Blog Title Photo

Blog Title Photo

Thursday, August 26, 2010

The Whale

Roars of cetacean breath asunder,
. . .  he walks on water, dives under.
Beneath deep pleated folds of skin . . .
. . .  black tie, an elegant gentleman.

Elf on a mushroom, wet in spring,
. . .  wizard of a giant sea.
Master of ceremonies,
. . .  frolicking on land that's his and watery.

Poem to the Eagle Writer

To the Eagle Writer, who calls to me,
To help me sing this song,
Her name letters with mine.
A, C, E, G, H, I, J, K, L, J, M, N, O, P, R, S, T, W

I praise her to the Nine who can still all that is,
Make singing Ohm the heat o' their song.
Take her into their heart,
teach her arts Erato, Calliope, Terpsichore
Since Orphe was torn in two, repair them.
Homer the Greek sang o' them,
the Great Muses who inspire all Creation.

What I once was
She has , what we keep, she will get
all o' it – I’ll hemorrhage pools, pink, orange, now green, still there is no menace
or loss – her grace has come, now it goes
no harm – thinking is gone – she has that, which comes
no waste – I remark, "what a sop, what a ship wreck" . . .  she helps me sing this pathetic song.

She starts, shoots 'till fear is all no more.
A killer Eros, whose sharp arrows pierce the skin.
I'll make peace, or she will take with power the peace she knows she has.
Her white eagle claws tear open the chest.

All the Artists, palm her,
The Poet hearts shake in pits.
She calls the capital, mortgages all creation.
The Creation we owe to her.
Those who steal what is hers,
Egos, 'till she takes them all,
Then emptiness is theirs.

All the poets,
their poems,
in all meters,
thirst to her

all the minstrels
those who minister
thirst to her

all the writers
their writings
their thinking reasons
all gone to her.
(she can rip their pages, cease their reason.)

all the philosophers
their philosophizing philosophies
she spares them not.

all the painters
all their paintings
are taken to m_se_ms.

all the singers, all the operas
all their songs
she can start or stop
energetic or romantic
historic or erotic

All, not one, not one spit less than all,
All is gone to her,
All that is in creation, will go.

Sioux Lilly's Soul

Silly Sioux Lilly's soul solos,
S, I, O, U, X, L, Y:

So Sioux Lilly’s soul is ill,
Sioux Lilly's ill is loss of soil,
Sioux Lilly IO you six,
Sioux Lilly's ill is . . . oil.

Read my other lipograms written about my subjects, using only the letters of their names. A lipogram (from Greek lipagrammatos, "missing letter") is a kind of constrained writing or word game consisting of writing paragraphs or longer works in which a particular letter or group of letters is avoided — usually a common vowel, and frequently "E", the most common letter in the English language.  [From Wikipedia]

Poem for Natasha

Natasha Alexsandrovna Romanova,
Your name's a hex, 'n one, ten, and three,
A, D, E, N, H, L, and M, . . .
. . . O R, S, T, K or X, and V.

'N Eden, an Aden Anthera. . . .
Harmala à la LSD
Som sees small .. .. .
As Anna Akhmatova, Arvo Mets, KR, or Novella Matve'va,
Sem'on Nadson, Varlam Shalamov, or Vsevolood Nekrasov.

Restless, dark and ernest
A tankha of dramas stressed,
Stelae to an ode 'n tone.
Honest verse metered, as Dante’s love . . .
Tetrameter, Heptameter or Monometer verses,
Aesthete arts, a rondelet, or sonnet,
     a sestet 'n movement.

O’ dark emerald, Amaranth!
Hot lava and lavender!
Lemon and Maroon . . .
Rose, a red rose
     Salmon and sea,
Seashells, seals,
     Smelt, tan as a teal.

Andorra . . . . . . Denmark
East El Salvador and Korea
Kosovo, Laos, Lesotho, . . . Oman
Andamans, Samoa, Monserrat, Malta
     Moldova and Kosovo

A Desert Earless Adder,
     or an ornate red rattlesnake
ate a northern mole . . . .
     or a Sonoran tan Sand Vole.

As an Easterner heralds a tree savant,
     of a northern order.
Lakes, north, slender smooth,
A monster headed snake,
     hooked and horned.

Some starts are taken,
Some seeds are tasteless matter.
Almost every hot-larded meat
     Roasted salted, and eaten.

Every love made meets every need,
One or another related reasons seem so
    rolled, slathered, served 'n states to travel.
Other related reasons more on dark loves
Hot toasted loaves love, are loved
Also desert, dark desert,
     even had heard of home. . .

Alas denote another area of armor
A man as attendant to a Dame
Added 'n advent as one deals death . .
     A desert she does eat.

Hardened hams 'n Les Halles
A hare's lost hats, held 'n hotels
A horse, a hardened hand, a modern home holds
Later lavender heated homes have less.
Lemon leeks, O'sters Marennes,
Denotes events evolved,
Markets mashed melons
Honest meat meals matter most.

Mother moves Son
Modest names needed? . . . none.
Noon's normal 'n Northern Normande.
Notes of order, needs no other ovens
Ranks late and rated rather a realm reserved,
     What roasts 'n rots 'n rooms related?

Salmon salad salted, seasoned sesame
Servants overseas served several shallots
She’ll season and sell smaller shorter smaller salted salmon
Streaked 'n streams, streets so so old and taken
A tavern tart travels . .. . tasks 'n tearooms teas tended 'n term . .
Ten theater seats themselves translated,
     Tools and trees taken,
Veal and Tomatoes Varenne . . .
     So these three are translated.

An aardvark, and a deer,
An anteater ran as  an anemone,
A hamster harasses a hare?
     An anole's harem harvests a homeless heron.

A dodo rooster, or a rodent, or an eel,
     or a toad or a shark or a snake,
An ass or a rake evermore.
Or a rodent man,
Salamander, moose, marten,
     a manatee or mare.

A meerkats' name resonates
As an otter or a drake . .
Or a rook, a llama, sloth, or shoat,
No mole, mallard, nor mammoth stoat.
A larval knot hovers near.
So a kestrel hovers here.

On a veranda,
     Mars and Andromeda,
          Have vodka, tankers of vodka.

Soaked and talked shredded naked doom
Arms slammed, loosened, threatened,
Shared, hammered, entered.

Hoard needed, attended
Straddled, enthralled . . .
Horned and tattooed
Smeared and rendered. . .
     Matter ended.

Asked, reveals dreams
Doomed, seasons earned
     A thread asked, and thanked . . .

Honored and hated. . . released . . and sensed,
Dressed, stressed, tossed, dated, elevated!
Talented, devoted, hearted, translated
     Starred, honored resolved, evolved. . .

Eat heated meat, a treat . .
The oldest omelette's a sonnet.
A monk’s hood, masks tastes, and deals death,
So a shark remarks on mammal morals,
     Makes a models metal heels.

A Naked toothed Moonseed!

As an athlete notes and leave themselves to love,
Move, seek, talk, and thanked
All are loved,
So an emerald herald moved
An old soil held, deserved and sold
A hand 'n the land,
 'N Shetland sands reserved.

End the stand
Told monks to tend, overheard
Hard, antennae, stelae 'n Denmark
A Tennessee devotee tells a male tale . . .
'N Semele’s ankle, a needle.
A mole solos 'n a hole.

He has no sole role,
as a kettle settles me.
Shame the same name tamed,
Then home a handsome threesome
     A meddlesome tome!

Someone alone, one serene theme,
A tone, a stone, her stone . . .
A horseless shoe dared to stare
     A rare share, adheres there.

Please don't hate the state.
A hare reveres, reverses
Theater eases, releases more sense and nonsense. . .
Else those loose nooses traverse.

Too late, my roommate . . . my tea-mate.
Demonstrate, Dante removed,
Tolerate and moderate,
     a remote note voted, tasted,

Leave a slave, a valve to solve or resolve.
Dove, love or removed a nerve,
     Reserve Allah for Sarah.

Noah's tankhan ashes mashed 'n hash
A rash of harsh hash trashes death. . .
The math o’ heath and marshes teem.
Health 'n a month . . .
     A smooth tooth taken,
     A steak soaked 'n northern oak
     A redshank, stalked, hooked, shook, drank.
     A look
     At a dark Horned Lark
     Remakes Denmark.

A healed stork may ask to mask?
A nodal deal, or ordeal taken to task?
A meal of veal, or a normal oral molar.
     An astral mortal ornamental?

Adam's sad madam. . .
Amsterdam dreams,
A stream of teams 'n Harlem
Seems then to stem the realm
     Of random elms.

Mom envenoms a room, a maelstrom
T's a Roman Ottoman meaner than Shree Lankan Man?
Or her man Herman, a Sonoran man 'n Manhattan
Herren taken, seventeen, a moorhen then.
     She's seen to harden.
Then eaten . . . A raven hastens to eat,
Eleven, seven, ten, a stamen or an almond,
     A statement on all men.

A neon London demon. . .
Red-throated Loon looks  . . . .
The moon a lesson learned,
A Roseate Tern a modern skeleton too soon . .

Hat on. . . no ammo. . . no tattoo . .
Toronto, Amaretto doesn’t hear.

Tear, rear, near here dear . . . my ear . . . my altar, my avatar
Does Mother smother another seeker?
Mark, her healer hammers home,
Nearer, looser, theater later,
Steer or veers deters no meter,
A Seer or Vate,
To thrash her leather other.

A thermometer 'n a salter, . .
     Moreover . . . a letter,
A toddler sheltered shorter monsters,
The letter masks the lover, a hero hovers over Thor,
A tremor of amour . . .
     more a meteor.

And so a manor honors a smashed door. . . .
Overseas Dallas has aromas
A Kansas morass . . .
     lead headed dreads . . . .
A Salads of seeds. . .
     Holds hands 'n the Netherlands
     Demands toes to stand end to end.

Elevate her mentor, her Master!
Her errors, as Vedas!
Overseas she has Dallas teammate dramas
Aromas, ananas, a morass, 'n Kansas
The Rasta dreads Eve’s salad heads
As a red seed,
Holds land,
   A knoll 'n the Netherlands.

An eternal lethal Rosenthal,
Several oval models stalk, and talk
Steal lemons, tease travels,
Shovel all marshals.
Enthrall hell! Overall she’ll retell the marvel
     A doll for a stroll . . .

A stansa sends almonds,
. . . methods, odes, or modes
He knees, seeds trees, ashes, . . . lakes
Sells needles, ankles, . . . holes,
Names roles, themes, . . . .
      Holmes or Hermes.
Tones translate overtones,
Restores, there’s more . .
     'N lanes, releases and erases senses,
     Menses, loosen nooses, traverse verses.
Horse's dreaded mess, tossed, stressed shoes, smalt and stones.
     A roommates' sane estate.

Photo, Irina K

Poem for Niki Notarile

Ink a letter to a Niki an' Chris Notarile,
a sentence to share an altar . . .
Notice Niki an' Chris enthrall in action,
a tattoo tantra, letters in attraction.

A, C, E, H, I, K, L, N, O, R, S, an' T.

An actress Asian martial artist entices, slices entrails.
An ancient lion roars, he trains her, a killer cat alert.
Stalk the stairs, knock, kicks, attack, a cat statistic.
She's Latin Kali.

Chris tells stories, to sell.
In the streets, a technician, stitches stones and talent tactics
Train station shots, silken sets.

Take One . . . "Settle . . . "
Skills she shines
. . . scares the shit
An innocent intent.
. . . scissors scratch.

Her heart aches.
Take Three . . . their Secrets:
Italian Chris: Nearer to thee oh alcohol . . .
Niki: A carton of nicotine, hashish secrets, a heroine's heel . . .

Take Nine . . . she Shines.
Oh Cat! Hear her health

Her Healer, these essential estates.
Her skin, skirt, her skills,
Stretch his stories his streets, his stresses, his takes
her tactics, stick, his searches,
. . . a rocket rises. . . a role takes roots.

Poem to Jenna Jones

Sing 'Hello',  Jenna Leigh Jones, sing 'Hello'.
Shining Jenna goes in shoes,
sailing along in a sea o' shells,
A G E S L H I J N, an' O.

She's an ageless Angel,
Singing solo songs alone.
Long legs Jenna, giggling gal Jenna,
Jenna in glasses, Jenna in jeans.

A goose hanging in a hall,
in seasonings, onion, sage,
lasagna, snails in oil . . .
Eggnog longing . . .
Solo songs singing soon.

Hash so healing . . .
Nasal noises . . . . his engine's aging, no gas, no oil,
He's goes, going, gone, ashes, . . .
Nails in . . .
an alien nagging loss.

So Jenna joins a lion's season,
Signals illegal single senses.
She angles eels . . . as an eagle
English lines engaging egos . .
Selling sea shells . . . . signing,
Long lenses see linen logos.

She sins, shines, goes logging in lanes,
Gaian liaisons, session o' joining so sane . . .
She lies alone, single loins longing . . .

Ganesha's gaining, Anais Nin is also aging . . .

Poem for J_____ H_____

J____ L___ H____ sings one song,
Nine songs, as one song.
A E G H I J L N O S an' U.

She sees signs in shells,
In jealous soil.
So sing a song angel!
Laugh in June.
An eagle's angel laughs so soon.

Sing along angel
Nine Songs . . . laugh, sing
Sell sea shells . . .
Is English usage enough? . . . no nouns!

So sing along angel, laugh along . . .
one long jealous noise.

Hinge a nail in his house,
Has a sign for sale, a louse
He'll see an angel's hell, a lesson.
So sing along angel,
Laugh in June.
An eagle has loans enough
One sees and sings of sin so soon.

A jealous ass I guess I is

I oil, join her loins, her ass, her legs, her jugs,
A non-legal union I sense, I guess.
She's unleashing, loosening languages
illusion's nonsense, signals shining
unusual sessions snuggling sealing
inhaling sensuous, hashish healing.
sensual liaisons, nagging, sinning
ongoing gleaning, hugging,

glasses signal jungle senses
shoes shell noises sense oasis
ganesha gleans enough insane genius
sushi unions singing solos
souls using alien angel's logos

Jealous sin has no goal
Jealous sin has no soul.

For Arjun Potter

Hear an ode on paper to Arjun Brandreth Potter,
Be Dante here to tone a rap.
Or Auden to pen a Bornean pantun
. . . or Borat, to rune a rondeau,
A troubadour pater penned an epode tune,
To a Buddha hunter, Arjun,
A, J, B, D, E, H, N, P, R, T, U and O.

Hebe! A babe Arjun’ born . . .
Hearbeat dependent, opened e’d . . .
Arjun, true Buddha natured!
A deep oath reported heard ‘round the hood,
Arjun earth born to truth endured.

Read Phaedra, Daphne Dana, Rhoeo,
Andromeda, Argo’, Orphe, and Pandor’
Read Arab’an N’te’
Read “On the Road”
Read Pope, Donne and Thoreau
Read Bharat’ Rabinandrath’, Butea red and pure
. . . and European Arthur.

Arjun, eat trout or tuna
. . . . . Nuphar on a pond
Hunt a toothed boar, and bear.
Run a horned deer on a heath o’ ca’una
. . . . . prepare heather tea
. . . . . and trap hare
. . . . . haunt a tent taut and bare.

Tap a tree root . . .
Hear thunder roar.
Ponder tender Horehound, or Anredera tuber beer
Juju aurora’ appear.
Pot, Henbane, Anadenanthera, or Arundo root . . . a toad button ‘o Rue.

A Hoopoe, or a Papuan parrot,
A Thorn tree Oenanthe,
a Phoebe, Roadrunner,
A Northern Tern,
A Heron, Brandt or not, Audobon reported.

Eat a pea, a pear a pepper, unpodded
Date, oat and banana, peanut butter,
Eat bread and butter heated.
Potato, beet, and rhubarb battered,
Ant, prepared and treated.

Ephedra (heart rate),
Jojoba (to poop)
Rue (an herb)
Anredera tuber and Dodonaea, Barbarea and Burnet (to eat)
Heather or Burnet (bleeding).

Or tap another order,
Pet Nepeta,
Burn Jatropha,
Thorn Duranta, Brahea, Butterburr,
Threatened Jubaea, heated, treated, prepared, and poured.

A parent portent:
Don’t hunt Bothrop alternatu, the red round tan tattooed urutu,
Or the hooped and headed Japan habu,
A banded death adder, returned to a horned tree boa,
Ate a rat around a rubber tree.

Thuja tree Arjun,
Brahea, Toona,
Baobab, Todea Barbara, Phylocladus
Trapa natan, Jade, and Pear.

Arjun! Dare an Andrea, Anna, or a Barbara perhap’?
Beth Dana, Rohdea to Deborah, Arjun phoned
Then Hope, Janet, Joanna, Arjun dated
Adenophora to tart Nora,
Rehderodendron for Randa and Nanette,
Both are tortured.

An auburn-headed babe deep and hot
Or a redheaded partner, tanned, draped neat and true
Tantra’ ruder, and taboo.
A tatoooed ten’ rather rare
Bad Dad Burton dare to be rude
Bathe Arjun!
Rub a dub tub dude, to bed a brunette nude.

A European hab’tat Arjun?
Or a Honduran deep harbor port?
Perth enroute to Aberdeen or Toronto?
Board a Papuan boat to Peru
Japan, Andora and, Nauru
Jeep tour terra Tu, or northern Aruba
Departure ‘or Pak’tan ‘n Urdu
Bonapart Ath Dour abandoned.

Tune a rune to a tone Arjun
Nuts, roots, buds, pods,
An art erupts at heart
A potent jaunt
A baba parent taunt
Don’t be truant Arjun!
Or be a herder at the border
Don’t trade jade.
Be proud
Hone a tanned hand . . .
Antennae heard around
Don’t pretend about, or tend to bend
But attend and bond
Breathe . . . .
Be hearted . . .

Arjun, Bhutan robed, and pated?
Arjun, an Arab ‘n an urban turban?
Or a threaded, bearded abbot to an upper order?
Bhutoh, Noh, or Dada theatre dared.
Not a barbed hunter or a predator,
A Bhatt Potter pure and true.
Nor a porter . . .
A prophet honored . . . .
Arjun! A broader reader opened
Arjun! A tender poet reported
Arjun! An author honored.
Hedera to Arjun! A proud parade u earned.

Poem for Kristina Louise

To Kristina Louise Tr____y
Minneapolis, Minnesota
I'll make a poem to you on my laptop . . .
out 'o all letters in your name . .
.A, E, I, K, L, M, N, O, P, R, S, T, U, Y.

So your name spells mine . . .
I really am a potter, a painter, my name is Mark
I'll not tell Aesop's tale to amuse you,
 . . or animals, asses on an ark. . .

Nor pirates or players or Pan's pipes,
Or a serpent . . or an apple,
Or Mars, Saturn, Moon, astral suns, 'ere starlit planets soar,
    or a union o' opposites,
I'll simply say it - I look’t at your port.
Your sensuous eyes. . . your nose, your ears, your ankles, . .
. . . your knees,
In all, I see a million symmetries.
I kno' you not at all
Nor you me,
So you are my inspiration as a Muse to poetry.

An' see you on lonely spots o' yore,
A passport to your European roots
I'll take you to Paris's opera, Italy, Spain, Europe's pretty estates.

To Israel. . . 'ere Semites rule,
To Pakistan's Oriental ruins,
'Ere in Eastern Turkey amnesia appears.
As rosy poppies milk makes opium.

Or an Alaskan mansion, a moose's antlers rear,
. . . or Maine's mute mists, mountains near a sea.
‘Ere salmon leap, . . . an autumn set, some pumpkin pie 'n tea.

You’ll pray at an alpine altar - mysteries to keep Eros near,
I'll play a piano sonata in a minor key
Or a Roman ruin . . nuns, priests,
Saint Peter's in Italy.

Or to a limestone manor paint' pink,
at nine I rise to spill my poet's ink . . 
An eruption o' eats, . .. a Latin menu.
Salami . . . pesto, . . panini, . . tiramisu,
Parmesan, pepperoni. . . tortellini. . .
‘Tis a trip you an' I are on . . .
. . . amaretto, an' spumoni.

Matisse? Manet? Monet? Pissarro?
An artists installation, limestone, plaster, papers paints . . .
I'll pepper you in insane kisses . . . as Parisian royalty,
. . . or plain rosemary an' snails . . eels. . . oysters on a plate
omelets, pastries.

'Tis not an international liaison,
Or a multinational ploy, I make my plays on,
'Tis to you my emotion takes . .
So my art to initiate.
Mortal Muse, your portraits portray simple positions, 
Poses speak to ritual sins.

I'll take a primal risk
‘N apply to your lips a kiss
You say stop! You're rite!
No no! 'tis not polite
To lose you - insanity

Else I'll stay to poetry.
Eternal purity
Emotions enormity!

Your skinny sister sits, an' sleeps,
Your aunt seems a million miles alone
No more kin in your name. . .
So alone. . . alas you're so alone.

So to NY you must my paramour
Sit in lotus postures, utter mantras . . .
Sail to me to learn my tantras.

Your eyes erase, eliminate emotion . . .
Yet passions simmer porous potions . . .
Eros is a potent poison,
'Ere your eyes seem to moisten . .

A onetime union promises, I take your panties . . .
. . . in pleasure, I see your eyes, your pupils pool,
. . . your uterus, menses, your pussy moan . . .

As I speak poetry to your loins,
. . . to you my primal pollen runs.


Poem for Ileen

I scan Ileen Scala's nice fine lines
Ileen's a nine, a sac a sins . . .
I sense an assassin in Ileen.
L, A, C, E . . S, I, N, S

Ileen Scala's clan is nice.
Ileen's C, L, A, N is N, I, C, E.

Cease Ileen!
I see Ileen in lace.
In science class, I see Ileen's nice lean ass.
In a casa in Sienna, in Alsace, in LA
Sail a sea, Ileen.

I see Ileen in Cannes . . .
Cine and cannellini Ileen?
I see Ileen in CIA all lies . . . L, I, E, S
. . . Sail a sea Ileen!

Acacia, Acaena, Lilac and Linnaea
Alcea, Neillia, Laelias, an Cassinia
Ananas Encelia, an Ananasas
Cassia an Callisia is Salicaceae.

I see Ileen in Silene
In Calisia I see Ileen
Ileen nice as ice in Acca,
In Scilla, Seneca is Laelia clean in lace
. . . Sail a Nile Ileen!

Classic lines Ileen, nice lean lines
Ileen in Alsacian linen . . .
A classic lens . . . an Asian scene
Cillia’ cells' license acacian essences. Insane!

An Isle calls, a canal seal,
An ale Ilene? In Alsace?
Alien snails 'n eels, 'n ice,
. . . Sail an Asian sea.

A clinical call cancels all.
Call Ileen, else I'll 'e insane.

As Lilac incense ceases nasal illnesses . . .
. . . Salicin essences lessen clinical ills.
Ileen sacroiliac science is ace.
. . . Ileen's essence is lace!

In Ileen I sense incense,
Alas in Ileen licenses lie:
Neil's an ass, Allan a classic case.
Leslie, Anna, Anais, Celia all allies . . .
Lecia, Alice, aliens.
Alice, insane. . .
Lance? . . . asinine.

An ally I am Ileen,
An ally I am.

Ileen, Ileen, nice 'n lean.
Clean lines - I sense sins . . .
Ileen's lines Il access an' scale,
Else I is insane.

Poem for Tamara Ann

To Tamara Ann Carsonova,
a canto ‘n C,
O, M, A, N, R, S, T, an’ V,

Tamara Ann's o' so smart.
No rants or consonants can con Anna.
A tart, as constant manna, on a savanna,
A Samoan manor Anna?
A tattoo 'n Montana?
Mantras ‘n Monaco?
Tantras ‘o Tamara, 'n Toronto.

Tamara Ann can scare a man,
so Tamara‘s Sonoran tan.
At contrast, a cat's so vast 'n cost,
. . . . so . . . 
a contract attracts a mass o' rats,

A tart’s avatar attracts atoms.
No ammo, nor tarot cart,
or 'n tattoo art, on an ant!
Tamara arms a man, ‘n cannons!

Mom's 'n a room, a corn aroma,
's mom torn in a coma?
A can o’ tomato's, carrots ‘n toast
Mom at ‘om’, ‘ov’s Tamara most.

A contact sacrosanct,
Soon a son at noon.

M’ nom ‘s Marc
‘M not a common man,
Not a caracara, nor a cormorant,
nor a coot, nor an arc.
Nor a Tom ‘n a van.
Nor a Roman, on an ottoman,
nor a Cartoon man on a carton,
. . . ‘n a cotton cocoon.
Nor an marooned man on a mast,
on Oman’s coast,
Nor a tan Moroccan.

'M a savant,
A Montanan man at noon.

M' nam's Marc, 'm a Carsonova too!
Tamara's art so starts to soar,
A man, as 'n amor,

A mantra, as tantra art!
Roars a toast to Tamara's star,
A toon, a staccato canon!
A moon-star toon, on a Mac?
Tamara cantos sonatas at a moon.

Tamara starts a’ sort o’ act.
An Marc tosses Tamara across a canvas coat!
So Marc storms Tamara's moat.

Tamara Ann Carsonova
An avatar ‘n A, C, M, N, O, R, S, T, an’ V.
Tamara can attract a man,
As art cannot.

Poem for Jordanna

Jordanna Adr_____ Ols______
. . . an Arkansan . . .
I’ll draw you an ode in ink
. . . . in J, O R, D, A, N, E, , N, O, L, S, Z, W, K, and I

Nine one won no dollars, no loans
Sell a dozen Nikon lenses a week . . .
. . . laziness dizziness slowness sadness disorders
. . . diseases and ills, insane dna
. . . needles worsen diseases and ills.
. . . iodine and iron

"I read, liked, learned.
 walked, worked, needed
 I knew a deed was done
 'ere I knew I drew his seed."

"Is Land’s End near Adrian’s wall?
 Or Arizona a sea eroded?
 Do Illinois dine on Alaskan krill?
 Is Kansas an island, or Ireland sand?
 Indiana an area of Delaware?
 Or Iowa end in sand somew'ere?"

A sane Arkansan ate Jordanna's sorrowed swill,
     and drank a London landlord ill.
A swan, a zed, a rascal drake,
     a kennel sired zero, 
     a drone, a dodo or an ass.
A doe I was, a swan I liked.
An Alan, Andre or a Joe.
An endless error . . . "Will I learn?

"I was a looker, a lass
 Was I an ewe 'o a jaded rake?
 A nannie ‘o a kid in jeans."

Are a lion’s nasal noises leonine?
Or a snails slow sliding limacine?
So an ass ears’ are asinine.
A dead dodo’s is didine. I know
. . . Less is known so I’ll allow.

Ana Elsner dined . . .
Dianne Wakoski died
Add weird lair.
Nine o us ran
Rained all year
All seasons.

“Aird an ald is a downie,
Ire I know Norse", I said.
“Well .. . . Well’s Wood!”

Annie Liddy added anoles
Laura ad 'er sea adder,
as a sea-snake side wine'd inside 'er,
Skinks of snake, so lied a snake
So a son ran beside ‘er.

A soldier wanders warlike, an Iliad,
one sailor’s odd I see.
One Nazi’s address added, dialed,
a lion’s nasal noises so leonine,
or a snail slow sliding, so limacine.
As an ass's ears are asinine,
A drake’s jaw so is anserine
A dead dodo’s ass, didine.
Is a Kansan-Alaskan an Indian?

I ordered wine and dinner,
Son drank kola.
Rare salads 'n sardines
Snails in oil, dried leeks
Aniseed added, dijon raw in jars
Rare sea sole, eels in seaweed rinsed raw
Wine we drew and drank,
. . . seasonal salads, daikon, wild dandelion
. . . sorrel, seaweed, soko and onion
. . . nori, kale, kiwis, . . .
. . . okra, and seasonings.

Noon in Sweden,
a Weiner Seal solos.
In Ireland a Killdeer walks alone
Larks of Israel and Jordan near
A wake of Sri Lankan rooks in Indian air.

Lizards lie in New Zealand seas
Sierras, A'las, or Andes,
Iranian Swallows near an eerie
Aras, Neka or Dalkaki.

In Swaziland some lions reign
. . . Near Komali’s sea low . . .
‘Ere Nkanni road rises, Manzini
. . . Maloma and Nsoko.

As Korean Wrens solo
one Kim, Lee, or Park
On Asian soil, an Ark.
Like Iris, Andrea or Eleanor.

A red rose in Jade
A Rowan in an old oak wood
A Linden or a Willow o’ so wild.
Alder we’ll allow.

A seeker senses kinder arrows
"You’re kinda loaded,"
Dawn. I reawaken Jordanna's rose
Inside undresses noises soiree ankle’s narrows,
nose and ears,
Ladies’ drawers drawn lower, downward your knees your endless loins,
darkness drizzles on, Jordana’s dew oasis,
raw answers kindle kindnesses.

Zones oiled, join loins I ask
Darkness dared laid rear
Ironwood indeed inside
Resin rises, skills so slow
I releases ink.

In dark Sierra Leone do orioles sew solo?
Do snakes in India sink inky skinks?
Asian owls swallow swallows, in Laos?

In Silesia linen and silk soirees, in ladies’ woolen dresses
Dawn - we liaison in old Warsaw
An Oddessan sea we sail, on wine dark awkwardnesses.
Drink ozo in Eros’s 'Ellas . . . near Adrianna’s wine dark sea
. . . . O wild Jordana Olszewski,
. . . . Is an oz. ‘o weed allowed, or LSD?
Awaken Kali’s dark desires in India’s old Del'i?

Dear Diaries. . . I dialed,
Dressed in jewels and Alizarine
. . . . drank a rare red wine . . . .
added desire
. . . laid in Silesian linen.
Silken dawn weekend liaisons
Raised sessions in old windows
A seeker senses kinder arrows
Kindles, answers kindnesses.

Kinda loaded, I reawaken Jordana’s loins a’ dawn
Kiln zones oiled, join loins I ask?
inside undresses noises soiree ankle’s narrows, nose and ears,
ladies’ drawers undies drawn lower, swells,
downward knees endless loins I dare
Eros’s zones I see, a nodal zone so rare
Sin is near, skin is raw
 . . . Will I reawaken Jordana’s warrior?

Darkness drizzles on Jordana’s oasis dews.
Diomedes' sword,
Jordana's nodal zone slewed.
A darkness dared laid rear,
Indeed inward, deer inside,
A rider ridden, risks, riddled, a reward,
Iliad's Akilles win Jordanna's war,
 . . . or will lose, adored.

Resin rises, skills so slow, Jordana’s old jardin,
Nearer I know, nearer a doe in Jade.

Arrow Wood, Oleander, Ironwood,
. . . Red osier, Redwood, Willow,
. . . Alder we’ll allow.
Oak, Zinnia and Wild Rose,
a Rowan in an old Oak wood.
A Linden near a Willow o' so wild.
 . . . Willow Redweed, Silkweed, Roadweed, Sneezeweed . . .

I releases ink.
Soil soaked, oozes, as in sand.

more lipogrammatic poems . . . 

Celestum, from 'Fragments, Faulty and Poetic'

Celestum is populated by fishermen, and their families, though there are a few hotels. I am at one of the newer ones, of quite a good design. Twelve rooms, face the sea. The constant breath of surf pours into the room making the floor tiles wet.

A rough stucco ceiling is my fresco. In the texture I see goddesses with baskets of fruit, birds, monkeys, mountains.

I've forgotten what day it is. The return of cyclical time.

I've been wondering, what is a mystic? The thought has me tossing and turning. It's an answer I want to get close to but can't. Is a mystic someone unhappy with the results of normal modes of thought? One that uses experience to distill truth from life? One that seeks conjugal harmony with all existence? One that seeks to fly with the heart over every plain and hill, to stand with the soul in every stream, to lie in the rushes with every tiny insect that chirps at night, to be at peace with every soul in their very own beds, to gallop with the mind across starry heavens, to fuse in spirit with wild birds and every great creature that prowls the forest, to be at one with all creation in a single burst?

I empty my mind when it is full, and when it is half full I also empty it. Even when it is empty, clearing it out does no harm.

During siesta, Carlos, a fellow who works here banged on my door. He is bored and wants to have a beer. So I hoof it out with him to the town. We stop at a bakery where some of his friends are working. I watch them knead the dough and arrange it to rise on floured boards. An older man runs the oven, inside the bread bakes near a heap a red hot coals. Then to the liquor store for a bottle of beer. We take two cups and two chairs and sit in the front of the hotel and drink the beer looking out at the green sea and the boats and the palm trees. Some frigate birds fly overhead, dragging sinister shadows with them across the sand.

My back's been bothering me a lot. It's a good reason to slow down, lie on my bed, look at the ceiling, and listen to the waves. Not much to do here except swim, sleep and eat fish. The restaurants are quiet, they get most of their business during festivals when the town fills up. The rest of the time their shadowed dining areas are a mosaic of bright enameled chairs, tile and holders for napkins, sugar and salt. They have paintings inside of the different creatures of the sea. The fish and whales and seals are distorted by centuries of mythos, and a paucity of books with photographs. This is the best kind of painting, direct uninhibited painting by an artist trying to tell a simple story with his colors.

After the first bottle Carlos gets up to return the empty for the deposit and decides to buy another. Midway through I feel bold enough to get my watercolors and try sketching the sea.

Maybe tomorrow I'll move on to other parts of the country.

The sky puts on clouds. A cold gray wind blows the tops off the waves. Flights of gulls perch on blocks of cement behind the hotel. The waves roll and roll and sing a cyclical song. The wind tosses and turns the curtains. Every so often the black shadow of a frigate bird darts across the sea.

I listen to the waves, thinking of cloudy days at Brandreth Lake, when a south wind blows and the waves crash against the stone breakwater. I remember times in the camp with Dad and Andy, when hours were spent looking out at the gray frothing lake, and the thick dark clouds of rain rolled across the mountains. I am remembering how nothing was perfect then, how everything we lived in and with was crude, or nearly worked, so that existence had a young precarious feeling. A day would be spent mending a pipe, or rigging the pump so there would be hot water, or pouring a foundation for the front porch. The mending, the repairs, the work, took on a spirit, a contemplative meditative quality, of "less equals more", of the minimal effort, the piecing together, the making do.

Jade water, and the coral sand, with broken shells, make a slurry where the waves break. Further on the sand becomes mud, with silt from the mouth of the nearby river. Pelicans, loons, gulls, cormorants, skimmers, frigate birds, fish just offshore.

Trousers rolled up I waded out into the water. Little barbs stung my heel, and draw pinpricks of blood. Baby catfish, dozens of them. Sorry little ones.

Carlos and I eat two fish for dinner, a sierra and a mackerel, rolled in maize and fried till the tails are crisp, draped with red onion, tomatoes, lime.

Near is the fish factory where the catches are weighed, sorted, packed in ice, and put on trucks for the long drive to Mexico City. We hear the clang of the truck doors being shut.

The fishermen put to sea at night in small flat-bottomed boats, with powerful outboard engines. They set gill nets, and put up generator powered lights to attract the fish. Then they sleep under the stars tossed by the waves. In the early morning they pull in their catch. Sometimes the nets are so full of fish they have to be cut loose. Other times the sea gets so rough the boat capsizes, and some of the men are drowned. Helicopters from Merida searched three days for a man whose boat flipped over during the night.

Carlos has an old friend named Juan who lives in a log bungalow beneath the palms. His hut has a car window cut into one side, and a lattice of poles supporting a variety of vines giving shade to a dirt porch.

Juan sat on a stump making a fishing lure from frayed bits of plastic cord. A plastic bucket sat next to him. The fine nylon fibers trailed and sparkled in the water. Then he buried a hook longer than his hand in the middle of the hunk of nylon. I asked him what sort of rod he uses. No rod. Can't set the hook right he said. We had some swigs of rum and talked about fishing for really big fish, with a hand-line from a small boat.

In the zocalo we talked to all the young girls and their mothers. Everyone took turns riding a scooter. It gets dark early here, at about six o'clock. There is nothing to do except stand or sit in the dark and talk. We had some Cokes in a refresceria on the park, but there isn't really much going on in a small town like this.

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