World Poetry Day

When are words enough? When do they suffice to express
the things inside the gut and inside the mind? Inside the heart.
When taking great care to select them, arrange them, and feel them
swirl around in your throat, slide across the tongue and
exit into the world.

The physical sensations in my body overlap with my emotions
like the boy's outstretched arms grasping at the hen whose explosive
wing pump of liberation cast a shadow monster
on the stucco wall in the bright sun of the southern hemisphere.

Conditional factors can't be hypothesized
we can only watch the bird being gathered back up into the boys retracting arms
or the feathers neaten into a linear vehicle of escape.

for their shadows to fall upon other encounters and
create monsters anew.

Cathedral Candles

I thought I had a quarter in my pocket.
I wanted to light a candle
They're majestic aren't they?

Get a picture with me right in front while I light the candle
oh but damn I don't have a quarter.
Get the whole thing, all the way up to the top.

Are you getting the whole thing?
That very tippy-top candle?
_

What do we visit a church for?
A cathedral built for the worship of a God we regard skeptically
and whose name we take in vain.

If you get a shiver of emotion upon entring,
which heart string is being pulled?
Is it a testament to Man who built it?
Faith that inspired it?
Self congratulation for being there?
Gratitude for that moment?

Awe.
Boredom.
Flippancy.
Nostalgia.
Curiosity.
_

What would the men who built it think of the world surrounding today.

photo Jean Gaumy: October 1980. Pilgrims standing in front of the cave. Lourdes, France

weather wear where

It's cold outside
and my sleeves are long
I can't reach out to stop the ball before it rolls into the street

There's no real tragedy here,
I motion to a car that I am about to cross
and I make it to the other side without a scratch.

Back on the lake it was less predictable.
The dangers weren't as obvious as a moving car.
__

I heard the sounds of animals and calls of birds
Myself, I was unimportant in the midst of it all.
Meaning vulnerable. You are no more important or precious
than the birds whose feathers fill your bedding
or the animals whose fur line your garments and boots.

It's funny though, as I wrap myself in man made nylon
defense against the dusting of water particles blowing like snowflakes in the wind
I am still at the lake, but it is as if I brought the moving car along inside my weekend satchel.

Great Big Blue

The Great Big blueness
around the little brown boat
was a carpet of ripples and waves and foam
concealing the world beneath

The wake of the little brown boat
left open a smooth passageway
into the great deep blue that expanded out below

The Great Big blue sky
reflected onto the ripples and waves and foam
the ocean disguised to resemble the
great big expanse of the open air above

the sky which is never ending and infinite
while the depth of the oceans are tangible
and defined by the earth's core

its shores are navigable and discovered
while the sky's beginning is as illusive as the horizon
and its territory is the final frontier

In the morning, it was a bright and quiet time.
With no others, but, a splash in the pond.
"Hello friend," came a call. "Are the fish biting
this fine morning?"
"Come have a seat and we can answer together."
They sat peacefully and kept their senses all
in the tips of their fingers.

"Good morning, sirs," accompanied the
soft sound of grass underneath advancing feet.
"Fine fishermen, may I share the shade
of this noble tree with you?"
"Gladly. Please, sit. But we must insist
that you keep still as a the trunk of that tree
so as not to scare the fish away."

Some time of silence and quiet passed
without the sound of any man
not even the companions along the water's edge.

"I sense your effort, kind sirs, to send your senses
to the tips of your fingers so as not to miss
the slightest nibble from your aquatic prey.
But I must insist that in your patience, you
leave just enough sense up here
to enjoy this magnificent day."

Fat Fingers

I was recently at the Helmut Newton Exhibit at The Grand Palais where I saw this photograph which reminded me of a poem from a while back.
enjoy

I

Fat fingers open the door

To look inside

Peering through to the people’s

belongings on the wall

that’s where they hang things

after all

Fat fingers sift through the

Many items on the floor

Books and movies tell a story

About the audience

Not just to it

Finger through their lives

It’s easy enough to figure out

Even clumsy fat fingers

will have some idea

Badlands

The badlands

Into the badlands the bad man ran

Hiding out from the hero’s of the lawless land

Canyon roads deep and narrow

Here the hawks eat the sparrow

Diving down to the depths of the ravines

Like the veins of his body

Pumping blood quickly, hotly

the system of trails branched away.

Deeper in he goes, more hidden, he knows

To evade capture and get away clean.

Kicks the sides of his horse

Thick skin but it hurts

The dust kicks up horseshoes a’ clicking

Seeing clouds up ahead

Through the rocks of dusty red

The sheriff looked up just in time.

Badge glints in the sun

Grit inscribed on his gun

His hat casting shadow o’er his eyes

He closed in on his man

Knowing time’s no one’s friend

with a rope wrangled him to the ground

one more vanquished bad man

in the long list of them

grit prevails with the sheriff around

Wintertime on A lake in Norway

four times per year

the provisions are delivered

four times a year 

once in dead cold

the roads are closed

and a boat's not an option

the lake is now ice

with a coating of snow

travel 'cross ice 

leaving tracks not to follow

they are a caution 

someone's passed here before

 

the sack on a sled

efficient and agile

at the start you say

I could have taken more

In the refuge oasis

 the island of tress

you can't stay too long

you feel safe, you won't leave

the wind may be biting

advance past the tree line

just think of arriving

on the far side

it seems too distant

with your heavy load

but you've done it before

knowing that's all you need

take the first step

where the ice isn't worn down

across to the clearing

with the old crooked tree

 

deliver the wares

warm up your feet

start plans for next time

prepare once again to leave 

beastly

what are  are you doing with those horns?
I am in the mood to hear you running down the freeway
like a panther

not a leaopard
like your spots would have me believe
clacking heels and jingling change purse

thicker skin over your heart won't do much good against modern weaponry
it's nothing like cannon fire coming from the sea

I'd stick to the black it suits your disposition
those spots attract too much attention

and you don't know what you're doing with those horns
give yourself a break
why make it harder to get up into that tree?

Cactus

...she rode through the cactus rising up from the ground. Earlier this morning, in town, she had seen the women in the carriage with her curled hair and white gloved hand hanging listlessly out the window. What a life she imagined the woman must have. What a life. The hooves tapped on the dry ground, hollow and vast...
that night, as she lay under the big sky, she thought about what it might be like in a fluffy bed with soft white sheets. She closed her eyes to imagine it. Almost wishing herself there. But when she opened her eyes, she looked up at the bright, glimmering stars. They sparkled down on her like a thousand well-wishing angels. And she knew she wouldn't change places for anything...

the big man and the little man sat together side by side. the big man had lived longer- was weathered, was worn. the little man was smaller, like his name implies. little and light, in weight and in color. taking after the big man in texture and sheen. appearance is everything the big man always said. the wrinkles are my experience and worldliness. your smooth surface is your innocence and naivete. one day, when people have wrinkled you and worn down your seams, you will remember this moment with me.