Saturday, July 31, 2021

Poem: Hidden In a Closet

 

Hidden In a Closet


cleat-like fonts amass into scaffolds,

choke a page, tumble

to the next, until a journal cries out

in bloat and smudge.

 

such a spiral-bound notebook.

it wobbles like a limp frisbee,

flaps under dirty clothes

in a closet’s moth-eaten throat.

 

its slush pile of penciled guts

bristles with secrets of personal hurt:

lust sobbed; monsters inflicted;

care bright yet vulnerable.

 

so many stupid, flawed young hopes,

all expressed so wrong.  trite or jabberwocky.

then mauled by a gryphon,

wings of marred paper,

never to fly, never to matter.




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Monday, July 26, 2021

Homeless J Story -- Completely Edited

 Back in 2010, I wrote a story on this blog from the perspective of "Homeless J."  A lot of the writing in this story was absolutely hideous.  I just had to edit it, so I have.   I am still quite ambivalent, at best, about the project.  And yet there are some good points in it.  And some poetic moments.  It is not quite as hideous as before, at least ...   

Fly Well In The Dark,

Owl

PS:  The formatting is bad on some of the entries, due to changes in google-blog format over the years.  I don't know how to fix it.

PPS:  If you see any older entries you want edited, let me know.  A lot of them are awful.

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Part I

Part 2

Part III

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 15

Part 16

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Saturday, July 24, 2021

Poem: Night Window

 

Night Window


a dog's whine wavers, riding whispery leaves--

such a howl-whimper rollercoaster,

 

nothing to hold onto,

not in this tortuous sound;

 

and yet i will not admit, tucked in bed,

that it forces me to pray.

 

so late, and yet

there’s too much absence of quiet in the silence.

 

stray chirps; deodar and ash rustles;

a lone screech of far off rubber.

 

let’s just say

there’s too much pregnancy of risk.

 

of some ruttish feline minuet.

of some chuffing semi, some gruff jet plane.

 

funny how interlapping breaths,

easy as a purl of river,

 

an anodyne measured in a rigor of lungs,

 

cannot override the night window’s

invitation.




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Sunday, July 18, 2021

Poem: Sturve Slough

 

 

Sturve Slough

 

fence posts list to rot,

chewed by pond scum,

a reminder of the callous, needy farmers

who first parceled the slough.

 

now it can relax,

perimetered by a shield of official gravel.

adored, no less, by a boxy plaza

with a Holiday Inn that hugs it

like a giant pink cheek.

 

before the farmers,

the slough was sacred,

an oasis of food, water, and animal visions.

voices of ancestry.

 

today, it is merely primordial.

a curio for the tourists, and the sparkles

that scamper over its oozy flesh.

 

when the moon thrives high,

a babble of frogs blurt tepid moans.

ducks bob and flip,

silent, busy phantoms, nothing more,

 

to gorge on the croaking fruit

in the onyx water.


======================






Watsonville, CA

2002

Wednesday, July 14, 2021

Poem: Abandoned

 

Abandoned

 

lost leaves reach out.

who will  save

this vast orphanage,

a forest of muted hands?

 

who discarded them

below callous lawyers who barked?

who abandoned them

to gutter, rot and shadow?

 

who,


who would do this?

clothe them in tatters,

leave them to crane hungry,

for a sunny drop of rice?

 

beadles scuttle close by,

possessive in their gaze.

who left the lost, fragile leaves

vulnerable to such creatures?

 

who undid their innocence?



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11/29/23.... lots of edits... 

Monday, July 12, 2021

Poem: Aria Of Was

 

Aria Of Was

 

fiery palms of leaves

clasp through long goodbyes.

my failures exit as well

yet cling with the audacity of tombs.

 

i will not kiss again,

no chisel to extend the was of my lips.

no pyramid of joys to reclimb,

though my face chances to form

on the crawl of weeping sands.

 

phrases of lusty rain

strum blue ocean’s breath;

so i played the yields of love,

blending heave and song. 

 

but mine was a music of solos,

and the ocean, in the end, stands alone.

the pas de deux of hearts in storms

cannot cure what caskets store

in their cold breasts.




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Friday, July 9, 2021

Poem: A Fair Morning

 

A Fair Morning

 

golden bees

and fuchsia rubies.

foxglove sways in lust,

while breeze strums by,

a lazy troubadour.

 

clover, so plush of scent,

feeds all morning

till stalks are drunk,

swards of lilliputian dancers.

 

brash gushes of sun

slant across a rapture of leaves.

how lucky they are,

worshipped and worshipping

the verdancy.



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Saturday, July 3, 2021

Poem: Global Warming

 

Global Warming

 

merciless sun, it curdles voices

before the first puff of the first phrase.

 

words of truth remain forgotten,

replaced by joints of ants

swelling, dutiful, aching

over sands that eat them as they erode.

 

lines and lines and lines

march through eyes and brains and breaths--

to follow all the other busy lies,

burning themselves out,

as redness chews on destiny.

 

those that serve the most know the least,

and in the duty and drone of obeisance

never see their Greater Purpose

fry the wings off its creations.




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