QUILTLESS WONDER

January 31, 2019

Will a quilt that drapes,

Dramatically,  one  wicker

Adirondack  chair,

Drape  me?

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Will a qualified straight-shooter, finally,

Dramatically, shooting his or her mouth off,

Try  to  be  fair,

Capturing   me?

“THEORETICALLY”

January 30, 2019

“This  ole  sot

Theoretically  is   empty,”  he went,

“Momentarily  anyways.”

Faces death, & all that rot,

Not to say, not so long before  he’s meant.

He sifts scenery…all Regret.

But m’Lord of Mercy. .Not that scent!

 

“More of whatcha  got,”

Forwarding his fine glass there,

“Don’t stop  just yet.”

 

 

 

20190130_161954_Film4.jpg

 

 

 

 

My Lofty Thoughts

November 24, 2017

It’s not been my story   to take inventory/

It’s  I can’t even fake  the worry

About what I have, What would I want/

I suppose  I could pose  but I can’t/

It’s  said/

An  unexamined  life

Is  good  as  dead/

I said/

It’s  a body afloat, & its solid thoughts  float too, y’know/

& My Lofty thoughts  not  caught  oughta ride

On all tides too  High and low

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.                                                                        (from way back)

WORDMATHS

November 3, 2017

 

 

“as I sleep
fast deep green seas tore at some shore.”

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In my defence
I’m sure it’s
that most wordsmiths
have worked the Earth;
its life..its weather, its flora,
in metaphors galore.
This sun, that moon arise. A Rose.
the cliff gales, what the dark knows,
poorly lit paths,
the sway of mayhem—
the sweet wordmaths
configuring out
Reflection

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.                                                                   (from 2008)

 

REFLECTING ON THIS STALL

August 22, 2017

“Under the willow tree I hide my mirror,

small enough to be mistaken for morning dew.

I look for a point of origin, something to explain how and why

we all must see it through.”          

 

 

Encased  in  impasse,

I couldn’t even eye other passengers

past my papers.

I wouldn’t watch what

my window offered:

small towns, & all their lights,

Reflections, inside, of us riding passersby.

We keep on sweeping by.

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Inspecting  these all  aspects of my work,

Taking stock,    this stall  is a lock still.

Y’see, yesterday’s night

I ran nine yellow lights,

& Just as there were dares that didn’t time out right

I’ll just decide to still ride

 

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the sublime opening verse is from my favorite online poet

Allison Grayhurst, from “Eating From An Imaginary Spoon”  https://wordpress.com/read/feeds/168535/posts/1567304886

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

OUTFITTINGS

June 8, 2017

Some beers and some whiskeys for chores, and morning correspondence.

Soon, off for driver’s licence and all the taxes they’ve attached to it.

I want my immigrant outfittings,

Rosewater holds my hair.

Legal photos are important these days.

Though no great grandchild will glimpse at me and try to recall all

I’ve maybe wondered.

 

A W A Y

May 16, 2017

Sudek

photo credit: Josef Sudek (“the poet of Prague”)

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They some time may say/ Time  dwindles  away/

I  say   swindles.

 

-gray r. melvin (“the poet of vague”)

If I should shift off my myth-making,  not forsaking my pathos,

I could concede defeat on  conceits  I’ve concealed,

 

Turn tail on my inner errant paths,

&  Find my feet,   for far, afield.

ARISING SOME RHYME

June 28, 2016

I’ve had a bad rhyme

A  sour note

I was not remotely awake

When I had the prime of my years.

The  ones  now  are  worn.

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I’ve made a dull matinee idol

A dreary ticket draw

I’ve been not nearly awake

I’d shied away my fears

The near ones now are warm

STARES

May 29, 2016

 

STARES

 

Where is the wound that shines?

Over 50 years on,

Over this, his day,  on?

My back way against all this memorial day here,

I’ll intentionally send me to a ill-shielded shy there,

Back at again to that  day where

I’m Far too young  to fathom,

Or even  notice   Yr. Crevasse,

Yr  Grande Malaise,

Yr. countdown…Yr. Pass.

It makes me madly think now

It takes  the saddest thing    to tell now..

Stuck in a stack of old NewYorkers

There’s this old drawing

A mere boy  drawn in black & white

Stands on a step of his own basement, stares,

He did look down on his own  livid  apocalypse,

His lips, and the caption say

“It’s  A.O.K.”

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Here is the wound that shines

Tonight, a glint off yr. cracked onyx ring.

I lift it  in my open fist to my lips.

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For always, again, rest in peace, daddy 3/21/1929-5/29/1959