Blue Moon Actuality

August 31, 2012  (I was 67)

         Blue Moon Actuality

Only this once this month

overcast cloud cover

rode in on air from a colder place

permeable filter to screen the full moon

from warm tinted low frequency light

allowing only waves of quicker pulse

to stain the darkness indigo blue

I attend to the higher pitched chirps

of a cricket universe I cannot see

I hum low tones of conscious breath

but expect no revelation beyond the sound

more Gemstones

August 30, 1973  (I was 28)

more Gemstones

         4

It is a sad fact,

the government does matter.

We are men who have made our own master,

one we thought was benevolent,

above our petty apprehensions.

But now his fears are our own.

Gordon Strachan is alone in the vacuum between planets.

He says, Do not come with me.

Senator Montoya is satisfied to have asked a question.

We each occupy our own vacuum.

         5

Lowell Weicker leads a cheer.

The poor guy has grown hoarse;

someone get him a beer.

He’s a damn good man and he works hard.

He’s not a loner; he’s just dedicated.

He’s going to get to the bottom of all this,

and by God, this won’t happen again.

He is obviously outraged.

He has historical presence.

And ambition must recognize opportunity.

         6

In the heat of August

the snake sneaks off to the woods;

his cold body likes the shade.

His split tongue practices speech,

My notorious reputation is undeserved.

Let us not let the past stand before the future;

Let us rather slide together into the winter sun.

         -Gemstone was the name of Gordon Liddy’s “dirty tricks” proposals to upset operations of the ’72 Democratic Convention and to counteract protestors at the Republican Convention.

Blue Moon Presentiment

August 29, 2012  (I was 67)

       Blue Moon Presentiment

The month stretches long enough

and the moon speeds fast enough

to reflect its full face twice

and to illuminate an unscheduled wisdom

It’s the kind of game we attach to anomalies

in hope they will portend a significance

we can divine and identify

with an authority greater than our own

I’m pagan enough to tend to ritual

shamanistic enough to count the nights

til under its light I will rattle awareness and look

in successive moments of quiet respiration

Gemstones: the Watergate hearings

August 28, 1973  (I was 28)

Gemstones: the Watergate hearings

         1

Old Sam Ervin

keeps rollin along

All pools and reflections

on the surface

but the undercurrent cuts strong

From a course set young

Old Sam Ervin keeps rolling along

His gavel is a gift from the Indians

who know when a treaty is broken

A Washington tomahawk

just west of the Watergate

         2

Mr. Erlichman’s hair sweats.

The House audience does not like him.

On TV his eyes look like arrow holes.

He is not a good liar;

fear and guilt tinge his motions.

I find this admirable,

mildly redeeming to be unaccustomed to such pressure.

But for this my wife finds him despicable,

not full of character like indignant John Mitchell

who can lie

(and know that his lies are known)

without flinching; steadfastly,

nonchalantly playing the game.

         3

Howard Baker tires;

after eight weeks his versatility’s gone

and his conservative indolence shows.

His initial analytical interrogation

has gotten fat-

superfluous and verbose.

Perhaps he begins to wonder

why the truth has not told itself,

pulled itself from its secret file

and run its verbal images

across our magnetic ears.

         -Gemstone was the name of Gordon Liddy’s “dirty tricks” proposals to upset operations of the ’72 Democratic Convention and to counteract protestors at the Republican Convention.

Cold Mountain life

August 27, 1973  (I was 28)

Cold Mountain life

is compact;

it is eco-

nomical

clean and

sturdy

like a washed

carrot.

         *

Upon Cold Mountain

no moment is humble.

Every action is magnificent,

there is no hearth to sweep.

         *

I know something of Cold Mountain

I have been there alone.

Summer nor winter did I see Han Shan.

No doubt he resides there.

We did not find each other;

we did not drink tea.

Upon Cold Mountain

no man speaks to his reflection,

no man speaks to his shadow

from the dream records

August 26, 1991  (I was 46)

from the dream records

         In the side yard of my mother’s house in Keewatin I sit on the simple wood-frame of a go-cart made by my young son Nathan.  I position myself in balance, then I fly it over the fence and across the sidewalk in front of the house. The town looks rejuvenated.  The Itasca Theater is back, merchants are flourishing, a street sale is on with goods displayed.  I’m at an altitude of six feet and run into Elizabeth Michelich and her daughter, Betty looking as they did thirty years ago.  They are amazed, as are others on the street, to see the bare frame fly.  Elizabeth says, “You should make more of those.  You could sell them easily.”  I know that she doesn’t understand, and I don’t explain, that the vehicle flies by will, not by any source of power.  It is actually I that is flying.  I take it to about fifteen feet and soar down the street.

The Shadow Puppet Theatre

from this week in August, 2016  (I was 71)

The Shadow Puppet Theatre   (a work in progress)

The shadow puppet theatre

cast upon the walks and lawns

presents a new production daily

directed by the wind moving leaves

Negatives of movement projected below

To see it as representational

may miss the point

Anything interpretive is an imposition

Eyes are unreliable receptors

Seeing should not be believing

The mind seeks shape

patterns seen against closed eyelids

Once recognized form persists

just as sub-atomic particulars

called into being when sought

Items in the bay we didn’t know we bought

Just the other day

I watched the shadow puppet monkeys play

before behind and in between

the foreground and background screen

Movements defined by their shapes

animate the little apes

They bend bound stretch and descend

Three sit together on haunches

pausing together on lower branches

Darkened eyes do not see

Covered ears do not hear

their unuttered sound most profound

Having discovered the play of the monkeys

many look for nothing else

Imposing interpretations obscure

the other actualities blown in

In the shadow puppet theater

sets change with the season

The best productions

appear without reason.

While I grew up I thought I was a town kid

August 24, 1998  (I was 53)

While I grew up I thought I was a town kid

not a farm kid or lake kid

not a highway kid

A town kid, though the town

was less than two thousand

and the closest city was eighty miles

and that was Duluth

A town kid didn’t have to know cows

didn’t have to catch fish everyday

didn’t have to hope a friend would hitch-hike by

Town kids knew sports

and hung out at the fields the rink

the bowling alley the Itasca theater

Everybody went to school in town

and everybody learned something about iron mining

The open pits are in town at the edge of town

along the highway ranging between towns and lakes

The pits  You do not imagine them vast enough

nor deep enough  The tires on the Euclid dump trucks

are taller than you  Looking from the edge of the pit

those big trucks look small traversing in and out

Sometimes it takes fifteen years to shift gears

even when you’re running without a load

I never had to churn the Guernsey nor convert a pig

into pork  I fry the fish if you bring it cleaned and scaled

The trucks were too big for me to fight

Hitch-hiking with a friend can be an adventure

You thumb alone out of love and off to school in Duluth

where there were town kids farm kids lake kids highway kids

and city kids  Some from Helsinki didn’t know anything

about iron mining but quite a bit about geograph

MVP

August, 23,1975  (I was 30)

         MVP

The school board is Charlie O. Finley

It gets off by winning cheap

gets off on the concept of ownership

Its his farm and their system

I recognize fiscal responsibility

I understand public service

but I’m a Reggie Jackson or a Catfish Hunter

at fifteen thou a year

Man I fill the house everyday

and it’s a long season

I’m a skilled seasoned veteran

deserving some monetary recognition

Check my career stats

My work is art  I’m a student of the game

I go hard in extra innings every day

Social Science and General Business

August 22, 1974  (I was 29)

Social Science and General Business

When I was in 9^th grade Mr. Drobnik wanted to know

what a city manager was or

if you didn’t know that he wanted to know

the price of eggs in China

If you didn’t know he wanted to know

what did you know in no uncertain terms

You knew this was high school

He wanted to know specifically

how to balance a checkbook

and how much you paid for eggs in China

if you paid by check

We studied occupations then did oral reports

I learned some people laugh when you say

you are thinking of becoming a barber

so I added meteorologist to my list

Eventually I never cut any hair

and I only tell the weather if somebody asks

Everyone waiting for the train to come

from this week in August, 2010  (I was 65)

Everyone waiting for the train to come

That big iron horse steaming from the past

Big black engine puffing up the track

carrying a load of whatever got on before

to a place where more got on and some got off

Waved to the engineer or said a prayer

that they might someday ride with him

Waved again at those on board

some of whom waved back

Many just want to see the red caboose

and hear the diminishing clackety-clack

take its future out of their now

Others just want to jump in front of it

before it passes them by  

There is a way in which time has stopped

August 20, 1998  (I was 53)

There is a way in which time has stopped

Fewer moments distinguish themselves

as attached to hour, day, month, year.

Fewer events materialize

with an objective reality so defined

as to be difficult to displace from mind.

A young mind needs more milestones

reminders of where it’s been

on the geography to where it’s going.

Eventually things appear enough alike

to be destinations

and we are satisfied to know

where we are is where we’re going.

Truth evolves and dissolves

sift of fact, color of emotion.

I’m not concerned that yesterday

be remembered tomorrow

as it is remembered today.

I am concerned about our perceptive abilities

to support our testimony

that yesterday ever existed at all.

When as a child I first learned

August 19, 1998  (I was 53)

When as a child I first learned

Three-dimensional perspective

on a two-dimensional surface

by drawing partially overlapping squares

then joining like corners

to show three surfaces of a transparent cube

I was impressed

by my new grasp upon reality

My wordless hope

that all the secrets of artistry

would reveal themselves

by similar manipulative trickeries

fit so conveniently into that hollow box

that never became a brick

nor book upon a shelf

It has been the magician’s box

Things put into it disappear

though you can see right through

It is an icon

for the boxes of misery and treasure in legend

or the cast of the cosmic die

in a child’s understanding of things.

Action at Hapuna: just like a commercial

August 18, 1992  (I was 47)

Action at Hapuna:  just like a commercial

She was just another young blonde on the beach

trying to keep certain local boys just out of reach

but most certainly standing within their sight

They panted long enough to hope she also might

She thought she was cool as a rule

knew how long she could tease and fool

sifting hair in the breeze putting lotion to her legs

She doesn’t notice any Kane who sits up and begs

She wants the hunk hunched over plate lunch

knows his indifference is the coolest of stunts

She ambles nearer keeps the pack at bay

and thinks she knows exactly what he will say

Then a long brown nymphette in a g-string

hands a Coca-Cola to the Real Thing

“She’s so So-Cal, mama Hawaiian, she only 16”

whispers muttered by the dogs on the scene

The couple dash with boards to the surf

the blonde takes a towel to old people turf

You’d think some gentle kanaka might

hula on over with a lei and a Sprite

incident at Mt. Lassen

August 17,1969  (I was 24)

incident at Mt. Lassen

granite peak

blue mountain sky

august snow

dirty even from a distance

hundred thousand green trees

like a fence behind which rises mountain

where upon some rocky cliff

trying to install a communications reflector

a ranger fell to his death

though we may have wished it

the mountain did not move

Spending our time

August 16,1977  (I was 32)

         Spending our time.  Isn’t it a marvelous phrase?  An honest idiom.  Do you want to make an investment?  I spent a lot of time on you.  I spent time up in the hills.  I spent time creating ways for others to spend time.  I’ve spent time as if time did not exist.  I spent time watching the elderly spending time wisely or childishly.  I’ve spent time like money, expecting a guarantee.  I’ve bought entire years I can’t remember and inexpensive moments I’ve never forgotten.  I still find myself spending time regretting time lost and time spent waiting for another time.  I may have arrived at an awkward time for you.  You are racing with your own time.

Overall

August 15, 2010  (I was 65)

Overall

I have no bitches about my britches

I go to Bermuda in my shorts

Capri in my pants

I deer hunt in my buckskins

prance with buffoons in pantaloons

I embrace a waist in hip huggers

spelunk for guano in dungarees

dodge the bull in toreadors and

prod for bivalves in my clam diggers

When smoking weeds in my tweeds

I may be lax in my slacks

but never loose in my tights

in my pedal pushers on my bike

Ever stretching in my sweat pants

and sweating in my stretch pants