At one time a line of words

 

March 5, 2006  (I was 61)

 

At one time a line of words

would come to my attention

in a tone of potential importance

and I would immediately write it raw

record it where I would encounter it again

or as often examine it then

listening to it

to think of what it might say next

or of what was said before

and to consider how those sounds sounded

Now after many a line of words

potential importance seems to be relative

Words that would not save the world

are relegated to the memory file

where they are easily forgotten or obscured

or absorbed by resounding sounds

and it is the consideration that is lost

the expressive struggle to say what it was

in such a way that another might believe it

or might offer an irresistible revision

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

Can you get up? How many fingers?

 

from this week in October, 2006  (I was 61)

 

Can you get up?  How many fingers?

You got your bell rung.  Can you stay in?

It’s true.  It happens.  I saw stars.

Not stars exactly, sparklers.

Shit ya I can stay in

What the hell kinda langwidge is zat?

Cool dark night of my senior year

Took it on the chin, mighta been kicked

Part of the game, happen zall a time

Back in the huddle call signals for the play

really nice night someone carries the ball

Threw a block in there like I was suppose ta

Kept on goin’ and things took me with ‘em

Sometimes seems it was most real

Combined waking with reality of dreams

There are times the microcosm gets kicked in

 

from this week in October, 2006  (I was 61)

 

There are times the microcosm gets kicked in

and all is awash in blood light

Anxious dread that it’s too late

to correct a mistake of exposed weakness

Futility looms in the rapid patchwork attempt

to construct a temporary defense

that may not work at all

but may make time to think of something better

Then the persistent fury abates

as if the resolve of the invading force weakens

The dams hold with seams leaking

and we take our breaths in relative calm

to consider major repair to our small craft

knowing it will never be enough for all that’s out there

 

Been waitin’ there’s a delay

 

October 21, 2006  (I was 61)

 

Been waitin’ there’s a delay

Expected arrival before yesterday

Expected very little and not exactly what

I suppose it’s supposed to be

I’ll take what I can get

but ain’t lookin’ for naught

Have always known nothing’s free

Try to stay out of debt

Hope to receive what it is I bought

 

Get somethin’ and it gets you

Own it’s what you got to do

Find a place to keep it and put it where

you can get used to using it

Let it grow to be a help

on a shelf beneath the stair

Ownership no excusing it

whimper a guilt repent a whelp

Give what you can and buy what you dare

What we have we have to give

 

from this week in October, 2006  (I was 61)

 

What we have we have to give

Greed is a seed that will not digest

No platitude can survive

the cynical appetite of gluttony

We eat each other out of fear

that we will be eaten

 

What value resides in the currency of the past

A few collectors pay quaint dollars

for essays on morality

written a hundred fifty years ago

when the land on which we stand

knew no one like us

 

The dream the adult tries to realize

is out of date before the attempted fact

before the bewildered eyes of his child

to whom the symbolism is obscure

The context inaccessible

as stilted dialogue from an old movie

 

Better to offer the silence

hidden beneath all our progress

in the depths of a cave or mineshaft

or under the weight of water

or within the darkness of space

unoccupied and un-interpreted

Retired time accelerates

 

from this week in October, 2006  (I was 61)

 

Retired time accelerates

and its undertakings multiply

Urgency requires efficiency

All is immediate

The meditation that orders priority

is easily lost in the scheduling

When fatigue is ignored

and the pace persists

a coffee break isn’t enough

The breakdown that happens

disconnects all those with expectations

of immortality

Dinner at Jackie Reys

 

July 25, 2006  (I was 61)

 

         Dinner at Jackie Reys

Another great dinner in a restaurant of price

If you can afford it retirement is nice

I can remember being happy to have rice

 

And a few vegetables to stir fry

was too a great dinner no lie

Keep a perspective don’t cry

 

I hope you have time to make it work

a chance to rise above the mire and murk

or else the option to go berserk

What Can I Say, Read Bottle Imp First

 

from this week in July, 2006 (I was 61)

 

What Can I Say, Read Bottle Imp First

 

So now I have a Bright House

upon a hillside somewhat north of Hononau

Where Stevenson’s Keawe had his

 

Though Hibiscus Halè is less lavish

with a veranda but three quarters round

and fewer toys within

 

still it brings me joy to share with my Kokua

and it was not purchased from the bottle

with wishes expressed to the imp

 

It is nevertheless luxurious enough

by most standards of the world

to challenge the righteousness of ownership

 

It seems to want to share itself

in a hot land often coveted by personal greed

the contagious cause of the Chinese Evil

 

that spreads to devour all it touches

an isolation of complete abandon

unless one gives back in the spirit of Kokua

Rough Riders

 

July 10, 2006  (I was 61)

 

         Rough Riders

They were oh so stoic

and acknowledged no pain

When shot numerous times

instead begged pardon

for causing inconvenience

Or openly walking the front lines

spun dead from a bullet to the mouth

while professing invincibility

confirming a manhood

first won killing bloodthirsty Apaches

deranging criminals as Texas Rangers

ridding the plains of buffalo

quarterbacking Yale

crewing with Columbia

or serving as assistant secretary of the navy

They fought alongside and proudly

with warrior survivors they called native Americans

and blacks who could follow but could not lead

and ore prospectors with no prospects

for any adventure better than this one

now that domestic adventure

had been fenced into reservations

Government banned the vigilante at home

but eagerly employed the mercenary abroad

Heather Glen and Glen Dornach

 

June 7, 2006  (I was 61)

 

Heather Glen and Glen Dornach -Little River N.C.

         Heather Glen was a challenge in an enchanting setting.  It

was in excellent condition in spite of last night’s lightning that

literally exploded a tree to shreds all over one fairway and green. 

In testimony to the maintenance, most of the fairway, and all of

the green had been cleared by the time we reached them at

9:30. The greens were as good as I’ve seen here, true rolling

Bermuda. The twenty-seven hole layout is secluded and woodsy,

no houses on the entire course.   

         Sister course, Glen Dornach is supposed to be the premier

track of the Glens group, but for me, it’s second-fiddle to Heather

Glen.  Still, it’s also a scenic course, and it’s a win-win discussion

of preference.  It was a sun-filled day with great coastal waterway

views, lots of boats and jet skiers.  The front nine had a few

low-lying holes that had some musty Bermuda greens and soggy

spots in the fairway.  The layout is quite original, a few holes

bordering on the diabolically tricky side. What a pair of courses,

with surprises in vista and architecture, and especially pleasing

if aesthetics are as important as scoring!

lodger

 

February 26, 2006  (I was 61)

 

                  lodger

Resentment lives in the basement

sweats in his sleep next to the water heater

Along the angled shadow of wall and floor

he slinks like a rodent with a naked tail

sits under a dim bulb

His trailing vestige writhing in shadow

Any accomplishment by those he knows

is another by which he’ll never be known

His moustache twitches over smiling lips

baring little teeth clicking audibly

as if he were nibbling a morsel

he’ll never swallow

family out there

 

December 16, 2006  (I was 62)

 

         family out there

Long it seemed like circumstance

moved the family along its way

an epidemic that made one listen

a death to change a dream

iron mine shut down for good

burned buildings to make one move

Storms in the winter won’t let you go

thaw of summer says get out now

Once I heard voices I had to make choices

choice by chance rarely by reason

beyond convenience expedience or season

Fearing not knowing fearing inability to know

No world to match the vision

no ambition to match the world

I’ve had neither the heat nor light

to bring us all together

We occupy our different days

In my haze I wonder about your weather

getaway

 

December 10, 2006  (I was 62)

 

                  getaway

Around the corner up the alley behind the bandstand

skid to a stop in the dirt nobody hurt

Off the bikes hearts laugh divide the loot

raspberries and rhubarb crab apples and carrots

And what if we get caught  We did not

What if we get caught  We did not

 

South of town drive the cars

drink the beer smoke cigars

take out the guns shoot some rats

break some glass and make a wish

to be the ones who might get out

if we were lucky enough not to get caught

 

The cold was a trap the woods a trap

the mines were empty holes

you could fall into a life so small

if you didn’t look out you had it all

but you don’t look back when you don’t get caught

around the corner up the alley and we did not

we do good

 

December 3, 2006  (I was 62)

 

                  we do good

Waiting for the big event that directs life

is what you get from a religious childhood

where faith is more heroic than realism

Divine intervention is expected

the ears of the deaf open like flowers

sin demons leap from sanctified mouths

Boys with slings slay evil giants

virgin girls bear sons who save the world

Prophets of exclusion defile foreign nations

ceremony and sacrifice cajole the air

 

We are diminished by our supernatural acts

Attribute victory and defeat to angels and devils

and man is responsible for neither

Healing is of the Lord cut off the surgeons’ hands

Accept the infinity of possibility

but expect science to furnish the wings

before seraphic sproutings change the neighborhood

The good carpenter down the street

plying an honest craft in the face of vile convention

is more rare than the divine who rises from the dead

induced sneeze

 

November 30, 2006  (I was 62)

 

         induced sneeze

When I have fallen flat at a wall

I was sure I could run through

in front of those who said Let’s see you try

I have retreated to a dim room

to taste alone the bitter humiliation

and savor it until it soured

Rolled it around my tongue until

acrid vapors mount nasal cavities

through eye sockets to cloud the brain

A few conscious breaths

and the hum of aum resonating

within Eustachian tubes and facial bones

triggers the sneeze reflex

to atomize every distasteful degradation

in that clarified instant

You can live it over now

 

November 28, 2006  (I was 62)

 

You can live it over now

you can live it better

if you find a better place to live it

The best places have always been

those least changed by our things

Our great numbers are to be considered

but deconstructed greed reduces need

a non-electronic withdrawl

into the leafy world of was

a newhere beyond the vid game realm

where we really can believe we are not

both victim and perp in a drive by

Superwho

 

November  6, 2006  (I was 61)

 

         Superwho

My country ‘tis of thee

and that’s the truth

might as well admit it

Gotta quit playing global grab ass

we’re too old for that

Mighta got away with it there 

awhile when we were young

Now everyone’s onto the act

 

We either start working for real

to save whatever we can

or we’re consigned to be

the idiots of Krypton

whose powerful denial

produced total annihilation

but for that one cosmic infant

who was sent to save someone else

anchored

 

October 26, 2006  (I was 61)

 

         anchored

I’m a landlubber  I like the beach

but live off and on the land  If I had to

I’d live on a mountain trade the sand

take a stand for relative stability

I just can’t think with stomach churning

can’t be learning while heaving in the drink

Maybe I could adopt a seafaring philosophy

The sense of adventure is certainly admirable

but could I physically overcome the sway

of waves that destroy equilibrium

Beyond the visceral digestive distraction

within the visual disoriented distortion

the cochleate enigma so near the sound

seeks a foothold on the ground