from this week in March, 1976 (I was 31)
That classic sidestep by the matador
that en passant of the bull ring
what’s that called?
It’s the basic deception
the stare over the cape
then the move upon the toes
looking right and going left
What is this, longing for Hemingway
or for Death in the Afternoon?
No it’s for that clean break
befuddlement of the opposition
without a blinking compromise
The arrogant and the dumbfounded
together on the floor of the arena
February 22, 2009 (I was 64)
The sights are so easily lost
the eternity of the universe
disappears in the details of days
less than a week in the man-made world
diminishes the being of world-made man
walk in the dirt and on leaves under trees
breathe in wind blown miles to your lungs
acknowledge the calls of birds
position the web of the spider
between the eye and the sky
The sight of then and that of when
transports thou out of now
the this of this to the wish of that
reading the log or plotting a course
when you could be navigating
from this week in February 2013 (I was 68)
It is the imp in the bottle the embrace of leprosy
Empathy is to fade upon seeing the faded
an ability to hear the words of the dumb
It is to choke on the gasps of the dying
to smell the funeral in a bouquet of flowers
to taste the taint of mother’s milk gone sour
the regret in the burning of a flag
to disintegrate in the corruption of an idea
Obviously empathy goes a bit too far for me
February 5, 1970 (I was 25)
There was this guy who had a card table
set up in the mall of a shopping center. He had a cardboard
box with some kittens in it. A marking pen sign said
FREE KITTEN –If you promise to give it a good home.
Another guy with a little girl asked about a kitten. The
first guy asked if he gave his word of honor to give the
kitten a good home, so the other guy says, yes. Well the
first guy just holds the kitten and says, “Say it.” The second
guy turns red. Then he smiles and says, “I give you my
word of honor, the kitten will have a good home. He took
the kitten and kept on smiling as he left with the little girl
holding his hand.
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
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
from this week in November, 2019 (I was 74)
The Perfect Fifth
Not the life within but the inner life
the two are not the same
The life within is of heart and lung
the vehicle we strive to maintain
The inner life floats parallel
but may drift ahead or drop behind
Llife within feels its mortality
Inner life invents eternity
riding on a cloud
*
If a story be told in verse
make sure the story may be sung
If the tale should languish on the tongue
attempting to tell more than it knows
all that language becomes a curse
and probably better laid out in prose
November 8, 1970 (I was 25) -see J Edits for 10/8/74 ?lost?
The older I get the more upset
I am to be learning
the flame for which I search
is the same one I’ve been burning
from this week in October, 2013 (I was 68)
The way is backward
along a mobius path
What was walked outward
forward is now the inner path
I was seen now I see
I was heard now I listen
What was scent now is aroma
I was touched now I feel
I had tasted now have taste
No where is the tunnel there from here
from this week in October, 2019 (I was 75)
The weight is a common metaphor
When applied its meaning is rarely mistaken
responsibility and expectation
Once taken up it must be carried
to satisfy a faulty perception
a self-conceived obligation
in the karmic progression of choices
a repayment of nothing owed
a vengeful protection of lost allegiance
the totality of guilts and regrets
that refuse to pass in time
the presumption of Atlas
refusing to cast it off his shoulders
a failure to laugh at a ridiculous endeavor
From this week in October 2017 (I was 72)
A lecturing professor of sensory perception
mentioned parenthetically he experienced
a synesthetic response to the scent of eucalyptus
associating it with a meditative state of relaxation
I feel a kinship to that recognition
Today I began my walk under eucalyptus trees
broke an oily leaf to release the scent
reaffirming the mind-settling impression
further awakening other olfactory sensations
present in each breath as I strolled near other trees
mown grass musky bark and moldy ground cover
Crisp breeze pulled clouds over East Bay hills
smelling like October
September 21, 1971 (I was 26)
Cabin 89 Sunol
There’s something about wood
that makes me feel good
Walls stained only with age
ceiling and beams
exchanging breaths with me
open and receptive
rather than painted reflective
I believe they release energy
to make room for mine
and what I breathe of them is fine
old images mellowed myths
fit for ballads sung with lutes
secure fables from the past
Truths lived here seem to last
September 17, 2001 (I was 56)
I climbed the hills last Tuesday knowing
the airplane drone was gone from aum,
a profound absence in a brief lifetime.
I took undistracted notice of the birds.
I was occupied by the silence.
It has long been my habit to send
a prayer of simple recognition to souls
I happen to notice in aircraft overhead.
This sky was a pure blue of emptiness.
It was not the sky of the new world,
it was the heaven between worlds.
Again we lost an innocence
we did not know we had;
something we’ve done many times.
Tomorrow would be the first sky
to dawn upon an unfortunate century
where warring gods prove their fallibility,
or where man reflects the gold of daylight.
from this week in August, 1991 (I was 46)
Personal Physics
Knowing the importance of will and the force of control
Believing the strength of self-induced motor stress
Understanding the absorption of focused orientation and
Having the basic food-security relationship criteria
Has not broken the material reality anchor chain from me.
My escapes are without reform, my recidivism chronic.
I’ve created then ignored the crises which momentarily
Made my impoverished view of reality whole.
The paraphernalia of pharmacology and hypnotism work for me
But in the end I do not seem to work for me.
In the natural awakening state I do not awake awake enough.
Each day’s attempt to learn addiction to will sinks in addiction to non-will.
My little misery is so precious I cannot let it be.
August 14, 2014 (I was 69)
All the possible myths of childhood
clicked off like light switches
in the light of day
I never believed in evil beasts
Evil had to be anthropomorphic to be real
Humans with super powers were fun
but on a fundamental level
never more than fictions
It’s the fiction that ruins Jesus
more admirable as man than son of God
God is an even bigger problem
whose existence must comprise the totality of is
perhaps inhabiting a dimension
to dwarf our own
from this week in August, 1987 (I was 42)
longing
for the quiet magnitude
of the original garden
before the first taste
of addictive want
that desire to possess
every fancy
for the quiet magnitude
of the original garden
with its solemn expression
of subtle magnificence
to fulfill every moment
aware
for the quiet magnitude
of the original garden
where no hand had turned
what the mind had twisted
with hissing whisper
to muscle
longing for the quiet
magnitude
of the original garden
but weeding something else
the while hoeing and pruning
to a noisy minority
watering evaporation
from this week in July 2012 (I was 67)
When dogs at night stay out of sight
I know you are near
When the moon sinks in a cloud
you cast a ghostly glow
Feeding on hope, feeding on fear
fog on the ruins you in the shroud
absorb the light Hear a growl from the dark
Ghastly slow at last I know you are near
I will the moon appear
May 28, 1998 (I was 53)
Fatigue ought to be a reward, a gift
a welcoming offer of respite
when productive work is done.
It ought to be a surrender
soft as diminishing light
when the sun settles on the horizon,
acceptance of accomplishment
and promise of replenishment,
ache of muscles worked
toward more fine-tuned conditioning.
It ought to possess the mind
the way an artful poem settles
its sound and rhythm into wisdom.
It must then be a different weariness
I fight against to prolong the day,
unearned and unaccomplished
to feel so hollow and smell so dank;
my pores function differently.
I never felt this greasy
nor smelled so sulfurous.
If heaven is sought within
so must hell exude from same;
if I ask salvation
I ask in my own name.
May 7, 2011 (I was 66)
Even in looking foolish
the fool makes mistakes
when he is not careful enough
to appear continually ridiculous
Unless he upsets his own apple cart
someone will try to buy an apple
Part of a shirt tail should hang out
a cowlick of hair remains untamed
Easy enough to keep speech a bit obtuse
Silence is too easily mistaken for wit
A subtle faux pas in appearance
more dependable less questionable un-beguiling
Blind vigilance the reliable tool of the reliable tool
incredulity his favorite tactic
May 6, 2020 (I was 75)
My fingers gnarl
I can't let go
I cannot grasp
Pain of surprise
makes a sharp point
in joint of knuckle
that won't unbuckle
a sudden fear to comprehend
an end is near
I shudder to see a twisted digit
turned on me
With panicked haste
I pop it back in place
massage to soothe the knot
and the message of the thought
