Spread Sheet

from this week in 2015  (I was 71)

                  Spread Sheet

The accountant sets the figures in rows and columns

The arrangement of these ranks and files

placed in particular order length and depth

determines the type and name of that chart

Within the sets of figures is a story to be understood

swift smooth forward movements of addition

Leaps of multiplication make future projections

Offsets are deficits backtracking subtractions

that tell a different tale tone and direction

revelations on the other side of the point

The accountant knows the fractions are where lives are lived

In the minutiae of the daily entry

that very human attempt to measure profit and loss

adds to the graph of the big picture

once confined to a cabinet now stored in a cloud

I think I’m getting another creeping case of existentialism

December 30, 1971  (I was 27)

I think I’m getting another creeping case of existentialism

right in the middle of my romantic transcendental period (or is it over) .

I don’t feel naturalistic because at the moment the environment seems

as impotent as myself.  I’ve just got the cosmic creep (sometimes

known as the cosmic cry of ecstasy).  If anything figures, it’s that all

must be one.  I guess that one, in the whole, could be as disintegrated

as it is in it’s parts.  All this, in that case, is some kind of come together

wet dream in the seventh day’s night, and tomorrow, baby, come the

Hard Eight.

When what you’ve made has said goodbye

December 29, 2015  (I was 71)

When what you’ve made has said goodbye

be not assured that it is gone

It often returns unfinished it claims

with accusations you could have done more

and expectations that you will

When something you’ve made is actually gone

it rarely says goodbye leaving you

with the finishing touches still in hand

I don’t belong

from this week of December, 2008  (I was 64)

I don’t belong

on the electronic page

my bio don’t log

I don’t text

tweet blackberry

seeds stick in my teeth

require too much

attention

maintenance

I have clumsy thumb pads

digits not at all

digital

don’t engage e-page don’t

rage rave rag on nor riot

don’t even try it

I have not joined well

not well joined at all

it is hard to stomach

my dismal small talk

my pepto-dismal small talk

If at first you don’t ____

Become anonymous

Been most successful as

Anonymous

Juanannonymous

One suspects one

has dropped somewhat out

doesn’t belong

won’t belong

a convergin

from this week of December, 2008  (I was 64)

         a convergin

it was just a coupla nights ago

the rhythmic pluck of an ol banjo

comin outta the raydeeo

matched the scratch on the distant track

motion and notion ‘prochin nickedynack

banjo sang train sang and I sang back

The devalued photo

December 26, 2008  (I was 62)

The devalued photo

on the two inch screen

taken two seconds ago

shows a tropical butterfly

in a tropical forest exhibit

at the aquarium

The photo snapper

looks at the photo

a foot in front of their eyes

their finger still on the trigger

ready for another shot

while the butterfly

still jiggles like a puppet

in the leaves of the mangrove

Our photographs used to fit

in a single oversized family album

with an extravagant cover

deteriorating from useful love

across three generations

looked at studied

again and again

They were history

now we have blips on a chip

They never leave the camera

just a confirmation

that what we actually saw

is virtually still there

more proliferate images

than moments left in our lives

I’ve ignored daily evidence

December 25, 1976  (I was 32)

I’ve ignored daily evidence

disregarded the point of each lesson

So now it is I’ve flunked visceral learning

I have not had the compassion

to massage my own neck

It ‘s not that I lacked the feeling

but settled for powder in the stomach

when I could have conjured organic bicarbonates

bubbles in the brain

Dilated pupils should not be overexposed to sunlight

elementary enough

but not more primary than good posture

nor more essential than breathing good air

It is a corruption of the knowledgeable

to believe occasional indiscretions will be overlooked

in the face of their general wisdom

I would like to see something Joseph made of wood

December 24, 2012  (I was 68)

I would like to see something Joseph made of wood

something of substance to make him real as Mary

to see what part of brightness was he

the reflective part of the man

in the carpentry removed from divine notions

the working of utilitarian artistry

something manipulated by his tools

service consecrated to a patron devotee

or in a bartered rendering of equal value

Carl Sagan could interpret stellar photographs

from this week of December, 2013  (I was 69)

Carl Sagan could interpret stellar photographs

By the color of celestial objects

he could determine or at least speculate

upon their chemical composition

understand by their quivering

whether anything was orbiting them

how many million light years away they were

or even if they were mere ghost emanations

whose dead light was reaching us eons after

it had actually expired  I suspect

he totally admired the paintings of Jackson Pollock

I had a job and finished it

December 22, 2012  (I was 68)

I had a job and finished it

seemed like it was taking forever

but forever isn’t really that long

I was sure I did it quite well

Now I’m sure others would disagree

but it’s over and I know it doesn’t matter

same as the stuff other folks did

To ascribe significance is a universal ignorance

ignoring what is obvious in any perception

To be sober is to be drunk

health but an illness of mind

talent a particular form of clumsiness

the humor of sorrow serious laughter

the peace of violence a silent explosion

Someone’s labor gets the ink off the paper

and back into the pen and the meaning

of that is inescapable

I remember when Disneyland was fun

December 21, 2012  (I was 68)

I remember when Disneyland was fun

a time when you would notice everyone

who was there and what did they wear

and where did they want to go first

I sat on a bench on a porch on Main Street

as if I were a resident of the town

Neighbors strolled by whom I would greet

with a nod or a smile and they would slow down

to respond before traveling to another land

And I was there again yesterday I think

along with everyone and their kitchen sink

The population explosion happened right there

much more crowded than ever in Times Square

To keep people moving took a squad of Marines

No Little Mermaids just Tiny Tot sardines

squeezed from no place to no place to go

Out the gate it finally felt great to forget

you had been taken

Heroes write in second person

December 20, 2010  (I was 65)

Heroes write in second person

so you can imagine you are they

and they can imagine they are humble

It also allows a little fudge on the truth

If there’s a bit of hyperbole here

and some ameliorating there

it was you who thought it

and you going through this who did it

I wrote it exactly as you said

it’s up to you to decide

whether it’s undeclared biography

or personification of the fictive truth

unsound expectation

from this week in 2005

         unsound expectation

I had expected the sounds from all below

to settle into the comfortable hum

within the sonic universality of aum

I’ve been accustomed to this perception

in the heightened awareness stimulated

by focused intent on the physical climb

But yesterday there was an unfamiliar whine

above the drone and apart from it

It was less plaintive than the squeals

of freeway semis more shrill than train wheels

fighting against the curving rails

a sound distinct from historic wails

of horror beyond humanity

that humanity so often creates

I know this subtlety relates

as all sounds from the common source

I just did not expect it in this state

I underestimated us of course

The text in my mind this morning

December 18,2003  (I was 69)

The text in my mind this morning

was full of the assonance of O

I try to remember the words now

once occasion oppression overbearing

I don’t know now

but it had to do with us recognizing

the hour of America was over

We’ve immolated our witches

owned our slaves

bombed the biggest bombs

bombed cities bombed jungles

bombed deserts bombed mountains

of bombs drones of bombs

The world does not trust us

because we are not trustworthy

Our biggest citizens are corporations

Our little citizens are obsolete

Our biggest business is fighting fear

We make sure there is enough

to keep the economy going

The man on PBS did a documentary

from this week of December, 2013  (I was 69)

The man on PBS did a documentary

to record the habits of happy people

and he determined through numerous interviews

the happiest people surround themselves

with family and friends a community of others

but he does not take account of those

who may have been very happy not

taking part in his little movie

A Throw

December 16, 1975  (I was 30)

         A Throw

Perceiving the impending fall,

the equestrian rises out of the saddle

clearing the mount, and extends

body lines along the lines of force.

Upon impact, the faller

absorbs the energy

rolling a line as long as possible

converting vertical motion to horizontal.

Whereupon assessing bodily damage

and usually finding none permanent,

the pedestrian retrieves his mount

and ignores tomorrow’s papers.

Pilgrim Age

December 15, 2003  (I was 59)

         Pilgrim Age

This is a journey of some experience,

travelers who have packed some bags…

have dangled from hot high voltage wires

separated the Constitution from political desires

who at times have lived from hand to mouth

nursed their way from the deepest South

ran the field and have lain on the table

hung onto the shaken until they were stable

Travelers of fine craft and detailed décor

all haunted by journeys traveled before.

They know when to walk and when to run

travelers rewriting what they’ve already done.

Love the noun is an abstraction that

from this week of December, 2011  (I was 67)

Love the noun is an abstraction that

can only be indicated by love the verb.

Love, the verb, is better indicated in the less

overt, and sometimes superficial, typical

physical action (hug, kiss, hand over

heart).  More subtle indicators can be

emblematic or, more heavy handed,

symbolic.  It is not the enduring aspects

of love that are difficult to invoke;

it’s the fleeting, ephemeral, unstable

quality, even when it feels eternal.

To relate that is as elusive

as discovering the real thing. 

It should never be quite what you think it is.

This Fishing

from this week of December, 1979  (I was 35)

         This Fishing

I don’t fish

but I’d bet there are many fishermen

who’ve gone out for the day

with no intention of catching a thing

The idea is to throw the line in the water

recover and cast it out again

There are some people you must keep

from this kind of fishing

These people are serious fishermen

who have the true objective of catching fish in mind

They cannot appreciate ulterior motives

They do not understand a hook without bait

This fishing is done most effectively in solitaire

It is best to imitate the stillness of the water

and best to fish only upon still water

The target of the cast is the center ring

of the ripple it creates 

The act is the act  Reflection is distortion

Steam Heat

December 12, 1976  (I was 32)

         Steam Heat

First time I was stoned

it was on steam heat

Mad dog winter bite your ass off outside

me lying on the carpet

five year old face up against the register

hearing only the blower roaring

eyes closed against a desert wind.

After the night rain

December 11, 2015  (I was 71)

After the night rain

pine needles on the park walk

Chinese characters

rain arranges needles

pines dropped on the walk

inscrutable characters

on pine stained walk

indecipherable

Asian script left unread

The night Jesus played the music

December 10, 1999  (I was 55)

The night Jesus played the music

the fire continued burning

the low flames dancing over the embers

untended as if replenished

by harmonic sound wafting over them

The subtle rhythmic crackle kept the time

and the melody danced from sparks to desert stars

The strummed notes fell easily from his fingers

as his words that day had left his lips

patterned in such obvious nature

to lead us to believe we had always known them

like lyrics to a song we thought forgotten

first sung to us while we rested in our mother’s arms

and looked up through those stars

into the quiet comfort of the dark

Revenge is impotent following genuine tragedy

December 9, 2006  (I was 62)

Revenge is impotent following genuine tragedy

Moral devastation affects perpetrator and victim

The degradation debases all

Humanity is absent

Aggrandized thoughts of what we were vanish

like smoke constricted in the reality of cold air

Truth dissipates in the perfect distribution of chaos

Narrow focus explodes to widest angle

planets lost in galaxies lost as well

Mere justice and retribution seem

a preoccupation of  an insignificant number

in the population of one minor specie

That man talking over his shoulder

from this week of December, 1979  (I was 35)

     That man talking over his shoulder

Do you feel the edge of the world?

Ever feel like you’ve crawled to the brink

fingers acute on the precipice

like you didn’t really choose to be there

moved along by the whack on your ass

the big broom and the sweep of time?

There you were crawling across the floor

moving from one bit of this to another

when you and the neighborhood

together were swept to the edge

Somewhere inside them

everybody knew about the big broom

Even your muscles knew

knew sooner or later hoping later

Then you were there

not expecting so many friends with you

and others calling back from over the edge

and you now with this new moment

Gonna let the next one catch you in the ass?

In Huck Finn like on the internet

December 7, 2013  (I was 69)

In Huck Finn like on the internet 

nobody tells the truth to another

Some because they don’t know it

Some because they fear it

And never does it seem to occur to one

to be the sensible dodge

upon first meeting a probable devil

or one of his improbable imps

I know people are afraid to speak

from this week in 2010  (I was 66)

I know people are afraid to speak

about the unspeakable and unmentionable

knowing it will put them on a list

that will impede or even restrict travel

To question makes them sympathizers

to associate makes them guilty

vulnerable to detachment

and government claims that they are one of them

or at least complicit dupes

Even to research or inquire rouses suspicion

It’s McCarthyism without a name

Categories of lists intersect electronically

I know people who won’t vote

afraid to mention suspected impropriety

places them on another list waiting to be counted

The government is only Little Brother

Secret Agencies Corporate Entities

International Banking Privatized Armies

Mythical Job Markets employing from lists

buy educated employees with pennies and threats

A class kept in poverty as a buffer

from the starving class they will be required to eradicate

While those whose job it is to deflect taxes

Wiki-leak their open admiration

for the Smartest Men In The Enron Room

whose only mistake was getting on a list

It is repetition that makes us believe

from this week in 2015  (I was 71)

It is repetition that makes us believe

the lord has something up his sleeve

Nothing like a natural scare

to prompt us into fervent prayer

Nice to have a verse in mind

when we find us in a bind

Recalling something plenary

from our childish memory

gives us the hopeless hope

we’ve not yet been given quite enough rope

it is difficult to be stupid everyday

December 4, 2013  (I was 69)

it is difficult to be stupid everyday

I seem to forget how nearly every night

Just before I fall asleep I feel smartness creep in

I wake up clear-headed and practical

at times even ambitious and tolerant

perfectly willing to pass others with a smile

wishing them good morning as if it were mine to bestow

Soon I get to thinking change is possible

and encounter the complexity of inertia

a recollection of mindlessness at first

a low drone the scent of futility remembered

from history books and faded newspaper

the re-acquaintance with the shadow of doubt

who leans closer to whisper in the afternoon

to suggest it’s time to prepare a dinner of fatted sloth

and the recipe falls to mind step by step

beginning with a slow heat to render the fat

before stewing the meat in the amalgam of ingredients

that simmer into a singular tastelessness

I eat my fill directly from the pot in front of the TV

watching I think some game show where luck

decides whether someone wins or loses today

idealistic advice

December 3, 1979  (I was 35)

         idealistic advice

In civil protest sit in silence

weep at the outrage of your indignity

weep at the violence done to your person

do not resist force

disperse when displaced

or proceed to prison calmly

If you are assured of a hearing voice

speak your cause clearly

If you are not heard

save your own life

get out of prison

and live where you can

as long as you can

the unfit

from this week in 2012  (I was 68)

       the unfit                 

They’d like to fit in

not be misfits or bad fits

but sure fits

wearing the shoe that fits

making no one fit to be tied

moving smooth with no fits and starts

If not physically fit nor a perfect fit

at least a comfortable fit

Fatigued from the effort

they fitfully sleep

Not much into minor mammals

December 1, 2006  (I was 62)

Not much into minor mammals

I’ve little to say of reptiles

less of amphibians

naught of fish except as food preference

minute metaphors of insects maybe

a bit more of those that fly

And for extended thought birds only

captured by their fancy flights

in spite of their wretched appetites