Roads

Why on earth do we need these roads?
To crawl over land to your abode!
Some might even call it silly,
To pave our planet mwilly nilly,
Across mountains, rivers, plains,
Send out rollers, and construction cranes.
All so you can be closer by,
To knock on my door and claim the reason why,
To borrow sugar, so why not fly?

When Photons Entangle

When in that other universe,
Our photons might entangle,
I'll remind you then with simple verse,
How friendship kept you single.
Whatever quantum reality,
Superposed another new life,
I reminded you then with simple prose,
I said you'd be my wife.
Don't wait forever for the day,
These lines come forth and tangle,
All time is woven by these rays,
Of photons that got entangled.

A Petal Fell

perhaps a petal fell
from a flower, to a well,
and floated there boat adrift,
a silent merely listening gift
has the water taken,
the color of some tea awakened?
ladies feel what Hades yields
the reality of a pachyderm,
or kraken attacking rationalism,
mite-sized product of mathematics
improved methods for observing antics.
the world thinks I like this cat
the dog it waits for dinner scraps
I'm supposed to feed it true,
then to walk it, with who?
the last un-dead dude on earth
how can you not be tripping birth.
inspire a brother, kick zombie ass
and try to tire your brain alas.
a brother needs no motivation
to amp up and protest this nation.

A Beam of Light

From a lost dim star, beyond Sirius,
Some photons made their way to us
Waving hot, though cursed.
As centuries ticked by on Earth,
How many departed, in what record?
Of loves departed Orion's sword.
A hundred-thousand light year song
A galaxy across, stars played along,
Gathering news with waves of force,
Gravity bending, flew on course.
Cro-Magnon with flint tools bored,
Across heaven's expanse of space they soared
Pressed on, they must,
Brothers, sisters dead by specks of dust
Collisions to barely warm a comet's ear,
Made precious by light in just one year.
More lost than sand in deserts girt,
Of earth and Mars, that snow and dirt.
When light dies, oh how matter hurts.
Asteroid belts gunned down platoons,
And patrolled the solar system round.
Lepton corpses gathered in orbits muted,
Rather unnoticed by electrons recruited.
Survivors wander'd earthward lost in haze,
Ionic confusion to end their days.
Drowned by atmospheric streams,
Some hit my eye, my cornea dreams,
Outside cold, from star streams hot,
Photonic time was running out.
Yet at the cataract a few occluded,
Rushed the aqueous sea secluded
Past Cerberus, Iris, briefly crossed,
Those hit pigment flourished lost
Crossed vitreous, cracked by age,
Most killed, few paid a final wage.
A dozen or two made right of way,
Searching to disembark in quay
Or beach safely, a retinal landing,
How light works is understanding,
I've lost you star, you are gone,
I saw the gleam of one photon,
For an instant, pivot die,
And knew just then, we shined.

Frozen Words

How to phrase, what's not out loud
These words are made by water clouds.
Direct to your heart, center my life,
Letters carry weight, or try.
Words alone will swamp you,
A hunted seal, you could drown.
I'm not the orca, circling
Or a convent of hooded hashishins.
I am the raft that keeps you above water.
Losing you would come around.
So melt frozen love, I am patient,
For rays to turn ice, into ocean.
And bring you to your senses.
I'll warm the level of your sea,
And flood your city to its knees,
And when you see the water rising
Please do call and advise me.

Encounter

In your many names I see . . .
frank sense . . . demure . . . poetry
where did you go,
I miss your dreams.
 . . . to heaven sent . . .
our grapes . . . our tea . . . our sacrament.

My voice is hoarse . . . feathers black . . .
In my coffin . . . on my back . . . I'm spent.

Come open up, let me out . . .
Release me from this awful drought.

You met me with fields of waving grain . . .
Yet fed me dreaming again
for your brother and lover,
Osiris who came
is it possible . . .
To put him together again.
 . . . You will find each other. . .
 . . . You're his sister, wife and mother.

I saw your dance today two ears of corn . . .
 . . . Isis instead of a microphone . . .
I saw your dance . . .  heard your voice . . .
Felt your trance . . . amidst glances
 . . . of a dozen admiring boys.

I wanted to talk to you . . .
Of wishes and dreams. .
to meditate upon your clues
And compose your light in beams.

Two rivers . . . fresh and blue . . .
joined . . . and talked . . . a mournful tune.
The river road floated north,
No need to drive . . . or walk . . . this you know . . .

Dark? . . . this isn't true. .
light inside . . . the rest just isn't you . . .
You light my back . . .
to prove . . .
take any dimension . . .
 . . . up to you.
Alas you would . . .
come through resurrection . . .
And once risen . . .
would see me differently.

the hurt heart . . .
wanting . . .
the world do its part
If there were no fear else . . .
Fear rolls the wheel
 . . . of Kali's cart.
a body has no time to heal
 . . . spirited away in sixteen parts.

I await again . . .
 . . . where it is dark . . .

Offer

She's the one who called you Sire.
Buzzing around so drop that air.
I see you always, I see higher
I take you a ways from here to there.

The swan spoke to the water,
And the butcher to the ham
I hurt all over,
I’m swimming behind the dam.

A lake wraps the lakeshore
Flag furled around the end
Each galaxy has a perimeter
Every illness brings a mend.

With pleasure comes some pain
A game with rules for playing more
The footman entertains his dame,
From two PM, 'till four.

Put down that pile,
Make poetry awhile.
I’ll amuse you, you amuse me . . .
To the end of time you will see.

In my House

In my house there's pastry sweet,
Take my honey as your nightly treat.
All I want is ears to hear,
The songs you sing when I'm not near.

All your honey is oh so sweet,
The treat I give, is poetry.
Come at night, with songs to sing,
Try my poems, wear my bling.

Dreams might speak it plain to you,
Night means play, I bring to you,
Try this day, as you cling to me,    
Sing my blings of poetry.

You Cut my Eyes

Te cortaste mis ojos, los arrebató.
Yo ya no veo.
Mi corazón se queda mirando a su trabajo,
Un amor que se ve.

He hablado con usted acerca de un lugar,
Siempre mantuve, para usted.
Está en mi corazón y llena de arte,
Atormentado por fantasmas, de usted.

En la cima de la gracia, caminé con la fe,
Tiempo demasiado corto a la atención.
Nuestro tiempo como torres cayó,
Moler cada minuto.

No puedo dar lo que haces para vivir,
Lo que no puede ser no puede comenzar.
Así que nuestras vidas sacó un cuchillo,
Y cortar nuestros corazones separados.

Ker-Ching Song

Sing to me that bling song, that kissing song,
The song you sing, when we bling, . . . my love.

Please don't cling me, just sing to me  . . . with that ker-ching song.

Write a song, as a dove alone.
Thus to win me, please don't string me,
Better bling me, . . . with that ker-ching song.

Keep ker-chinging  . . . with that kissing song.

Write some poetry, sung for me,
The bling you bring, numbs me,
Your poems sting me,  . . . with that ker-ching song.

Now my love, with bling for free,
Such coquetry will bring poetry.
Sing to me, that ker-ching song,   . . . . . . my love.

Bling Song

All I want is ears to hear,
The songs you sing when I'm not near.

Don't you hear that sad refrain,
Don't you hear it? Hear it plain . . .

Come at night, with songs to sing,
Try my poems, wear my bling.

Don't you hear that sad refrain,
Don't you hear it? Hear it rain . . . ?

Dreams might speak it plain to you,
Night means play, I bring,

Try this day, to cling to me,  
Sing my blings of poetry.

Living Art

An accipiter may rush through air,
for grouse through thickets impenetrable,
or osprey a morning flounder
a fish cast to breakfast table.
Grasped from ocean bottom sand,
Mollusks opened by sharpened talon,
or alewives from the river taken,
by practiced flight and slight of hand.
Storms of herring mass in water,
before schools of tuna dine,
bulleting mouths apart
adjust herring numbers in dark.
Feather, scale and limb,
fit to the task of living art.
Should I scream or bark,
as I fork apart my morning trout?
or slip it down my gullet wide
then announce with resounding cry,
as a hawk or heron from the sky.

Raise the Horn

  I raise a horn,
  To blow this note without alarm.
   I'm calling my goddess with the raven hair,
  Ask her back to my humble lair.
  I'll tell her stories, 'till the moon goes down,
  And give her dreams until the crack of dawn.

The Mole

A lonely Mole came from a hole,
To catch a lunch of tender sole.
"O Sole Mio, so sang the Mole,
"I've Lost my Sole", he sang also.
The mole drank a drop of salty sloe,
And slowly downed his meal of sole.

"In Hell's Hotel, there lies a gal.
 A little one for whom I fell.
 On her pillow, on her bed,
 I'm mad, tethered, weighted pledged,
 Mind me not as I seek out a ledge.
 I'll jump off, and float to sea.
 One more Mole, to eternity."


Original version of "The Mole's Last Supper"
Illustration by E.H. Shepard.

Shillelagh

 The public house at closing hour,

 Knew Tom's call for a gimlet sour.

 Though that damson tart looked plump,

 Tom called out for more beef rump.

 A slow-eyed hubby's grafted wife,

 White Lady took the seed to life.

 Then from sheep the ram got torn,

 She bade him drink some good blackthorn.

 Distilled from sloe, medicinal gin,

 Liquor allayed Tom's life of sin.

 Then the good wife herself got ripped,

 To stalwart cudgels for Tory whips.

The Mole's Last Supper

 A solemn Mole came from a hole,

 To catch a lunch of tender sole.

"I've Lost my Sole", so sang the Mole,

 And held up high his fishing pole.

 He drank a drop of salty sloe,

"O Sole Mio", he sang also.

 Then set a fire with lumps of coal,

 And slowly downed his meal of sole.

"In Hell's Hotel, there lies a gal.

 A little mole for whom I fell.

 On her pillow, upon her bed,

 I'm madly tethered, fated pledged!

 "Mind me not, as I seek a ledge.

  I'll blindly jump, and float to sea.

  One more Mole, to eternity."

The Gypsy U

From the vast midwest,

Came one thought I loved best,

Without explanation, without occasion,

Sent a U . . . through postal invasion.

All was said and done, and lost

Though I tried, I got tossed!

In what way was this too true.

Was Y  the reason our love fell through?

Names? Just three,

All gave me a U, one sent a Z.

Of the other two, one gave a Y,

The last, a B, remade my life,

The second U came from old Japan.

Shall I mention she gave a Z, then ran?

We prowled New York, just her and me,

Who is she . . .  I'll not tell U !

We searched Kyoto through, ate fine sushi.

Her letters read - 'Dōmo arigatō! Oishii!'

Then she fled, not to Tokyo,

But to Italy, . . . to Milan-o.

Two letters later, U and B,

Given by my Kabbalah lady.

I met her in Brooklyn years ago,

Her husband then was awfully shady.

They lived in a Jersey city, though.

23 equals U plus B,

What's this got to do with me?

Or for a girl from a forest town -

It's true you've grown. your age was 23,

I've since drunk your letters, drank them down.

I gave an Aleph, made my ageless bed,

The trouble and strife got previously wed.

Oxen gifts, a bear for boons,

Interpretations, made anew.

U-Boat 23, about 1917,

Sank 52 ships, herself went down.

UB's a postal code, of old London,

Southall, Ealing, and Hillingdon.

Biscuits, breweries, universities,

Belgrade and Basrah drink Burgundy.

Could UB stand for Mongolia?

Ulan Battor in Asia? Maybe?

I read your letters every day,

You'll return to me, don't say no, 

Say someday!

Belgrade?, . . . . through Serbia flows the Ub

Gosh my gypsy's got wandering curls.

With Roma eyes bright, not fair,

So have gone, to play guitar.

Know I'll love her from time afar,

The question's not when, but where.

NAMA - Marsyas 2007

Six Letters

On a scant atoll,
six letters, caught my soul.
I cast those letters in ink, not brass,
 . . . arranged them there to hold you fast.
A nib dripped ink,
so those letters made me think . . .
of the ruin of kin,
 . . . . Oh how the soul does rub it in.
A ribbon until the end of time,
arms I knew, would soon hold mine.
So in words I set our souls . .
stories to contain us all. . . like bowls,
 . . .  be good, and call me soon . . .
 . . .  let's Muse beneath the moon,
and with me, write nighttime poetry.

Now

The Lord of Things below,
Howls and climbs his tower,
to feed his wolverine some stew,
and then to watch it growl.

What's in wolverine stew?
A passerine or two,
bones, remains of fowl.
They stand cheek to jowl, so
Now must be the hour.

Jan. 3, 2012 Firing

My kiln bulges, recent works,
Boxes, bowls, and small figures.
Shino platters, tea-cups sure,
Poetry, shards, and raw sculptures.
A firing packed with experiments,
Successes, failures, accidents.
I make of clay a small kiln God,
Soon I'll the turn the pilots on.