S c o t l a n d

July 21, 2021

C L I F T S O F B L U E P O I N T

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Cliffs (photographer and record unknown, unknowable)

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Half the hefty longing I left

At large

Is just that, wind-scattered.

So now I stay stark, & bereft, of color.

But half remains, on the cliffs

Deep in my being

Deeper in our dream

R E M E D I A B L E

July 7, 2021

photo-LeoNeoBoy (pixabay)

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I
Could be
Unbinding,
Ease up inches
I would, should just cease
Finding all my itches
Intolerable and not
Remediable, It could be…
Succeeding to untangle I could,
Unbridled, unshackled, I could just go.

I’ll fill sandbags and put them
Strategically place them at all door sill thresholds

photo-Marcus Winkler (unsplash)

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Before the storm starts
Opt-out of all operations
Fuck out of all doctor’s visits.
I’ll fill sandbags and put them
Strategically place them at all door sill thresholds
Tight. Three to a threshold.
To Barricade Good.

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‘Tho Mum’s safe in the next room
There’ll be Screen-gems on the pretty big screen
I got salsa y junk food mucho
And a cache of music on my cell phone
When the lights go out
Then most of us will sleep
While the exquisite whistle of wind through branches
Stokes my imagination steep.

P A D

June 27, 2021

P A D

White/ blank/ legs wide open/ barely empty, near,

photo-Kelly Sikkema (Unsplash)

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Fresh flowers in a front room work,
For him First look inside, coming in/from work.
It sets the tone, It sits him down for/ Real work.
near a bright lamp, black beer,

White/ blank/ legs wide open/ barely empty, near,

Pad.

Where a sharp pen pokes me open

& the joke’s on

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My guts, words un unspoken

Will spill

Unencrypted

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LOOK SEE

https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2021/

the creatures were there at their creek

when they witnessed me by the moon

I was quiet enough on my path

but they looked up, then back down to their drinking

I was so lost they didn’t scatter

so lost the full moon only considered my prayers

I got turned around when the wind picked up

I can’t find my feet or so far

my way back

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. PLEASE READ  https://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/2021/06/sunday-muse-166.html

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V A P O U R

June 26, 2021

Some people react physically to the magic of poetry, to the moments, that is, of authentic revelation, of the communication, the sharing, at its highest level…A good poem is a contribution to reality. The world is never the same once a good poem has been added to it. A good poem helps to change the shape and significance of the universe, helps to extend everyone’s knowledge of himself and the world around him. ― Dylan Thomas (1914 – 1953)

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What’s a word  when,

By Beauty  arises,

As if by duty;  a vapour,

Massive, a new/age/old   ghost image

That mostly moves you.

I mean, Keenly   moves you.

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oh,  Yo Yo’s cello,  Jaco’s bass,

the subtle secret coves Jarrett streams you into

are right  in your face,

a fragile, secret love that Chet

dares to torch on,

torned down  until morn

there right on his horn,

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What’s a word when

A vapour, ghost image…

oh my heart, oh my head

“Pre possess ed”

PLEASE

SEE

http://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/2021/06/sunday-muse-163.html

AN ATTESTATION

June 25, 2021

Before All Hell Breaks Looser

photo-AllyArtist (pixabay)

If I’m honest, & honesty always went yr way
It’s been my nature to take women under my wing
But you have Heaven’s wings
& Yr nature has them open. All the way.
So you save me.

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& When I tell you, accidentally tell you. My way.
Some of what it means to dream all that hope.
I hope to Heaven. All that hope.
& Yr nature makes it easier, all that may.
So you save me.

A W K W A R D

June 16, 2021

photo-geralt (pixabay)

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Starting should be, by definition, awkward

The stumble before the leap

and a one and a two

Dangerously hazily we start towards a definite finish

But ‘definite’ is only ill-formed guesswork as an end

But we must stay on the ‘start’

And in the beginning, was the word

“Starting should be, by definition, awkward”

FIRST VERSES

June 13, 2021

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Sleeping Bear saw/ water rushing over rock/when she slept/
It’s way only time/ she’d wake up to stretch/ 
Out from her body/ as if she were reaching/
Her dreams were like that/ nature documentaries/
No human nature anywhere, of any depth/
Water over rock/ She gave it a thought/ 
As if it were something someone was teaching/
Some one from the heavens/ some one with a pen/
Advancing the narrative/ Enhancing our breath

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She hardly manhandles me at all.
While, a fraction, I’m afraid I am fragile.
All, paper Mache voodoo doll.

They’ll get in the way, the words.
While I set to say  what it’s worth.

.We’ve renounced
& we’ve long passed judgement/
Haven’t we?/ passed, then just inside to see/ through gates of heaven.
We agree; it’s seen as greener grass./
We will re-announce 
Considerate answers, & resolve, at last.

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1)

S U R E

There’s business on the burner.

These semi serious matters

sort of  need sorting out.

A lot of it needs looking at,

and some of it   just ditched out (I’m told)

not the other way around,

like when sure  attic treasure gets pitched down

to the cellar.

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2)

M E R E

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I think! that there’s a theory in

quantum physics

that holds that

the mere act of observation

changes and shapes events

observed.

The science of truth

isn’t my strong suit.

But I can watch from a garage roof;

take semi evaluative notes,

& make up semi reflective reports,

& painfully  fake some

control.