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
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
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.
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).
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
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
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
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
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
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.
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.”
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.
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.
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.
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
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)
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.
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
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
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 18th 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.
June 10, 2012 (I was 67)
I recollect and recount another
variant of my walk in the park
where I interrupt the lustful chittering
of a pair of brown squirrels in a cherry tree
They cease their coquettish 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.
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.
