Tuesday, July 17, 2018

THINKING ABOUT GRANDMOTHER ON THE WAY TO THE FUNERAL.


Thinking About Grandmother On the Way to the Funeral

The car is stifling with heat. 
I hear the noise of its engine roaring.
An airplane flies over head, spewing
Carbon dioxide.  I am not settled.
The mood in the car is bitter,
Because we have to attend a funeral
For our grandmother,
Who died while kayaking on a river.
Sometimes I think I wish life would go
Faster than the blink of an eye,
But sometimes it goes slow as a
Merry go round, spinning, constantly spinning,
And everything is spinning around it.
I am not fascinated by death,
But I wonder what death would be like.
Some things are shrouded in doubt,
While others are not,
And each and everything in particular
Is random,
Thrown about in the dark. 
Sometimes I wonder what would happen if
We survived death,
Or nothing would happen at all,
Or our souls would be crushed at the end of time,
Or we went to Heaven, which sounds better.
My grandmother’s funeral is in a half an hour,
And I have eaten most of the pie. 


Shadows of Myself.


Shadows Of Myself.

The shadows of myself are
Torn of grief,
That is better than the age that is slowing,
That is better than the tides
Running.
All alone, in myself, I seek the darkness
In the dark,
And the moon glitters like a cloud.
All around me, the wind mourns,
And time spins like a clock.
I am going, I am going,
Everything is hard against the light.
Sometimes I write until dawn breaks;
Sometimes I write until the shadows
Turn, and the animals come out to play,
Like the jackrabbit and the skunk,
Sniffing its trail of tears. 
All along the darkness, things tire,
Things awaken, and nothing is burnt of
Ashes, things are lit with stone.
I am a tired old man who cannot sing
A tune,
I am a tired old man who is on the radio,
Like a darning needle that has lost
Its shine. 
This thought is upon me, that I am waking,
And shadows fade;
Then light is thrust in the dark.

Tuesday, July 10, 2018

Homeless Man In Need of Home.


Homeless Man In Need of Home

A man sits on a train track smoking
Cigars.
He is looking up at the night sky,
Wishing he were at home.
He is a man of many means,
And cannot escape the things of his past,
That ache in his chest like old vines growing.
Morning comes and he wakes, rise and shine,
And he is a mask of reasons untaking;
He is the river that is flowing in the north,
And good things come, and yet there is the bad,
Wrapped in shrouds.
I am a good man, he says, patting himself on the
Shoulder as if he couldn’t stand what he was going
Through on a daily basis,
Sometimes people give him money on side streets,
Sometimes there are things that make him whole
Again,
Like good money and good beer.
He needs a job but no one will hire him,
He has a degree in communications,
He has a method of transportation, but this is where he lives,
On train tracks or in his car.
Someone said once he is sick in the head and spat in his
Face, and he didn’t call for an ambulance because he has
A kind soul.
In the distance, the darkness doesn’t seem so great;
Because he is homeless and doesn’t know where he is going
To live the next day, maybe a motel, maybe a place
That requires an id and then the next day comes and the next
And the next and still he is not whole.

O the Wandering Poet.


O the Wandering Poet

The master poet lives in countless sorrow,
In soaring drought, the master explains;
How he bought and sold himself for
Food to eat, how he wandered the heavens
And the moors.
Countless times he wandered like great things
Waking,

And the deepest dark, and hearts unfurling.
Shadows wave like forgotten things,
And I am here, but not again.
I am the master poet, and I am gone;
Interspersed with sorrow and wandering loner,
I eat my fill but I am not fulfilled.

Time is waning, like a child,
And justice and education are not bitter in coming.
Sometimes I eat soup just to please my belly,
But in my mind, there is none.
The master poet goes to the shadows of yore,
And the marks of angels are upon me.

Monday, July 09, 2018

I DO NOT KNOW.


I do Not Know Except How I know

I do not know except how I know,
My eyes speak like withering vines,
And travel along the end of days.
Speak to me of reasons unknown,
In bitter temptation, and heartfelt promise.
I told you I didn’t want to know anything,
That I wanted to remain blind, deaf, and dumb,
That I didn’t want to know the receding of the tide
Or the way the winds move or bend,
Or how destiny cannot change your perception
Of anything until the last moment,
Or how you talk or move or drive,
And sometimes I am not hungry and then I am,
And sometimes I wake and am hungry again.
I found myself in this mood of forgetting,
On occasion, about different things,
And the tides turn and everything turns,
And the moods are forgotten with the tides,
And we make things out of broken things,
And death rises out of the ashes like a song,
And in the tiring mood, you are wanted,
And in the hunger you forget to be born.
I do not know except how I know.

Tuesday, July 03, 2018

Dnepar River.


Dnepar River

The river goes splish-splash like a tidal
wave to freedom.
Darkness wanders on all its fours,
and the moonlight hits the water like
a silver sieve.
A wolf howls in the stillness,
breaking all train of thought.
No matter where you go, or who you are,
destiny is what makes us who we
are.
Once I had a guinea pig that got
lost in the mist and I could never replace it.
Once I found a lost diamond that was hidden
by the dark.
Inside of myself, inside of everything,
the humanity lies within me.
I am a monster, tall and plain;
I am the darkness, that comes on all fours.
So you say. So you feel like the night,
like a horse walking, trotting, then walking
again,
and there is the river, so tall and proud,
standing against obsidian light.


Because He is Alone.


Because He is Alone

You have all those mesmerizing eyes,
That take and make and break and stare.
Terrible twos are completed by tomorrow,
The shadows bend like the night,
And the moon is lit like a skyscraper.
Shadows make me nervous. I am not calm
in my waking. Things move quite fast,
cars are pretty slow going down the highway
at fifty miles an hour, we could be faster,
where are the flying cars.
We all make mistakes.
Education makes mistakes, says my lover,
going faster than an airplane that
goes through the sky, and rain pours
down like liquor, and everyone drinks liquor
in the evenings, only the drunks drink it
in the mornings. And some people are
homeless and some are not; and destiny
is wanted; and the light comes pouring
from the plains, the sunlight and all that,
like a great swift moving cloud.
Time is a roller coaster and moves on the air.
Sometimes it takes roller blades to gain
momentum,
and the old man sleeps his days away,
crying at nights because he is alone.


Monday, June 25, 2018

HOT AIR.


Hot Air

The hot air balloon soars through the
Air like a majestic bird on its wings.
Shadows fall on the ground from it,
And people come out of their houses to
Stare at it, and children come, and the
Elderly and even the president.
All they do is stare at the hot air balloon,
Soaring so fast, breathing air like a dragon.
My boyfriend told me I was exactly like
A dragon,
As if I could pour fire through my nostrils
Every second,
As if I could fly on majestic wings like
A great big animal,
A lizard, no doubt, but that’s not the
Problem.  I can’t do any of those things
Without help,
Because people do not have wings,
They have airplanes and brains to make
The airplanes,
And I have a boyfriend and I live in a house,
And I like to garden,
And sometimes I go out for dinner at night.
Still, it flies, like a dragon, and the dragon
Is me, because I have the power to use my
Heart and my mind and make the right decisions.

Tuesday, June 12, 2018

YOU ARE.


You Are

The clash between beasts is utterly complete.
She speaks to me through her words.
Time is like a transcending void.
I am utterly whole.
The foreign land glares in the distance,
we go by boat, not by shore.
In the rising sun we find different ways
to keep us from floating out to sea,
from the rising sun to the horrid moon,
to the day that breaks and bends,
I am here waiting for you, my love,
as the tide fades away.
You are the river that waits for me.
I am the course of the action in the void,
I am the darkness that seeks out darkness,
I am the wading of the tide.
Night hides from me. It is broken.
The seeds of the grapes have been bitter and weep;
I weep along with it.
Nothing comes short of darkness,
bitterness fades to gray.
I am the wholeness and the light,
the darkness does not take me,
nor will take me in the night.
You are whole with me.
You are the grape to my strawberry.

Tuesday, June 05, 2018

Today, This Morning.


Today is the day I am going
To better myself for the people around me.
Today the day is nice and calm,
And a breeze is blowing.
I sit outside on my patio, watching
The birds go from tree branch to tree
Branch, their song filling the quiet
Morning air.

It is morning, have I mentioned that?
The sun shines above me like a pinched
Nerve, always glowing, like a big star.
The air is glowing, too.

I feel like I can conquer anything,
Including the depths of my own heart,
The heart that beats regularly inside my chest,
And there is a parade because it is summer,
And the night will be vast,
And I am vast with it.

The air is still, stiller than my heart,
And the rhythm of the wind is rhythmical.
Something is not in the way of us,
Not in the way, we go forward, always
Moving, stiller than breath.