THE COMPOSITION OF ONE

                       Up? Down? How 

                 Does one tell time

                 When time is done?

                 An end undone or

                 Begun in infinity--

                 Divinity calls, even from

                 Faces fixed in walls.

 

Wings

 Geodoodle

Our dreams fill with light,

Miracles, fear, darkness,

Noise, joys, sorrows of

Waking at tomorrows 

Relit in night where ball-

Lightning gets us biddable

And living skies anoint 

New lives --a plenum,

A focal point in thunder

Tells us where to run

Under shelter --a heart melter

From about and above

Teaching us to be in love.

 

 

 

OUTSIDE

 

Confusion of wind,

Ice and rain reflect a brawl 

Inside the brain. Strange,

Mind declines in fracas.

And even stranger,

Plenum makes mind, bone,

Flesh skirmish inside alone.

 

 

 

Resolution Of Two Interrupted Directions

I inscribe this poem --brief as it is-- to a favorite composer, whose life  overlapped mine in the late 1950s, Marie-Joseph Cantaloube de Maleret. I call it Resolution of At least Two Directions. Hopefully afterward I can find a clip of his wonderful composition.

Guess I remembered it because, in my 1950s brain I decided "b" was an  upside down "p". Still do... Poem:

           

           Cannot climb only from hard to soft

            Or ladder leading only aloft... Song:   

 

Please stay connected, dreaming, thoughtful.We need each other.
 

 

Confusing Week

 Some weeks are sorely challenged:

Social misunderstandings about events

That are not my call, long drawn-out

Problems about pharmacy authorization,

Time  wasted worried on our toxic 

Divided nation all combine in a

Sign-on  headline that reared up today:

"... Everything You Know About Cheese is Wrong"

Du fromage, does not  quite rhyme with age,

Or milk massaged from compliant mammals--

To curds compressed in a mold --it is true,

I am too old for this, as is cheese, and you.

**************************************************

Note: Really wanted to find a rhyme for "mammals".  Couldn't, so I added a photo of a camel.

 

Remembering Her

 I  have lost my mind.

How careless of me.

So going back among bits

Of memory, winged underway,

I'm 5 years old in the kitchen

Complaining to my mother --

Having misplaced something...

I forget, but hear her voice:

"Think of the last place you

Remember using it, then look

There." --and I am whole again.

Rain On Summer Snowflake

 

 

Rain on Summer Snowflake flowers

Gathers through the hours -- yes,

We heard it on our backporch roof

But unless we go outside for proof,

We must pursue an indoor truth:

Divide by season, calendar days,

Moments where we must be --but

There are no fractions of infinity. 

 

Word: Ailurophile=Cat Lover

As a true aficionado of Stella Gibbons’ Cold Comfort Farm  (1932), I couldn't resist captioning this Normaphoto  after the wondrous character, Aunt Ada Doom: '‘Twas a burning noonday, sixty-nine years ago. And me no bigger than a titty-wren. And I saw something na(sty in the woodshed)."

 Much as I would like to do a doodle of Aunt Ada's titty-wren, midnight has passed and my powers submit to curfew. So instead, I'll submit for your consideration another word: Pyroclastic. Pyroclastic is an adjective applied to volcanic gasses, poisonous smoke,  lava and heinous chunks sucked off the roof of Perdition to spew and spread  destruction, death and fear over the surface of Earth. Lately, this word has gained use as a gerund, pyroclasting political tantrums in a capitol once dedicated to government by discussion --to sanity.

And, before bed, while I'm at it, I call upon political parties to accord others courtesy. Cats of all persuasions have intense common interests. Y'think humans might keep up?

Davy Crockett Coincidence

I had a racoon hat

That recovered and

Returned to the wild.

I was an unusual child,

Like other selves, left

Our narrow lanes and

Consorted with elves,

Fell out of our brains.

What, you too? Thought

So: let us, you and 

I, together go --adventure

Awaits, of that I'm sure. 

Fall Light

 Fall light turns summer

Gently away and wards

Scalding days off  our

Poor yard's woody end.

From a  shaded clearing

We are hearing herons

Overhead, and falling

Leaves sail lower flight

In susurrus spreading

Under hushed fall light.

 

Geometry of Indivisibility

                        

                         (Sunflower and Marigolds from Norma's Garden)

Circle unbroken, we

Woke into an arc, continued

A whole turn and

Learned each word

Reaches for the next.

The text endures. 

It is yours and is, for me,

Mysterious, true.

It surrounds me.

It loves you.

 

Out Of August

She just now sent this
From the kitchen entitled
"Don't Forget To Laugh"--
One of many yearly
"Veggieportaits" she 
Uses to lure me out of
August, awful month except
For so many loved ones'
Birthdays, harvests, stunning
Flavors but hot as...
Well, who can complain as
Garden deliriants obtain? 

Homonyms Or Homophones?

In music, in thought, we find
The mind entails a notion
Of all things and the
Mind entails an ocean
Of all things...

            ...as does the
Pacific as our star leans
Into sunset , where life,
Language bring an ocean
And notion to mean
Much the same thing.
 

Oh Dear

I have just now written a grampa poem based on perusal of photo-archives and remembered stories from relatives. It could be a ballad if I could rhyme things oftener, but I'm happy with it. Hope you are too. --Geo.

Oh dear, what shall
I do, and what good will
It do when I do it?
Grampa took a train
As far as he could,
Hired a boat by the bay.
He made his way through
Thoroughfares, Bedlam,
Where squares became
Parallelograms --in defeat,
Buildings lunged onto streets.
He found my great aunt Ann,
And likewise uncle Joe,
Gave them cash, food, wine.
So they got though it fine.
Grampa was a good man,
As angels grade themselves.
He never spoke of his good works
Then died when I was twelve.

Time Travel Poem: My failure to Capture Billy The Kid.

(To Norma)

I stepped out of the 
Pumphouse (it was a
Million o'clock in
The morning) and drew 
The door behind me,
Confused in light and
Dew --I remembered you.
An early investigation
In this young nation of
Fields and farms: I went
Wisely to the school-
Marm and asked, "What's
Billy The Kid's middle name?"
You said, "A definite article."
I said, "'The?'!"
You said "Duh!"
"How does he outrun the law?"
"With a modifier --always did.
Fools everybody -- it's
'Billy The Other Kid'!"
I said,"You're right, of course."
As I fell off my horse but
Did not fail to mention she
Should return with me to
My century as it really
Could use her attention.

Potted Olive Tree

                                                         Grayboy

When day brings 
Him into learning,
Grayboy springs
Into action, attacking
One or another fraction

Of all things, uniting
them, wrestling, testing
Himself  in all he sees.
We too might learn from
Wrestling olive trees.

Imagine Autumn

In fantasy, fish swim
Flames of the sun--
Lenses sailing light,
Twist and glide in dreams
That are never done.

Norma

Future is at best a
Dappled thing --time
Dancing, light, leaves--
That retrieves
Starlit sky from
Focus in early
Westbound blur
On an east wall.
Amnestic reel calls,
Spins where Norma is.
A new day begins. 

Late Fledgling

She makes no sound
And melts among colors
Of the ground --much
As a memory sinks
Into the heart of me.
Time passes, clouds
Roll, doves instruct 
The human soul.

Ductile Time Revisited

Nine years ago, this poem attracted one comment, from my dear friend and grammar coach since 1965, Willie.  I decided it wanted  pictures, something glowy and something definitive. This is glowy:

Melting points
Make crystal relax.
At 98 degrees,a
Human may be
Drawn like a
A wave over years.
Tungsten takes 6000.
Dreams stream off.
Where do they go?
What current causes
Them to glow? 
 *******************