FIRECOLOR

December 17, 2019

landscape-1819553_1280

Too late darknesses,
To too early empty dawns,
On to one firecolor
Promise of one more sunrise.
Go on, roll down the window.

CRUMBLED SOME

December 7, 2019

It’s more than a coincidence
That “pillow” rhymes/w “shadow”.
If I had to,
& the sense to know how,
I’d set the darkest dreams aside.
If I lied some, & thought those things
As tied up,
I’d fake it some, I’d hope some
For a wide enough merciful break,
& loosening rope,
& in this broken cup
I hold my spirits up.

“Very little grows on jagged rock/Be grounded/Be crumbled/So wildflowers will come up” -Rumi

cupstone

BETTER BET

October 12, 2019

Maybe I can meet you

After my shift, hell after all my shifts

I’ll come to you from the usual dark

The black from the outside

Will brighten some on your skin

We’ll be less dissatisfied

.

.

If  when  we  go  off

With all of our ghosts, when we lift

We’ll come to ditch the usual dark

That black from outside

With more tempered dreams to venture

To be less dissatisfied

from “The Seventh Victim”

in honor of the (bad)Dreamland of Val Lewton

who blocked out such fear-laden imagery in his Noir

(OH  Chiaroscuro!) & also succeeded. I think, in blocking out that golden hour that film makers look for,near dusk,

when the light is just right to clearly convince us all, on film

“There’s Beauty, There’s Good, There’s Hope.”

.

.

.                                            HER  SHADOWS

When the time is right

The camera Artist  blocks out,

Frames, focuses, re crops,

To go  on his very own shadow chocked shot

Oh, he shapes the shadows for

Her, a  ruined running fear-filled fatale

who can only be, somehow logically, lured  into her shadows

(within an illogical hidden zoo)

Where at least one beast pursues her

fast footsteps,furiously echo just farther back in the dark

synchopated chasesteps/ high heels on one end of wet streets, & pursuit

.

She must be drawn to

She must be lured to

She must fold into

Saving Grace shadows

HALF-HALE & HARDY, yet

April 17, 2019

“The thick leaves in my murmur/ Are rustling like a dream/ And all their myriad voices/ Instinct with spirit seem”        Emily Bronte, from “The Night Wind”

 

 

 

 

 

I’m half-Hale & a Hardy old man.

Yet I have one world  of failings,

Yet  universal   ‘elan.     

.

The endgame  is a sight closer

I can only see it  now

Like the woods across the street, Close,

Like one worn path for the woods.

Noir Morning

April 13, 2019

Change & keys upon a bureau corner

Can’t be far from boots and his trousers

Low volume all night tv tells murder stories

Some are unsolved like this week I’ve been havin’

I could get my car back if the garage is open

My fuckin’ phone got lost in a downtown without pity

I’ll maybe get another once I am way  down the road

Some contacts, all the music won’t be easily replaced

I can chalk it up to “Oh Well”.  Sunday’s almost come

A GOOD WORD PLEASE

February 7, 2019

All oncoming traffic headlit my shadows, just behind this parapet

No, that’s not the word, really

Not that word, a good word though

Like “peripatetic”   for me

You,  “peridot”.

.

Oncoming traffic’s shadows brush me rough

I’m tucked in a kinda cove  in some lemon grove

I’m sitting it out  for a breakout

Once the sun’s out

I’ll turn & make out for greener pastures

I’ll make up for  what they seen as grave errors.

 

BIT OF A RECLUSE

January 23, 2019

It could be I got bit
Three times by a recluse spider.
Here in the sub-tropics
Where recluse spiders are a risk
But I’m a bit of a recluse, too.
I like the dark,
My own time, & whiskey.
Oh, the friends and kin they call me;
They go “Cool Guy!”,
Man, they might  “Night Falls”  me.
When  there’s  three red moons on my arm,

They all do enthrall me,
Almost with their own flow chart.
It’s dangerous art,
Three red, full moons on my arm.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My uneasy manner may wear
Against a midnight and on
Persistent are
Green bottle shards

again & again
Against a reef

a Lighthouse
over sees

yet overlooks

G A U G E S

September 11, 2018

 

 

“Life is short, and Art long; the crisis fleeting; experience perilous, and decision difficult.” -Hippocrates

.
.“In the fog you are sheltered against the outside world, face to face with your inner self. Nebulat ergo cogito.” (fog therefore I think) -Umberto Eco
.
.
There’s fog.
Then, there’s people landing planes at all hours.
There’s dogs chasing birds
on runways. And one way those people in those towers
can plan to, and see to, land planes is
the guts to go with the gauges.
They heartfelt  dealt with data,
Trusted all they’d seen
on their farforeign &; onlyman-made monitor screen.
As dogs flushed their fog,
hands hover over lights
and cover their old bets,
their usual action.
,
, from 2009