Blog Title Photo

Blog Title Photo

Tuesday, October 20, 2015

Passport



There’s poetry in scribbles
this mass of words,
hairs lodged in the throat
undigested fragments begging to be transcribed.
lifted to light.

Take off the cloak!

Heavy wool, remove it!
thick layers,
naked white shoots pushing up.
Whoever thought they were beneath
all those rotten leaves?

I keep waiting, the shakedown
When everything will unravel, and become less complicated.
In the center of it all, huge bites are taken out,
the body is injured.
There are holes in the fabric of time, no mystery of how that happened.
I did it - what a destroyer - I threw my passport of 1982
away, why I’ll never know.

Principles



a rush . . .
as if all that was tall straight and stable
were now bending.

no twinkling
a sleepy amazement
about all that men built

from the window of a late cab
speeding home
I no longer care enough
of what will or can or might happen.

the tide of events
spins irreverent, a sacrilege
toward a private ending.
my own?
how lonely that would seem.
.
my children are my children,
the die is cast
they need me fully or not at all
at times my wife is a person I cannot talk to

Before her I was unfocused
I had principles but I was naive
loving strangers, eyes to the heavens.
now I focus on the earth ahead.

Yet know I lie buried somewhere
aching gnawing to find purpose the source of drive
what is it?
it wakes each cursed day
setting me on a journey
through a disconnected world
waiting for a story to tell.


Humbleness


My son’s clear honest eye 
sees to the heart of me
I am humbled

My daughter’s feet climb my legs and chest
I am humbled

We are all made humble
By our less humble nature

But as nature humbles us
We rebel against humbleness
We strive to be
something else.

Humbled
By my un-humble nature
So my nature
Rails against my humbleness

Were I less humble
I might lift my head
And drop my pride.

How that humbleness burns!

Saturday, October 17, 2015

Coming Soon - Song of Raven


“Song of Raven"

Wat daw Scribblers Scrabe:

Striped Babbler: “Bee-eating a Veery Nody-tail, Scrabe ‘n Averic wid English, Breton, Gaelic, Cornish, Irish, Latin and American Bird names.”

Popinjay: “Purre Goldfinch. A Yoldring Tail ‘n Birdic Grammaw, fly ao Blakeling Scribbler, daw Tail of doo Lovebirds.”

Nanny Wash-tail: “Knot doo Shabby . . Knot Pheasant . .  May-be Fowl . .  Tithys goldie Tell-tale Triller . . “

Bohemian Chatterer: “As Great Reeds go, a ‘Monarch Moualc'h’ ‘n Bird!”

Gossip Bird: “ Bass Guiss? A Pretty Quick Coot Reed! Great Divers! Knot Fody Bleeding-hearts. A Tail doo Ptarmigan 'n Ptarmigan!"

Daw Haggister: “Fody Gull Chasers . . . and Squeezy Gulls Doo . . . Moor Tits ‘n Assity ‘n Fody Plover Padges!”

"Io Tam Gled Io Rood 'Warble Daw Raven'!"

"Yoit Knot Coot Wheary! "


"Alae, daw fannag of Cromadh Bend-daw Ear bird!"


"Cob Rook a Rant!  - "Warble daw Raven"

Friday, October 16, 2015

Words







All my verse and all my song,
Was given you, and yet you're gone,
Taken away, silence between,
The words that play, and the words that mean.

Medicine


I reached for my cures, but my medicine had gone,
They left with a woman who turned them to song.
I wrote down the words, though they didn't make sense,
I thought they might hurt, but I know what they meant.

Search This Blog