Thursday, July 11, 2019

Difference Between 9 and 69



Our barns, across the creek
From one another --they light
Cooking fires for their workers.
This time, it looked different:
A luring, dancing devil daring
Me to do something naughty--
Sneak a beer or cigarette, where
I might be found by adults with
Eyes smoldering as if fire
Raged inside them, but now...
I am the adult, an old one too.
I still sneak off behind the barn
But find nothing to do.
 

Thursday, June 20, 2019

October Beach

I first wrote this poem in 2009(Please click year), , fiddled with it for 3 years, reduced it, then rebuilt and added into it 7 years later. 

Ten years.

I hope I get some comment this time --if only because I did something different: I made it longer instead of my usual practice of reducing poems, sometimes until they vanish. The old doodle:

Ocean is always in us
Where gravity dreams,
Forces swirl seams,
Marmoreal, like love --a 
Temporal spectrum 
Pitched into light and
All life above, below
We know a single moment,
A chime unfurled in time.
Its waves curl, rise, fall,
Fold and spread beyond us all,
Leaving salted air --and
What is too far, too old
To see, can at least
Be heard there.

Saturday, May 25, 2019

Because Norma's Garden Speaks French...





There are many
Arresting moments
In living, some joyous,
Some forgiving--
Some handed to
The precinct station
And remanded
To the custody
Of imagination.

Sunday, May 12, 2019

Panspychic Instruments


Lenses, table-top pots
Stop instants--
Senses trimmed in retorts
Decant, tease 
Essence out of light,
A cosmos out of night, all
Creation ideating.
You'd think a
Mind that spans
All time would
Not change suddenly,
Impose what could
Be upon what was
But sometimes that's
All it does.

Saturday, April 20, 2019

The Light




Light has no age, no temporal
Flow, only a momentary
Rainbow where dreams 
And lifetimes go --a
Universe, where thought
Has found us and light
Of other days surrounds 
Us: countless stars shine
Like ours --we circle one.
Its brightness; yours, mine.
Spectral light, we are one.
Nor is our best yet done.
 


Thursday, March 7, 2019

Whirlwinds And Plum Blossoms


Wind sweeps petals around 
Us in spring and we swirling 
Go disguised in dustdevils--
Observe without bias and
Classify our observations
In congress of whirlwinds.
We suspect we are mammals.






Wednesday, February 27, 2019

Ten Bucks


[This image depicts  paper currency, solely a work of the United States Government, is ineligible for US copyright,  therefore in the public domain]

I've written poetry
about 60 years
And earned maybe
Ten bucks for it --
Which provided
Encouragement
To keep at it.
Now I'm an old
Man, but still a
Young poet --not
A bad bargain
For ten bucks.