Where are the stories of animals

June 30, 2011 (I was 66)

Where are the stories of animals

struck by lightning?

Bolts down the throats of giraffes

flattened elephants 

Sparks arcing between the poles of elk antlers

Dogs peeing on split trees

Animals electrically altered

to become more or less of what

they originally were

I hear of people getting hit

all the time

Any who survive are life-shaken

What in this life are you preparing to do elsewhere

June 29, 2013 (I was 68)

What in this life are you preparing to do elsewhere

What of interest but not of occupation

do you regard as unformulated pursuit

Artists in stone paint and glass define enchantment

Do you feel an inherent connection

a recognition that your presence fits

into a realm you’ve never visited

Where are those semi-familiar places

some part of you intends to occupy next time

This time team sport lost to individual endeavor

after a dedication to unity others did not share

Public dance gave way to secluded solo

I sat along borders of self-realization

watched visions pass behind closed eyes

breathed and hummed serene accompaniment

opened eyes to glimpse the sparkle of the mutable

Now I shall catch the attention of talented youth

who will become my great-grandparents

Wild Wing –Avocet

from this week in June, 2000 (I was 55)

Wild Wing –Avocet

         A return to the course after a year’s layoff.  It is a sculpted

landscape with towering mounds and deep traps framed by thick

woodlands.  Molded obstacles traverse the fairways at unusual

angles.  Barrancas of native grasses, marsh growths and pond

crossings make for visual deception and difficulty gauging distances.

The Bermuda fairways held the ball high on a light bed, easy to divot,

but causing some fat hits especially with high irons and wedge shots.

The large greens, often 40-45 yards deep, were tiered and undulating.

The challenges are fair because options present themselves, and

occasional easier holes provide breathing space.  I felt fortunate to

card a 90 though I knew I could improve both strategy and execution.

The course has a fabricated beauty of elegant human design artfully

imposed on the natural landscape.  I like the course, especially the

fairways, and we will return to experience more of this four track

complex. 

Marsh Harbour

June 27, 1998  (I was 53)   & June 24, 2000

Marsh Harbour

         This Dan Maples gem is a fair test that plays through the

whole bag of clubs.  It’s a perfectly designed combination of six

holes on each nine that require a variety of shots leading to the

real test of similar, but more demanding shots on the finishing

holes.  Even the scenic beauty is increasingly intense to enhance

the demands of more skillful play.  The well maintained fairways

and pine straw rough in the marshland and waterway setting,

provide a stunning contrast of color.  Just a well-conceived,

logically planned build up of drama into the final three holes on

each side.  No wonder that it has become the choice to both open

and close the two week trip, nor that other Maples courses have

become annual favorites (Oyster Bay, Willbrook, Sea Trail and Pearl).  

loose ends

from this week in June, 1972 (I was 27)

loose ends

unfinished work

what happened to the maps

maybe they got left on the road

what the hell

all roads go somewhere

don’t they

show me your badge

say where and how for now

build the first cupboard in the chaos

where do you want the cheese

Is this a landscape or a portrait

open another pack of cigarettes

I never could strike a match on my ass

the fog is thicker than London

I’m tired of trying to cut it

where’s the wind

where are you

I’ve been out of touch so long

I look in the mirror

I step on the scale

I assume my pulse

I don’t know how Karloff does it night after night

In the heat and light the bright seek shade

June 25, 2015  (I was 70)

In the heat and light the bright seek shade

One thousand words can replace a picture

It was tough going when the tough got up and left

It got the grease and was never heard mousing around again

There is only a little bravery in indiscretion

This man’s trove is that man’s rubbish

There was over-salted soup in a kitchen full of cooks

Next to God everything is clean

It wasn’t gold but it was gAUdy

We knew how big they were by the sound of their collapse

We knew what to do in Rome but not in Constantinople

It was the best laugh I ever had but it had to wait

Listen to the emanations from your empty shell

June 24, 2011 (I was 66)

Listen to the emanations from your empty shell

to the howling of those airless winds

There are voices that call only when you listen

Listen with the window open to the songs

of birds that may not be in the trees

though their songs have been for centuries

On your rock sit and listen to the streams

streaming over rocks then they flow

flow wider sound deeper and the light

plays through wet surfaces to shadow

invisibilities across the river stones

The invisibilities dance to music only you can hear
emanating from your empty shell

At Happy Isles in Yosemite Valley

from this week in June, 2004 (I was 59)

At Happy Isles in Yosemite Valley

This morning I took a hit

contemplating travels of an entire year

a big year of geographical movement for me

I sat smoking in mid river

to realize again a truth of successful travel

Allow possession of self to place

See what the river is doing

what the trees are doing in relation to the river.

For a time be possessed by the river

the meandering the eddies the rills

the cataracts the swells the roar and trickle

of the moment sharing the this of it

The life of my wife is a grand success

from this week in 2013  (I was 68)

The life of my wife is a grand success

she pushes the forward button

with determined persistence

moves things out of the way

or drags them along with her

She has a fear of finishing things

until she has begun two or three more

She sees the simple solution to complexity

but also draws out infinite detail

to explain nuances she has found

in any unanimous agreement

What are these strange gifts

from this week in June, 1972 (I was 27)

What are these strange gifts

that man leaves behind

as conspicuous as silver bullets?

Most are tickets to a Magic Show

which does not exist except it seems

in the memories of those who have been there.

Other times he leaves poems

which read like invitations to a Magic Show.

He has always just ridden out of town.

But for these we’d never remember he’d been here.

Blunt Object

from this week in June, 2013 (I was 68)

                  Blunt Object

My grey T-shirt with the inscription “Blunt Object”

pictures an old standard black Royal typewriter

The tee is from the Newseum in Washington D.C.

On the paths of the sports park

I get a blunt stare from a woman with a big dog

Eyes turned askance from a lady with a little dog

Some puzzling grimaces I guess of exasperation

Of course many at their phones miss it

Someone my age passes by

eyes not good enough to read it

It would have been funnier in 1968

and if Nixon had seen it in ‘73

he would have said, “No shit.”

Heritage and Willbrook Plantation

June 19, 2004 (I was 59)

Heritage and Willbrook Plantation

         Love and frustration define holes at Heritage, a superb plantation

course.  Some difficult forced carries and deceptive shot choices, puzzling

even after a number of plays.  Bermuda greens with subtle breaks right

at the hole are a part of the test here.  Three hundred year old oaks,

emotion-laden plantation history, lowland humidity, cobalt sky with drifting

puffs of cloud, alligator ponds, a killer course with deceptive shot choices

and potato chip shaped greens in the burn of summer.  A genuine taste of

the South Carolina low-country golf experience.

         Willbrook is another definitive plantation course with moss

laden oaks, meandering stream and dark reflective ponds on grounds

replete with historic markers to recall details of the old plantation life.

You don’t want a ball in the sweaty, snaky, insect-infested wetland.

Nor do you want to miss the feeling of a golf round in the setting golden

sun on the idyllic last day of a great pair of weeks.  I played nineteen

full rounds and nine more holes in twelve days of golf, not a trip

record, but more than satisfying.

Dylan is as Dylan does

from this week in June, 1978 (I was 33)

                           Dylan is as Dylan does

         Bob Dylan just finished touring Japan and Australia.  From what

I’ve read, he was well received, particularly in Australia where he

featured new arrangements of old works.  Rolling Stone reports he

has three albums ready for summer release (two in Japan) and will be

launching a European tour after completing a seven night warm up in

Los Angeles.  New music is to be introduced on the tour.

         I find all this entirely appropriate.  As much as I’d like to hear

that he had pulled up his Winnebago next to the little bar in Sunol, and

that his crew was unloading equipment, and this guy had been sent by

Dylan himself to tell me to come down the hill for the little show, I think

it good that he has chosen to assert his international stature instead.

People are going to listen to Dylan a hundred years from now, so there’s

no reason they shouldn’t listen to him now.

         I have not heard, however, that he has planned to join the Bill

Graham tour of the Soviet Union.  It is obviously important that he play

there.  Certainly ambassador William G. has thought to annex Robert Z.

for the Moscow connection.  After all, we already know how well Jimmy C.

likes him.

I have given up all my vices

from this week in June, 1973 (I was 28)

I have given up all my vices

and the day moves in a slow flat pace.

I have given up my glasses for repair

and I’ve found there is nothing to see.

I sleep sober and wake up healthy.

My dreams are innocuous haunts;

insignificant characters pull pranks.

I eat eggs toast and salad.

Maybe I’ll burn out my brain drinking tea.

Hollywood home of mythology

from this week in 2017 (I was 72)

Hollywood home of mythology

is how you answer the phone

How can I direct you is what you say next

Every moment there was a memory

I have tampered with ever since

re-lit the sets so to speak

remade the scary moments into spectacles

How can I direct you is what you say next

There is a department for everything

It is important to get everyone where they need to be

I didn’t know where I needed to be

a dilemma often encountered in a particular type of myth

and Hollywood had a home for it

Interrogative

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

                 Interrogative

I think but have not researched the thought

that the question mark is far less used now than in the past

(and the same for auto turn signals) 

It is the implied admission of ignorance

that is so difficult to admit

in this time of adamant declaration 

despite our common condition of uncertainty

regarding the fundamental concerns

(Every turn is a speculation)

Electronic access to preconceived argument

and reply rebuttal or riposte

reduces thought to a duel instead of a construct 

No need for inquiry

(I think I know where I am going)

poem by freak on the midway

June 14, 1971 (I was 26)

poem by freak on the midway

They come to see me not by plan but by style

and their faces look so sickly

hidden behind a struggled smile

Betrayed by Curiosity hurriedly they pass

and I try to show them a soul

with my face pressed against the glass

They follow the call of Calliope out the canvas door

and they forget the wasted ticket

lying on the sawdust floor

I sit alone again now in my corner of the zoo

and wonder if there is anything more

a freak can hope to do

  -written two days later…

I went to the carnival today

first time in awhile

I even walked the midway area

and was attracted to a side show

IKON THE INCREDIBLE

An Electrifying Emotional Experience

it said and I paid my money and went in

Pitch dark

and there was a hairy guy

huddled in a glass box staring back at me

and I didn’t know what to do so I left

The sun made me squint

and I felt somewhat hollow

and people were looking at me

like I looked at him.

The essence of memory recreates the details

June 13, 2014 (I was 69)

The essence of memory recreates the details

as needed to sustain the story

nuance to ensure the progression of events

will lead to an understanding

of whatever the memory meant

Chips cashed so we can see the money

the pony in the corral at sunset

a reason for the life beneath the tombstone

There is the lost trail in the woods

and there is the bright view from the mountain

I have never been that man

June 12, 2019  (I was 74)

I have never been that man

though that man passes through me

I take note of that man

though that man notes me not

I am as invisible to his sight

as he is vivid within mine

his expression my impression

Effortlessly that man’s thoughts become his actions

more clumsily my actions merely thought

Wild Wing Plantation, The Falcon course

from this week in 2005 (I was 60)

                  Wild Wing Plantation, The Falcon course

    The front nine is okay, some repetitive, back and forth holes in seemingly typical Rees Jones style.  Fairway bunkers in series on either side and sometimes in progression from one side of the fairway to the other.  One trap leads to another if you’re not out cleanly.  The course was in very good shape considering last night's warm rain that dissipated during our first three holes.  My game also had a dreary start.

          Don Brown’s witty chatter in an Irish brogue (as real as magic) and the diminished showers, brightened my demeanor and put me into the game.  Clouds parted to blue skies after the third hole.  The back nine had interesting mounding that created a stadium effect on a number of holes.  The course also moved through some scenic wooded areas of pine in a nice atmosphere of seclusion.

         We rode up to the 18^th tee box to see four large birds perched near the markers.  At first I thought they were statue replicas; the four courses here are named for birds.  But, here there was a falcon (or large hawk) and three turkey vultures.  Soon we realized the hawk had a squirrel pinned to the ground.  The vultures were looking for an opportunity.  They held still until we stepped from the carts.  Then the hawk flew off with the squirrel dangling from its talons.  It evaded the vultures maneuvering through the pines far off into the distance.  This round of golf instantly moved into the realm of the memorable.

I recollect and recount

 June 10, 2012  (I was 67)

I recollect and recount another

variant of my walk in the park

where I interrupt the coquettish chittering

of a pair of brown squirrels in a cherry tree

They cease their lustful flittering

to perch and watch me watching them

I see them wonder if I will keep them subdued

in this blossoming tree or if I will preferably please

move on to leave them about their cherry business.

I drove to the library

June 9, 1975  (I was 30)

I drove to the library

past a kid squatting at the roadside

surrounded by tools and the rear flat

of his ten-speed.  At his age

I’d have never got it together.

I returned some books

scanned the headlines of the papers

and drove back thinking I’d load the bike

into the van and give the kid a lift.

There he was tightening the last nut.

I stopped anyway and told him why.

I asked how long it took him.

He smiled and said he didn’t know.

I said good-bye, he said thanks anyway.

Early on I knew I was on Earth

June 8, 2013  (I was 68)

Early on I knew I was on Earth

to learn humility

I’ve been given so many opportunities

early on I suspected

I’d never quite get the hang of it

Over the years I’ve grown to accept that

We are all limited in our talents

No matter the effort the perseverance

there are some goals

that remain unattainable

The problem is my perception

that what’s missing was of essence