweet peas still sweet to look at.

.

I’d compose a poem

I’d shout your cherished charms

From far away to your home

I can only strain

To stretch my open arms

C H A N C E S/ A R E

 

I’m immune.

Or, I’d use precautions

For yr considerations, then.

“It’s worth the risks”, went

This washed-up high-wire act,

This misfortune forced his bewilderment,

Abandoned in this barren field, in fact.

 

I’m immune, y’know.

Let me get go through my window.

.

.

A T B A Y

 

I’ve kept dread at bay

We’ve not slept plenty this plague

I’ve made despair lie

Down and roll over

It’s easy to master it

Authentically accept it.

.

.

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photo credit- Altoff (pix)

RIGHTEOUSNESS VERSE

 

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

 

GREEN GLASSHOUSE

 

 

 

 

I  see  I  settled

It would faintly be a  fate

(Freedom, comes a sweet release)

But I had settled

With   wait.

.

Where our hours had  hard like hours

And landfilling them

Sets the sadder shadowed facets of silence

To  stem.

.

Hey, yr own old whore,

Before you defile

Yr dreamily dark greenhouse

Pitching

Both  words and stark sticks & stones,

Get a hard look

On each hard paned reflection

W I N P L A N

 

I’m  here In  winter
My Win plan is here, New England
Ideal for our deal.

 

New lives can occur
We’ll stretch, then reach though spaces
We belong here now

 

Fireplaced air  fails to
Enhance Us with  enough heat
To keep  a distance

C a l m i n g

.

With  one  voice,  an’ all,
I will  be awed, lung-filled moved.
Near,  imagined soul.

These  hypotheses
Move to proofs. I’ll be stormy,
Soon,  halcyon days.

.

 

 

 

for sunni

CREATIVE RIDING (At The Circus)

.

I’m fine with pining for  somewhere else

But I’ve not got a trace of sense

To embrace the opened-present tense

I’ll see my way to Calliopes call

The lines seem too long, too wide, an’ all

DREAMLAND boasts  “the most creative rides”,

So Go!

.

There I take my place.

Stare off into space. 

 

 

“The Muses Urania and Calliope” painter-Simon Vouet

s t r a i n

.

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The creak on my computer chair

Alarm those I talk at on the phone

“What the hell was that?” They go

“Jesus. Just one of your cats?”

The creak cries out

When I never would

So then I keep it up