At the end of one another begins

 

Dec. 31, 2016  (I was 71)

 

At the end of one another begins

The leaf falls as the twig buds

Dishes are washed as the meal is prepared

The shooting starts as the truce is signed

The show is over stay tuned for previews

Get dressed and load the wash machine

Just heard taps and they blow assembly

Old acquaintances should be forgot

A new day dawns so like the last

Each growth ring further from the heart wood

The sound of fireworks more distant each new year

What we thought were circles are actually spirals

Old flames merely embers of memory

Smoke swirls out of mind

Other fires are kindled elsewhere

Spread Sheet

 

Dec. 30, 2015  (I was 71)

 

                  Spread Sheet

 

The accountant sets the figures in rows and columns

The arrangement of these ranks and files

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 fractions are where lives are lived

in the minutiae of the daily entry

that very human attempt to measure profit and loss

extending the graph of the big picture

once confined to a cabinet now stored in a cloud

 

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

Gee Theodore Roethke

 

December 28, 2019 I was 75

 

Gee Theodore Roethke

I wish I coulda met thee

Even if just my Prof

probably woulda been enough

 

I'd laugh at your wit and your dance

give a shit if given half a chance

light side or dark side outsider inside

I'd listen to your stuff and know when's enough

Swirls of snow

 

December 27, 1974  (I was 30)

 

Swirls of snow

powder the air of Cold Mountain

From my breath crystal mist

obscures and reveals                

 

Blurred vision clears the mind                

thought vapors enhance the image                

the moon illuminates the wind

scatters light over the crags

 

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

        Christmas Bonus:

I Google Translated the above poem into Mandarin, then translated it back from Mandarin into English.  The line, Dilated pupils should not be overexposed to sunlight, came back, Obese students should be excused from physical education

 

 

 

from this week in 2016 (I was 71)

 

Nothing good has a brain

Rocks are wonderful

Wood can be understood

whether it’s alive or dead

Who can doubt a raspberry

off its thorny bush

Some brainless things are bad

but ignorant of the fact

They must be judged by a bad brain

and the judgment affects them not

That with a brain must be evaluated from beyond

by something with a brain or worse

a plan gone terribly wrong

 

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. (I was 61)

 

 

         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 shriller 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

Rothenberg at midnight in December

 

from this week in December, 2011  (I was 59) 

 

Rothenberg at midnight in December

The night watchman has cleared the streets

We emerge from the smoke of the Altfrankishe

and a deliberate encounter with strangers

The cold air is good in the lungs

we exhale frost against the moon

We walk frozen stones under St. Jacob’s archway

permitted a quiet encounter with history

We follow the church shadow in the dark

as so many have done before

Peter the Rock asleep in the Garden

Moonlight falls upon the Lord in Prayer

depicted precisely at his desperate hour

We are witness with new awareness

At this time the city is ours

The chill plays upon my spine

from those other centuries

those other December nights

Those other walkers welcome us

into the niche of their granite company

I give it solitary contemplation

across the cobbles to Rodergasse

bowed to the wafer moon

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.

Whew

 

from this week in December, 2019  (I was 75) 

 

         Whew

We work so hard to deify

the source of our belief

and as well to damnify

to bring our opposer grief

 

What we know we know so well

that any others belong in hell

We steal the truth like any thief

clap the sin from our hands in relief

It is not that prayers go unanswered

 

December 10, 2019  (I was 75)

 

It is not that prayers go unanswered

but most often the answer is No

Not spoken emphatically but in tacit practice

Answered prayers so rare as to be

not miracles but fallen to the realm of coincidence

Unanswered prayers so numerous as to defy odds

randomness descending to inevitability

The fate of the lucky is to be doomed another day

often a matter of congenital circumstance

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