TO SPEAK OF SPARROWS

October 16, 2019

Lyca Caparros- photo

 

TO SPEAK OF SPARROWS

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To speak of sparrows
In shrapnel filled world war one
Fields, winds, scarlet dawn

They will sing to find
Their own kind, if they have lived,
They will call and call,
‘Tween blood and budding daybreak,
A song will find it’s way back

REFUSING THE DAWN

September 28, 2019

IMG_4835

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I can Recognize, but hell, I can’t Realize so well.
I’d drink more coffee but my cardiologist insists I don’t
I’d drink more coffee but my heart man prescribes “not so smart, man”.

I’d think more whiskey would push me to bask at last in a primal light,

but my general practitioner generally frowns about practicing until I get it right.

I’d read more but eyes see less.. I digress,

I’d come 2/pray more/give in/give more/dream-sleep in/weep for once/

walk the lit dark like I used to/ Take in the dark light. I’ve so far refused to.

I can Recognize, but hell,

I don’t Realize so well.

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(FROM AT LEAST A DECADE BACK)

I SHOULD DO…AH CHOO

September 18, 2019

Photo by Victor Talashuk (unsplash)

I SHOULD DO… AH CHOO

 

On every dawn
I’ll strive to stake out time
To pick up a pen

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I’ll squint out the light
Go over my piano
At first, and again

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I’ll pull down the shade
Thus I can practice my art
At first, and again

P A R I S

August 24, 2019

I LONG to stay stabbing, & stay above

The sullen, crestfallen  long run of things.

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ALONG our river, a song, not near, comes outa corridor

Firelight on a black and white picture. Above.

One  man  walks  on  red  leaves

In a black & white picture  of

The long run of things.

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A  LONE  man,  leaves,  and dawn

Draping him.  Not much

Escape for him, in the long run of things.

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.theLouis-Philippe Bridge

Le pont Louis-Philippe vu à travers le pont Marie (version flou), circa 1935

[From the Réunion des Musées Nationaux]

“Those bells’ve been ringing now for years/Someday I’ll give it all away/That’s how you sing Amazing Grace” -LOW, from “Amazing Grace”

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As specified in final arrangements
The kids could only draw near enough
To Temples, & to what resembles Temples,
To take big pictures, big sky country shots,
& pot shots,
For a faraway featuring of folly.
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Go down always face down the hall,
This dawn displays holy sun rays smoke
And on the just rightly out of tune upright bass
My at rest in peace bare-chested Daddy
Just barely jazzin up most all of a
New England Protestant hymnal
Ones his mother, Grace
Sang through softly over & over
Busy at her own handiwork as ever

June 21, 2018

“I see today that everyone on earth
wants the answer to the same question
but none has the language to ask it.”

– Jim Harrison

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I’ll swear I’ll answer

To some other

Gruesome monster

Than me,

& my gal,

Higher powers,

Et  al

In fact I’ll face up

Soon as the sun’s up

ON WAITING FOR CHANGE

January 31, 2018

between  my  matins

& the very next dawn’s

last ditch whispers,

pleas

Elucidating  light  is  just  off.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“There’s nothing good because nothing lasts
And all that comes here, it comes here to pass.
I would voice my pain, but the change wouldn’t last.
All that comes, it comes here to pass.”

                                                         AVETT BROTHERS, from “Down With The Shine”

 

 

 

 

DAWN’S ON ME RHYME

January 21, 2016

I’d say of me   I’m savvy.

I’d say  that plea  “C’est la vie”,

&  Mash the rest  w/gravy

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I could conclude  at dark’s end.

I’d sharpen that plea, for

“..Aussi  une  nuit  noire”,

& Watch the rest  w/ “save me”

 

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.PM2

ANNUAL RENEWAL/ANCIENT PORCH

January 15, 2016

CK2013 004

 

 

Winter winds could

only find us cold

on our old

and ancient porch

perched high here in our new air

searching here through our new words

The latest launch on,

off this roof porch in

an old haunt,

this chilly sleepy village,

Off this nest

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(FROM A WAZE /& TODAZE/ ON HOLIDAZE/ G’ON GETAWAZE)

SUCH SHAPES

November 18, 2015

 

 

“I cannot too much muse
Such shapes, such gesture and such sound, expressing,
Although they want the use of tongue, a kind
Of excellent dumb discourse.”
from “The Tempest”, Shakespeare
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of all the lies/ in the air,

that this liar/ is truly unaware

(can “truly”, lord, be the capable word?)

of all the lies/ casual and caressing there

the golden ones have come from…

(I’ve told em./ All alchemy.)

emboldened lies, all born, I imagine…
elicited

of a silence

gifted

of a silence

too true.

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/for more

https://namelessneedblog.wordpress.com/2013/12/07/poetry-to-poets-about-poetry-david-whyte/