Reclining Lady of Six-Eighty (6)

 

August 31

 

   Reclining Lady of Six-Eighty  (6)*

In the time of the old nations

people knew the pantheistic landscape

The beings of hills and stream were seen

the scope of each domain was understood

 

The movement of the day and year played

against the patience of oak or rock

and the great beings issued powers

that moved the sky and earth

 

The obvious was not to be ignored

Phenomenal relationships were perceived

The truest were as direct as cold breath

blown by North Wind through the canyon

 

Now folklore is impractical and vague

We see more subtle seismic implications

when she awakens to stir in her bed

and runs her fingers through her hair

 

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

Reclining Lady of Six-Eighty (5)

 

August 30

 

   Reclining Lady of Six-Eighty  (5)*

The days she remains invisible

behind walls of gray air

something substantial in me is obliterated

patched over with vague recollection

 

More real then is every daily revelation

of her form whether in pastel silhouette

or stark as Cezanne against the blue

and more remarkable in her vital reality

 

And the constant passive security posed

from turned face and breast

to open hips and rising thighs

unique in every light

 

causes me to consider her dreams

to be the fabric of the dawn

into which I move

and against which I disappear

 

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

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)

Reclining Lady of Six-Eighty (2)

 

August 27 

 

   Reclining Lady of Six-Eighty  (2)*

The fabric of the canopy overhead

and lie of bed clothes around her

varies with the morning weather

and colored light dawning over her knees

 

I have turned to look upon her hidden

under a silvered veil of sheet

forehead, shoulder, knees in silhouette

slumbering in fog of sleep

 

And I moved that morning in sleepy fog

about my business with underlying hint

of familiar form beneath subliminal cloud

and rounded edges of reality

 

The perfunctory memory of the hand

working routine daily tasks

frees the mind to drift in search

of a familiar naked form

 

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

Reclining Lady of Six-Eighty (1)

 

August 26

  

   Reclining Lady of Six-Eighty  (1)*

Each morning the lady reclines

at the same angle of repose,

as I roll around the same curve

to bring her into view

 

I first see the left rear profile of her head

turned away from me in the pillow,

a curl on her forehead,

eyelash, tip of nose, satin cheek to chin

 

I turn upon her shoulder,

soft quarter of her breast

under which left hand has come to rest,

and other lies beneath, fingers over navel

 

The foliage suggestion of discreet bush

lies beneath and between thighs

which rise to smooth angular knees,

then pleasing drop of calf to feet

tucked under a verdant sheet

 

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

Reclining Lady of Six-Eighty (6)

August 31

   Reclining Lady of Six-Eighty  (6)*

In the time of the old nations

people knew the pantheistic landscape

The beings of hills and stream were seen

the scope of each domain was understood

The movement of the day and year played

against the patience of oak or rock

and the great beings issued powers

that moved the sky and earth

The obvious was not to be ignored

Phenomenal relationships were perceived

The truest were as direct as cold breath

blown by North Wind through the canyon

Now folklore is impractical and vague

We see more subtle seismic implications

when she awakens to stir in her bed

and runs her fingers through her hair

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

Reclining Lady of Six-Eighty (5)

August 30

   Reclining Lady of Six-Eighty  (5)*

The days she remains invisible

behind walls of gray air

something substantial in me is obliterated

patched over with vague recollection

More real then is every daily revelation

of her form whether in pastel silhouette

or stark as Cezanne against the blue

and more remarkable in her vital reality

And the constant passive security posed

from turned face and breast

to open hips and rising thighs

unique in every light

causes me to consider her dreams

to be the fabric of the dawn

into which I move

and against which I disappear

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

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)

Reclining Lady of Six-Eighty (2)

August 27 

   Reclining Lady of Six-Eighty  (2)*

The fabric of the canopy overhead

and lie of bed clothes around her

varies with the morning weather

and colored light dawning over her knees

I have turned to look upon her hidden

under a silvered veil of sheet

forehead, shoulder, knees in silhouette

slumbering in fog of sleep

And I moved that morning in sleepy fog

about my business with underlying hint

of familiar form beneath subliminal cloud

and rounded edges of reality

The perfunctory memory of the hand

working routine daily tasks

frees the mind to drift in search

of a familiar naked form

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

Reclining Lady of Six-Eighty (1)

August 26

  

   Reclining Lady of Six-Eighty  (1)*

Each morning the lady reclines

at the same angle of repose,

as I roll around the same curve

to bring her into view

I first see the left rear profile of her head

turned away from me in the pillow,

a curl on her forehead,

eyelash, tip of nose, satin cheek to chin

I turn upon her shoulder,

soft quarter of her breast

under which left hand has come to rest,

and other lies beneath, fingers over navel

The foliage suggestion of discreet bush

lies beneath and between thighs

which rise to smooth angular knees,

then pleasing drop of calf to feet

tucked under a verdant sheet

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

Reclining Lady of Six-Eighty (6)

August 31

   Reclining Lady of Six-Eighty (6)*

In the time of the old nations

people knew the pantheistic landscape

The beings of hills and stream were seen

the scope of each domain was understood

The movement of the day and year played

against the patience of oak or rock

and the great beings issued powers

that moved the sky and earth

The obvious was not to be ignored

Phenomenal relationships were perceived

The truest were as direct as cold breath

blown by North Wind through the canyon

Now folklore is impractical and vague

We see more subtle seismic implications

when she awakens to stir in her bed

and runs her fingers through her hair

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

Reclining Lady of Six-Eighty (5)

August 30

   Reclining Lady of Six-Eighty  (5)*

The days she remains invisible

behind walls of gray air

something substantial in me is obliterated

patched over with vague recollection

More real then is every daily revelation

of her form whether in pastel silhouette

or stark as Cezanne against the blue

and more remarkable in her vital reality

And the constant passive security posed

from turned face and breast

to open hips and rising thighs

unique in every light

causes me to consider her dreams

to be the fabric of the dawn

into which I move

and against which I disappear

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

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)