from this week in September, 2021 (I was 76)
I am not steeped in sleep
I do maintain a mountainous mien
I drink coffee steeped from bean
I have stepped from where I've been
schlept from where I slept
soundly steeped in silent dreams
Visions of sights unseen
phantasmic volcano in tropical clime
subliminal eruption in mind sublime
from this week in 2021 (I was 76)
This is America
there is no elephant in the room
it's a white whale
and creatures beneath the surface
prey on one another
never really knowing exactly
where they are each
a most unreliable narrator of the other
pursuing and pursued by an unseen greatness
on a rough but textured empty canvas
filled by winds of an uncharted voyage
From this week in 2021 (I was 76)
The actual if significant
requires years becoming real
Bourbon in the burnt barrel
takes on the oak aging
to mature into complexity it lacks
as first siphoned into actual alcohol
The book read off the press is a book
but not a classic until reread
by generations of readers to follow
The significance of that first big fish
story is not a tale until retold long
after fish and fisherman are gone
All the nights skating on the outdoor rink
concentrate into a single night
that will last all winter long
Beyond the disillusionment of the actual
we sip distilled richness of the spirit
from an old container of the reality
From this week in 2021 (I was 76)
Took typing in high school
ensured a life of sitting
in poor posture and lousy dexterity
with wrists arched and fingers
that couldn't quite retain exactly where
each key was located to translate
clear thought into clear print
I spent more money on correction tape
than on typewriter ribbon
I think the same lack of facility
screwed up any chance for a music career
an instrumental dysfunction
It's a hell of a note
From this week in 2021 (I was 76)
You'd think the antelopes could eat the cantaloupes
But no they can't
You'd think the elephants would stomp the sycophants
But no they won't
You'd think the leopard had been peppered
But no he wasn't
You'd think the rabbit runs out of habit
But no he doesn't
You'd think the kangaroo should rue what it doesn't do
But no it don't
You'd think the cloud would cry out loud
And by thunder it does
March 9, 2021 (I was 76)
It's a dangerous country when you go out there
be sure you know who you're talking to
Just because you once were friends
doesn't mean you know how the story ends
It's a dangerous country when you take the dare
don't stir the stew like you used to
Just because you know where the river bends
doesn't mean you know where this story ends
March 7, 2021 (I was 76)
An anonymous writer
reader of what he wrote
rewriter of what was read
metaphorical editor
grinding and polishing
An alchemist with limitations
Turning agates into pyrite
February 19, 2021 (I was 76)
While I sit upright on the floor
to meditate I stare at the wall
where an empty four plug socket
looks back each with its vertical eye slits
and round grounded mouths humming ohm
A chorus offering no resistance
February 17, 2021 (I was 76)
Innocence in a sense
Impossible unaffectedness
A rose looks like a flower
that is conscious of being looked at
What other can be expected
when we say a rose has arisen
It is enough to make a pale rose blush
The scent of a rose is an ascent
A question is posed
answered in assent
that a rose is
what Gertrude said
from this week of 2021 (I was 76)
I remember looking out at the night
in the snow
Or was it looking out at the snow
in the night
Whichever it was it certainly was
black and white
I remember how icy cold it was
on the breath and clean
A pitch dark purity it was
solidified at zero
A stone in the center of the chest
pulling on planet Pluto
I remember how of a piece it was
me in the middle of
the here and there of when and was
inhaling the dark of space
to puff out a luminous cloud
a certain swirl of grace
from this week of 2021 (I was 76)
me eting
Upon the window pane
the cat rubbed its back
(like a fog)
Tsk Tsk said T.S. as
It curled about the house
and fell asleep…
here’s a little mouse)and
eek eek said ee
what does he think about, i
Nobody knows or why
Let us go then , you and me
measuring our coffee to eternity
from this week in September (I was 76)
Twenty years ago
I took my bewildered calm
And what reassurance of age I could summon
Into classrooms full of 13 year olds
To suggest to them
The world was not ending
Though we all realized
We were certainly one day closer
to that event
