STILL, THERE WAS THAT LIGHT

January 24, 2019

She won’t remember when  without a word we wandered
Dark collegetown neighborhoods.
Where were the dogs & cops? I wondered.
We were thrilled for the night still.
Still, there were all the satellites.
And very still, there was that light
In a candlelit picture window.
It gave a silhouette, a shadow  readying a bed.
Buffing up a sheet, she showed us,
(My sister Janny and me),
Her heart-stopping Beauty;
A silent ballet shadow show that
We acknowledged.
Her walk-stopping ethereal naked lines.
Then we  continued on, still wordless.
Then got stiller yet.

SOME SKETCHY SANCTUM

December 4, 2017

 

Some seem to see the floor of the sea

as a sketchy, yet effective sanctuary.

They’re thinking, I think, that it’s tucked away

good. &  Could be quite quiet.

Sure would be  you’d dream good there.

Surely, it goes  you must breathe free much slower.

Sure,  bluegreen cracks for surface lightening.

But, You’ll see  that jeweled fishes,

Stilled  with  witness,

Flee at the softest flourish.

And bets are..sandbeds there are busy with movement.

How can my dreams take when I’m floating awake?

 

tumblr_mm3fgcRvi91s2xab7o1_400

GETHSEMANE

March 25, 2016

 

 

 

There ought better be a beacon
on a pacific coast cliff just for us
where hope’s light works with  sea horn
where a night light works with a warning
there forces & forges  the blackest  fog & forests
There can be a candle
in a window with enough heat
to fire the hearth
to light one lone solitary stone room

 

 

STILL FULL IN CAFTANS

February 15, 2016

MASSPHOTO

 

You need to know

You needn’t load these new cameras

It’s less necessary  this new era

I imagine now  new images

ejaculate pointblank to blank pages

Get-sets galore fill gallery folders

I heard Gatling gun wordings

for fun  function as captions

I read that the wind full in caftans

Help to heft up our boulders

.

still tho’

.

.

.

.

(FROM 4 or 5 yrs back/ dedicated to  DEVIANTART)

image: g.r.melvin/  http://namelessneed.deviantart.com/

F A I L U R E

January 13, 2015

A peripheral-visionary

Somehow stepped in cow poop.

Then  a man-on-a-missionary

Also Failed to see all  his true path

Also Failed to seek wholey  his newest  breath

Tho’ he hovers over roses,

Forever forgetting  lettting  out  as tho’

Fire candles require no

Repose

I’ve seen one version, one worn

Forest green persian rug torn up.

As I fear, my interior walls

Took on a new look,

New paint.  And it ain’t my call.

She knows I’m in no position to oppose

Transition.

.

I’ve a true aversion to all alteration.

Be remediable, & she won’t let all matters be.

.

.

still   is our still.

Still, I’ll step…

Steady. (we’re steady on

When I step in

Our place

Our embrace

We’re too ready and

Willful, & we wish for

.

to  stay  still.

.

Let us stay in this stasis

This  ecstatic  stasis

BREATHING EXERCISES

July 1, 2014

 

She won’t roll away & not watch me.

Y’see, I won’t  seem to take,

When I dream (or wake).

to take  another breath before

The scene fades, before

lights go up

then down  to more of a zoom.

She waits in our bedroom for me to resume.

II.

We went to go to a yoga class.

Where a barefooted, hairpleated group leader;

beautiful, and calmer than a

merciful last coma,

She insisted that our deep breath is

the gist of all of it  (within, & out).

We rearrange the short & tall of it.

The Gist to change the depth, see,

of our sea of possibillity.

When we inhale

we rememorize  our own gods.

We exhale our hell.  barefoot.  on a mat.

Whew. To that.

III.

When I get to go to the Gulf of Mexico

I’ll try out the drink,  1st thing.

I’ll try not to think when I try to let go

&  sink when I deadman’s float all day,

into what I think of as a spiritual drift, in a way.

I’ll hold onto my breath,

face down,

head down.

Image

(painting,David Hockney)

,

,

,

(from 2011,on holiday)

.

.                                                                               –