SOME ABSORBING ERRAND

September 24, 2015

True happiness we are told, consists  getting out of oneself, but the point is not only to get out- you must stay out; and to stay out you must have some absorbing errand.”

-Henry James, from “Roderick Hudson”

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Too wretched still/ 2 week without coastal sunsets

To wreath Night’s long door/  I long for

The right time alone  & wait &

As I wait/ I’ll eliminate/ obvious suspects

Crowding my space I’ve longed for/

To my credit the thing about editing out

All the non essential/ It’s Everywhere/

A lot easy to pivot w/pen  then slice there/

I can stick to plans/

Mic down the music some  & blinds slats/

I’ll recede that

Loveleaking hand off a needy cat and/

Speaking of love, lean forward & force

A poem to her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE SUNRISE SCENE FOR FAR ABOVE THE CUTTING ROOM FLOOR
near the end
purple clouds stir & near
mis-en-scene set, I’ll be blocking the shot
readying my stand-ins
cueing my soundtrack
I’ll need special effects to capture the light
to be faithful to the script
years ride past alongside our precious bond/
then one moment  one light courses through  brighter than  other rays onto…
she had signed off  (often)   onto a missive
with
(I leaned forward & forced  this life
To really read)
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“Love”.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“The woman I’m thinking of, she loved me all up
But I’m so down today
She’s so fine, she’s in my mind.
I hear her callin’.

See the lonely boy, out on the weekend
Trying to make it pay.
Can’t relate to joy, he tries to speak and
Can’t begin to say.”

— from Neil Young’s ‘Out On The Weekend’

Flickering OPen

December 26, 2012

“No sudden moves”,

The armed guides

Confided it all

At cathedrals.

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for the most part  you start

to get in new rhythms.

your urges  change to choice

to not relenting to Rejoice!

& dance incantations.

You can do

…….candles

We can go

…….free us

calm  focus  candles

(call for us  candles)

We can clandestinely

……see us

PHENOMENON AT DARLA’S

December 10, 2012

At dawn a child is drawn to Grandma

as she clinks her spoon in tea,

’round & ’round she scrapes the cup,

the sound escapes while his wonder is sleepy.

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Like  This,

Us diners at Darla’s,

We’ll steal squints at the beaming man & woman,

At home at a table/ He has her laughing/

Her eyes shine/ Their hands are touching/ &  nothing

Distracts them/ They don’t know/

As though no one were watching here

(Not their intent  but a blatant

blizzard of bliss is jazzin up this joint)

Their heartbeats alter all the clocks in here.

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At Darla’s  Their carefree, not careless,

Energies

established here at a table

follow them  right out/

& might enable them

to make it taper off.

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In Darla’s lot,  Last Love;

they,  must pull away, pull out, &  drove

miles on away from one  phenomenon.

 

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.                                                                                                 (love you sunni)

MY OWN PARADE

November 13, 2012

Walking, mostly in clockwork close meter,

Warmer ghosts  from my former  features;

All the roles, All the resume’,

Falling in line,  just the crew to rescue me.

Faded as sad old soldiers,

Vain fantasies say old glories.

Again, always, They had  heaved it all in a chest.

Again, always, they had heaved in their chest

& took it to heart.

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I’ll call it for you  my own VFW

hall. I have my own tall tales to tell,

We’ll share lies, & libations.

I’ll wear my  mightier  pen.

I’ll share  sham wisdom  wide open.

But first, false memories in verse.

& what’s worst,  I’ll con, & confide  open.

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“I’m ready to go anywhere/ I’m ready for to fade/ Into my own parade”

—————-Dylan (the troubadour one), from “Mr. Tambourine Man”

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“Every hero  becomes a bore,  at last.”  -Ralph Waldo Emerson

I’d trade a ballad

For all yr bad dreams

I’d swap three poems

To seeing you home

I feel we’re too far

To affect us too soon

This distance ain’t

Ideal  alone

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I saw old laws see

We’re alone  then must be/

These old laws ever

Freeze up our free/

I’ve learned some old laws lean some

When courted &  attended to/

As to facing off  With  mask off

Placid sail skies blacken too blue

Big Moony Skies

October 1, 2012

I’ll give a knowing nod

To the brother inside the  IPod

“I rub my wounds with alcohol”

I love the sound of fuck all

I feel everything but small

Enraptured under big moony skies

Where prayers stand a chance,

Where joy awakens eyes,

Guts are calm, but  hearts  beat  restless

&  Dance as there’s  a man and moon romance.

Adaption

June 25, 2012

Ink can slip onto  and stain a page

I think it can permeate a world around

it that can see it then re-see it  new

and adapt it to the stage.

The symbals clash, the lights rush up. Both  astound

A staring crowd.  So start up yr. casual

stroll from the wings,  not forgetting yr. casual

role.

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(2009)

I  had  offered,

I had  fondness for the face

I had found on her hallway mirror. then with aplomb, y’know,

Why “You’ve really done up the place”

Didn’t even faze her.

I don’t know.

&  I don’t know what would  wow  her.

I’m a clown balancing wildly  on a wire,

And a  blind child

Won’t look up.

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Once home, I would only  steady my hand.

Steadfastly, I’d straighten up

For my last, and barely  stand.

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(As I heard him sing this some, I’m hoping that Jarvis Cocker reads & steals this verse as his own)

OR

“I am a drinker with writing problems.”
— Brendan Behan

JOT

April 20, 2012

I’m subject

to lurid displays of

words and ways

I won’t want hardly to wait

to get home, get alone to

exaggerate.

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I’m suspect

of candid yet covert

words and ways

I admit them emissions

remain rare and remote

inscribed in scrawl

That’s all he wrote.

Three Verses Again

April 5, 2012

“The room was humming harder/ As the ceiling flew away”- Keith Reid,Procol Harem, from “A Whiter Shade Of Pale”

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.                    I

For now, awhile, I won’t let you pull me from the wreckage/

But, how you hold my hand, for both of us

Until the jaws of life  arrives/

Tho’ I’m not at a lost of words, I’m lost

In thought / “I’m lost”, I thought,

“And hiding from the hidden costs.”

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         II.  Birdsong

I’ll dare to speak of sparrows

in shrapnel-filled WW I  battlefield winds,

in sharp scarlet dawns/

They’ll sing to find their kind

if they’ve  lived,

A song will find its way back,

between the  blood & budding daybreak.

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   III.    J U S T

it could be/ a branch of a tree

perched at a high hill

would have a new bud  just

breaking through/ it would be just for you

and in time  a blossom.  You’d just

lift yr arm up/ and pull it down/ just in time

to drink it through

with yr deepest stealing breath.///

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profuse love always for Musey’s blue cheer moon

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.                                   (from 2009)