emigration

 

September 18, 1999  (I was 54)

 

         emigration

The borderline is unmarked, non-linear, invisible

First crossing finds confusions

also present in the homeland

familiar feelings of minor disorientation

escalate immediately beyond manageability

swallowed to the burning neck

in a quick sucking quagmire

that allows incoherent ranting

but pins limbs too fatigued to flail

then and most cruelly refuses

to finish the job

Reduction to hopeless despair

belches release upon the new shore

in a state of redefined nothingness

 

Reclining Lady of Six-Eighty (4)

 

August 29

 

   Reclining Lady of Six-Eighty  (4)*

I walked the ridge trail olive groves

above the southern access to the hills

climbed deer and critter paths

through the oaks to summit roads

 

my point of view now more western,

more elevated; turkey vultures overhead

Afternoon sun colored but did not warm

the wind blowing my vision eastward

 

Pieces lay in colored cubes of her

abstractions on a newly ordered horizon

separate recognizable her parts

to be reconsidered there from here

 

This old beauty anew again

the possibility of always fresh

she provides in a smile I assume

is there but still have not seen

 

*From a series written from 1998-2001 (I was 53-56)

Reclining Lady of Six-Eighty (3)

 

August 28

 

   Reclining Lady of Six-Eighty  (3)*

There have been mornings of firm intent

when I have anticipated the moment

and lost myself in premature reverie

As I approach her she is my focus

 

I analyze the distance between us

the color and texture of the air

the tone of the intervening time

whose notes I count off one by one

 

By some autonomic breach of perception

I discern the drift of banal traffic

conversing loudly across my lane

and I maneuver around the thought

 

Or some cleverness plays my attention

a momentary implication looms large

Then I sense the wrong light passing

and immediately know I’ve missed her

 

*From a series written from 1998-2001 (I was 53-56)

Thistle Club

 

July 12, 1999  (I was 54)

 

Thistle Club

         We were ready to play at 7:30 a.m. but it poured rain, so we

skipped our tee time and waited it out for a couple hours.  As soon as it

stopped, they got us out .  We played 27 holes without a drop. 

         Thistle is a beautiful fun course, particularly for one only open about

four months.  Much water and marsh and more bridges than I’ve seen on a course.  We played the middle of five sets of tees to a slope of 126.  The

track began mildly with short par fours, fairly easy water crossings, and avoidable  traps that guided you toward more optimal locations.

         Sections were a bit raw, but planted with colorful flowers and varieties

of blooming thistle. Later holes were longer and tougher.  The bent greens

were large and well-tended.  They rolled smooth and true, increasingly quick

as they dried.

         It will be interesting to compare them to the superb bent greens at

Surf Club later in the week.  I played well (83), so of course I liked the place,

but it got favorable comments from the both foursomes. 

         The staff was courteous and helpful, and the food was reasonable. 

This is a great addition to the Myrtle Beach Strand (actually in North Carolina).  It will be a continued favorite for future trips, I’m sure.  They loaded our vans

and attached complimentary bag tags.  It will be a pleasure to promote

the place to friends.   

In your lifetime I was never young

 

April 26, 1999  (I was 54)

 

In your lifetime I was never young

Yet when you were young

your eyes were not fixed beyond my life

and we looked at things together

and a common vision could make us laugh

 

That changed at a pace I failed to perceive

and it has been some time since we laughed as one

Our interests are kept in different rooms

What we see now are distinctions

in clearer focus from a distance

 

The example of my life has been no match

for the hot clarity of youth’s magnifications

Smoldering thoughts and vocal flames

extinguished to charred ash

by the searing beam of your vision

 

Rome and Florence

 

January 31, 1999  (I was 54)

 

Rome and Florence

tourist stuffed and lined with street vendors

seem to be stifled by their own antiquity

Past greatness is their main business

There is a pervasive awareness

the cities will never be great

as they once were

Ancient glory is the stock in trade

And the exchange for the daily hard sell

earns dollars, yen, francs, marks and pounds

The art and architecture are rented to foreigners

The demand is great

Much modern time is spent for minute moments

in remnant ruins preserved in snapshots

mounted in personal albums

and stored on shelves in homes around the world

Traditional homage and tribute paid and recorded

testimonials of pilgrimage purchased

reproductions of relics

both pagan and Christian

Siena city of stones

 

January 11, 1999  (I was 54) 

 

Siena city of stones

laid so close to one another so long ago

that even now labyrinthine lanes

will not allow two walking abreast to pass

another pair without queuing single file

Siena lives a medieval comfort

Divided sectors of families and parishes

preserve ancient rivalry under separate flags

traditional banners and symbolic heraldries

affiliations with colors designs and mascots

renewed daily under murals and over coffee in cafes

The grand horse races of summer

with regalia and abandon through city streets

an honored remembrance in the middle of winter

Daily reminders of liaison and alliance

held within fortress walls against outside intrusion

It is necessary to separate

 

from this week in April, 1999  (I was 54)

 

It is necessary to separate

knowing and being 

to perceive the balance

existent within their wisdoms.

 

Knowing is the ability

to take enough time

to see expressionist silhouettes

of leaf and branch upon cloud lit sky

 

after sunset on a June night,

insistent silhouettes

concocted of beasts and myths

of our own conception.

 

Knowing is the ability to take time to see               

the interaction of silhouette and thought

acknowledged as reality

in the environment of now.

 

To be is to assume position

among the interacting silhouettes

in the reality of the illusion

of the moment that is now.

 

It is necessary to separate

moon from cloud, beast from tree

necessary to realize                                 

where we stand is what we see.

 

It helps to take the kinks out

come to accept the effect of dents

check for leaks

read the charts and move on.

 

Reflections off a bathroom mirror

can blind the young.

And only refractions of life

Illuminate the eyes of the old.

 

A new mind needs milestones,

reminders of where it’s been

on a geography to where it’s going.

Later we are satisfied to know

 

we are as good as there.

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.

Even in the short plank of common wood

 

from this week in April, 1999  (I was 54)

 

Even in the short plank of common wood

lessons might be read in the grain,

hard and tight, soft and wide, dark or light. 

How it might age or take a stain,

be burnished by use to common good.

Jr. High Lunch

 

from this week in October, 1999  (I was 54)

 

Jr. High Lunch

Burden of education on their backs

they carry packs

One size fits all

got to be ingenious if you’re small

Discomfort is the essence of adolescence

Munch brief lunch standing up

Lines that linger in hot sun are longer in rain

Crowded into dry corners

they occupy their precious time

crowing loudly to define

who they are in semi-confident belief

life is as it should be

Knowledge born from minor grief

emigration

 

September 18, 1999  (I was 54)

 

         emigration

The borderline is unmarked, non-linear, invisible

First crossing finds confusions

also present in the homeland

familiar feelings of minor disorientation

escalate immediately beyond manageability

swallowed to the burning neck

in a quick sucking quagmire

that allows incoherent ranting

but pins limbs too fatigued to flail

then and most cruelly refuses

to finish the job

Reduction to hopeless despair

belches release upon the new shore

in a state of redefined nothingness

Thistle Club

July 12, 1999  (I was 54)

 

Thistle Club

         We were ready to play at 7:30 a.m. but it poured rain, so we

skipped our tee time and waited it out for a couple hours.  As soon as it

stopped, they got us out .  We played 27 holes without a drop. 

         Thistle is a beautiful fun course, particularly for one only open about

four months.  Much water and marsh and more bridges than I’ve seen on a course.  We played the middle of five sets of tees to a slope of 126.  The

track began mildly with short par fours, fairly easy water crossings, and avoidable  traps that guided you toward more optimal locations.

         Sections were a bit raw, but planted with colorful flowers and varieties

of blooming thistle. Later holes were longer and tougher.  The bent greens

were large and well-tended.  They rolled smooth and true, increasingly quick

as they dried.

         It will be interesting to compare them to the superb bent greens at

Surf Club later in the week.  I played well (83), so of course I liked the place,

but it got favorable comments from the both foursomes. 

         The staff was courteous and helpful, and the food was reasonable. 

This is a great addition to the Myrtle Beach Strand (actually in North Carolina).  It will be a continued favorite for future trips, I’m sure.  They loaded our vans

and attached complimentary bag tags.  It will be a pleasure to promote

the place to friends.   

ns

and attached complimentary bag tags.  It will be a pleasure to promote

the place to friends.   

In your lifetime I was never young

April 26, 1999  (I was 54)

In your lifetime I was never young

Yet when you were young

your eyes were not fixed beyond my life

and we looked at things together

and a common vision could make us laugh

That changed at a pace I failed to perceive

and it has been some time since we laughed as one

Our interests are kept in different rooms

What we see now are distinctions

in clearer focus from a distance

The example of my life has been no match

for the hot clarity of youth’s magnifications

Smoldering thoughts and vocal flames

extinguished to charred ash

by the searing beam of your vision

Finding the way strewn with stones

March 3, 2019  (I was 74)

Finding the way strewn with stones

that man fled lightly and quickly across them

Through a driving snowstorm he trod

upon the indentations of those gone before

reaffirming footsteps for those who follow

Across the rope bridge over the river

one bare foot carefully in front of the other

tried the resilience and influence of sway

At a crossroad chose without hesitation

between paths worn really about the same

knowing either led exactly where he was to go

Passing within a village or city he came to know

his destiny was not a destination

Rome and Florence

January 31, 1999  (I was 54)

Rome and Florence

tourist stuffed and lined with street vendors

seem to be stifled by their own antiquity

Past greatness is their main business

There is a pervasive awareness

the cities will never be great

as they once were

Ancient glory is the stock in trade

And the exchange for the daily hard sell

earns dollars, yen, francs, marks and pounds

The art and architecture are rented to foreigners

The demand is great

Much modern time is spent for minute moments

in remnant ruins preserved in snapshots

mounted in personal albums

and stored on shelves in homes around the world

Traditional homage and tribute paid and recorded

testimonials of pilgrimage purchased

reproductions of relics

both pagan and Christian

Siena city of stones

January 11, 1999  (I was 54) 

Siena city of stones

laid so close to one another so long ago

that even now labyrinthine lanes

will not allow two walking abreast to pass

another pair without queuing single file

Siena lives a medieval comfort

Divided sectors of families and parishes

preserve ancient rivalry under separate flags

traditional banners and symbolic heraldries

affiliations with colors designs and mascots

renewed daily under murals and over coffee in cafes

The grand horse races of summer

with regalia and abandon through city streets

an honored remembrance in the middle of winter

Daily reminders of liaison and alliance

held within fortress walls against outside intrusion

It is necessary to separate

from this week in April, 1999  (I was 54)

It is necessary to separate

knowing and being 

to perceive the balance

existent within their wisdoms.

Knowing is the ability

to take enough time

to see expressionist silhouettes

of leaf and branch upon cloud lit sky

after sunset on a June night,

insistent silhouettes

concocted of beasts and myths

of our own conception.

Knowing is the ability to take time to see               

the interaction of silhouette and thought

acknowledged as reality

in the environment of now.

To be is to assume position

among the interacting silhouettes

in the reality of the illusion

of the moment that is now.

It is necessary to separate

moon from cloud, beast from tree

necessary to realize                                 

where we stand is what we see.

It helps to take the kinks out

come to accept the effect of dents

check for leaks

read the charts and move on.

Reflections off a bathroom mirror

can blind the young.

And only refractions of life

Illuminate the eyes of the old.

A new mind needs milestones,

reminders of where it’s been

on a geography to where it’s going.

Later we are satisfied to know

we are as good as there.

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.