Though I am a citizen and I live here

November 30, 2010  (I was 66)

Though I am a citizen and I live here

this is not my country

No matter that I always vote

and campaign for those who speak my voice

Our arrogant governance in the world

humiliates me

the autocratic savior complex

I am told and I know

what we do maintains the lifestyle I enjoy

But there are many lifestyles I can love

and the enjoyment of what I have

is relative to how many others have it too

and what we did to get it

So this is not my country yet

I’m not sure but I think there was a time

From this week in November, 2013  (I was 68)

I’m not sure but I think there was a time

I should have downshifted and turned a corner

or maybe sped up in high to get somewhere fast

I could have sought advice or read some directions

I’m not even sure I didn’t do those things

There was a time the totality of life seemed easy

and only the insignificant particulars were difficult

The totality was in the hands and minds of others

adults who understood the situation I only perceived

a perception self-centered and foolish I knew

There was a time I could not give what I did not have

It was never correct to do that but it was a tradition

to tell the young to take care of the penny

and the dollars would take care of themselves

So now there’s a tarnished cent among the dirty dollars

I’ve never been anything if not presumptuous

thinking sooner or later to be of some worth

therefore worthy of tolerance until then

Now that I’ve not altered gear nor direction

everyday is too familiar to be somewhere else

Everything I focus on

from this week in November 1971  (I was 26)

Everything I focus on

is only a fragment 

perceived by a fragment of attention

I flash

like a Picasso person

pure sense essence

without grotesque flesh

or reasonable circumstance

Considered before sleep

        

from this week in November, 2015   (I was 71)

        Considered before sleep

Avoided Nam being young and dumb

student deferment through ’66

Graduated married a teacher a father

classified exempt until the lottery

Then turned twenty-six too old to be taken

reached a militarily untrainable age

locked in my recalcitrant ways

Dumb luck the smartest thing I did

The DELETE is the great key to success

November 26, 2013  (I was 69)  see same date in edits for alt.

The DELETE is the great key to success

it sends the highlighted mess to cyberspace

Errant thought and sloppy construction

erased without scar or cover-up

Physical ineptitude of fingers keyboard

mistakes that multiply in the awshit of their discovery

Gone with a single stroke

A little light above the heavy curtain of the confessional

changed from red to green upon your exit

to indicate unoccupied but to me a symbolic message Go

Proceed With A Clean Slate

even though I never believed it true 

I believe the DELETE

An hour later in the street I don’t remember

the ill-conceived foolishness and there is no evidence

of damage nor inkling of wrong-doing

If in the life of bricks and blood

a touch of the REGRET upon mindful memories

could restore the mindless innocence

which preceded our momentary ignorance

I would be willing to recall and relate

every awfuck revelation that occurs to me

It all seemed so real at the time

from this week in November, 1972  (I was 28)

It all seemed so real at the time

and the reality froze the moments

accessible cold and clear and I burn

a sacrifice of this moment

to lie about a little of it

One ember upon the hearth is a lie

The hearth keeper won’t let it burn down the house

He snuffs it

I may not be able to get at it

It’s tricky telling a lie so as to reveal the truth

I admire people who can use the truth to lie

What could I having thus spoken say to follow it

All the storybook lives are not in storybooks

November 24, 2012  (I was 68)

All the storybook lives are not in storybooks

The ones that are will fit into movies

whose conventional length has shrunk in my lifetime

from two hours to ninety minutes or less

a reduction of twenty-five percent

while life span has increased considerably

and we think more complexly so

there ought to be material for more involved

story-book lives in multifaceted detail

but we think we’ve seen it all

know how it should end

don’t like it when it doesn’t

like in our own lives

where heroes are as ambiguous as the side they’re on

Common local villainy is inconspicuous

lost among our blatant international piracies

in explosive color and surround sound

a cover-up on an epic scale

Someone before me decided rain on my roof

from this week in November, 2012  (I was 68)

Someone before me decided rain on my roof

should not drain directly off the slant

but caught in gutters to downspouts funneling

to corners of expedient convenience and past logic

This delivery system is quite efficient

as long as there are no trees nearby

It was devised when the neighborhood was new

trunks still held by stakes below the roofline

We live among foliate monsters now

whose sheddings fill the aqueducts in every season

to decompose into mushy verdant gardens

At an inconvenient time they must be cleaned

accessed by slippery ladder moved station to station

shoveled out by hand then flushed by hose and still

there are storms each year that overwhelm the system

pour off the roof in the most direct manner possible

I consider appropriate truisms of our existence

a zen acceptance of a waterfall in the window

A half century is a blink of an eye

from this week in November, 2017  (I was 73)

A half century is a blink of an eye

same old catcher in the same old rye

shots still fired in downtown Dallas

same old hatred same old malice

Took a road less traveled and forsaken

wish it had been the one not taken

the one called Hope to a land called Promised

to lay by still waters where breezes are warmest

but we rode the bullets down the cross-haired sight

to end somewhere else than we thought we might

The way we can take a dust ball

from this week in November, 2013  (I was 69)

The way we can take a dust ball

an entire microbic universe

and flush it into an alien existence

can we doubt the scope of cosmic disruption

that might instantaneously occur

Having some familiarity with Italo Calvino

I can’t help but think no one really knows

how long we can hide under the bed

I used to imagine all of creation

occupying the space above the brine

in some giant’s pickle jar residing

on a lower shelf of a dark cabinet

until someday when the unknowing giant

has a taste for another pickle

I think the results amount to the same thing

Is it the command over another’s decline

November 20, 2007  (I was 63)

Is it the command over another’s decline

that makes one age?  It seems so.

Deciding what is to be discarded,

what was written that will never be read,

what in the closet will never be worn;

it makes one more than the specter of death.

I have discarded wardrobes of the soul,

eliminated expressions to a savable few.

The Grim Reaper is a heartless editor,          

humility a byproduct of playing that role.

Where is the repository of life?

How careless of any Grand Design

to leave it to those left behind,

to one who may have read Sound and Sense

but survived only through expedience.

Robert Zimmerman and Me

November 19, 2017   (I was 73)

            Robert Zimmerman and Me

I was in a brick school building seven miles

from the brick school building he was in 

and that was further away than Hollywood

He was closer to NYC than anywhere near me

From our common geographic start

we grew up a few years and a country apart 

Somehow he knew he had something to sell

while I thought maybe I could learn how to spell

Poi Boy

November 18, 2015  (I was 71)

                        Poi Boy

Morgan Toledo farms kalo in Waipio Valley

he and his family crew (it’s taro to you)

In watery fields they plant the shoots

nurture the leaves that broaden in the sun

as the roots swell in the sodden soil

They harvest bulbs bigger than grapefruits

From each they trim five new buds

then scrub and chop the dense tubers

They’ve mechanized to a mechanical crusher

eliminating the tedious pounding

Brother Henry tends to the mashing straining

mushing bagging and labeling by hand

manhandles maintenance of the new machine

Lavender paste with almost no waste

The demand is far greater than

five thousand pounds produced each week

Morgan Toledo has plans to expand

five times the plants next season

from newly cleared fields to nourish the industry

Locals complain fresh poi is five dollars a pound

When they think about it they pay it

Everyday that man wandered in the woods

from this week in November, 1971  (I was 27)

Everyday that man wandered in the woods

and he watched all that happened there

but especially the leaves which fell in time

and broke brown upon the ground

He did not know what to think of this

Some leaves drifted others dove

That man watched while seated on a rock

Reasons are alien to my comprehension

he said to himself as he watched the fall

And each day that man wandered from the woods

with bare limbs and leaves left still behind

If it was a test

from this week in November, 2010  (I was 66)

If it was a test

I tried to do my best

just like all the rest

but if I had to guess of it

I’d say I made a mess of it

I always saw the jest

that gave tears their zest

When the bird left the nest

I took flight and headed west with it

where I guess I made a mess of it

Indistinct dreams are lost

when the pair of dice is tossed

Got symbols and signals crossed

and slogged through the cess of it

after I made a mess of it

This dumb duck would take off

November 15, 2012  (I was 68)

This dumb duck would take off

fly in a circle then splash down in the same place

swim in and out of the reeds

duck his head preen the plumes and take off

for another lap  He seems to have forgotten

what other ducks know when they take flight

to wit which way to go  He missed the flock

north in the spring fall in the south

In his tightening orbits over the pond

the dumb duck quacks after every take off

apparently surprised he knows how to fly

Dumb Ducks

from this week in November, 1977  (I was 32)

                        Dumb Ducks

The thing is, it seems ducks will live anywhere.

They are quite indiscriminate;

more than a few find their way out of the woods.

They populate roadside drainage ditches and swamps;

they live with pigeons and gulls in city park lakes

floating among the paper scraps,

feeding on a diet of popcorn and white bread

and lead bb’s to aid digestion.

Dogs and kids break their legs.

They swim in circles.

These are not old ducks;

they did not know to think and became unable to fly out.

Those boxes in the garage

November 13, 2010  (I was 66)

Those boxes in the garage

packed and labeled and stacked

from an other part of life

we never intended to abandon

when we renovated

A pyramid of cardboard stones

where a car should be

a monument instead of a movement

Somethings create their own past

somethings entombed we never meant to bury

Inspirational Television

from this week in November, 1980  (I was 35)

            Inspirational Television

You’ve got Earl Campbell breaking into the secondary,

He bounces off linebackers pivots outside or inside

then runs like water through an open funnel

You’ve got Carl Sagan bursting out of the solar system.

He articulates the stars, expletives in the void,

brain matter funneling through a black hole.

Then you’ve got Bob Dylan born again like nobody else,

turns down wings and walks the edge of Heaven;

flips the funnel over the audience and gets them looking up.

There’s Johnny Carson coming through the curtain,

nods to Ed, fakes to Doc, illuminates the limelight

and slides the celebs down the couch.

Earl Campbell, Carl Sagan, Dylan and Johnny.

They are so stylish doing what they do

I think polished thoughts driving to work next morning.

You’ve got Kallio moving through the traffic

flashing in and out of grace,

muscle and physical universe, mind and wicked smile.

untitled

November 11, 2007  (I was 62)

Fuckin’

adjective applicable to nearly any noun

as in the expression “Gimme a fuckin’ hamburger”

common to the Iron Range region of Minnesota

circa 1960, and in other American localities

where workers come up hungry from the pit

also used to modify the plural as in

“and some fuckin’ fries”

when ordered at the Itasca Café

locally known as The Pit

“and a fuckin’ Grain Belt please”

Its use warranted no exemption from manners  

and there are fuckin’ kids in the joint

who listen and understand the sweetness

of habitual pleasantries when the waitress replies

S’pose you want some fuckin’ ketchup for the fries