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
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.
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
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.
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
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.
August 25
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.
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 geography
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
August 22, 1974 (I was 29)
Social Science and General Business
When I was in 9th 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
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
August 20, 1998 (I was 53)
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.
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.
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
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
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.
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
from this week in 2014 and2015 (I was 69 &70)
The menehune are serious folk
you can tell by how they play
In the dark it’s go for broke
on lava slide they made that day
Serious are the menehuene folk
You hear it in their songs
sung in throaty lower notes
against the throbbing gongs
*
The menehune are serious folk
they plant and pull and pound the poi
they be tough and gruff as any moke
to pry and punch and poke be joy
Serious are the menehune folks
they peel your fruit and steal your tools
practical are their kind of jokes
they no suffer gladly any fools
