down by a lost stream after the rain

down by a lost stream after the rain

in the back of an office park seen better days 

.

ducks by small pieces of trash the ducks looking good

earth on the riverbank black with glistening roots

.

i've lost the love of someone it happened the other day 

ducks in the water now swimming splashing washing 

.

they can be fine in a castoff creek by a shamble of a place

so i can be as well no matter what or how i think 

.

living with broken plans until they are not seen as broken

an Almighty dwelt as if from a great distance with aims

.

then no distance no other personality or plans or mind required

faith by not believing in what seems impossible but through seeing 

.

realizing what one did and a few vital actions

while visiting the ducks the trash the stream

*

12/31/23

One More Evil Trifle for Your Deluded Senses

 

A report from the edge of night

A report from the edge of night: Bikini clad girl immerses herself in the waves, the surface looks like silver strands. She adjusts her top and dives under the curling water. Someone methodically breaks down a beach umbrella, clack, clack, noises almost like shells and stones rinsed by the surf. A father holds his son’s hand as the small boy goes round and round and round his father. Now the sand looking like aluminum in the fading light, streaming sheets of water put up by the surf. There is a claw of a cloud that raises up to grasp at the half moon, but it is untouchable.

In the fading light at the beach, it becomes light purple. On the horizon are rain clouds, across this view teenagers run to the surf. They grab each other’s hands and run back up away from the waves screaming. In the fading light a solitary beachgoer doomscrolls, then they put the phone down. They sink into a trance, resting their chin on one hand. They’ve connected with the horizon and the rain on the edge of view with the fading light. More people appear talking and talking … ready to take pictures of themselves, then forgetting in the fading purple light and the smell of the ocean overtakes thoughts, pretense, assumptions, perfume. The half moon overhead, over everyone’s shoulders. It smolders like a white ember in the sky, or possibly it signifies a clock half run to some end. The solitary beachgoer grabs their shoes, and goes.

— -

Cove Beach

we can / wait

we can

wait

whenever

i wear

eddie bauer

everyone 

stares at me

then i see

they are not

staring at 

me

if you die

before me

i will become

a vagabond

in laguna beach

strolling at dusk

homeless/ half way

homeless

bathing in the

ocean caring not

of any social

conventions

that is what

i would do

----

we accuse each other/ of living mediocre lives

we accuse each other
of living mediocre lives

almost posting about it

thinking it could be funny

we are quite content actually

with our heroic hearts

and our unfulfilled fancy dreams

have a sense of fulfillment 

because of so 

but if we are not satisfied

we could still write a poem

with perfect freedom

to see through thus

---

for Deborah 

The wind blows down the riverbed, there’s no water in it now

The wind blows down the riverbed, there’s no water in it now. I've gone over the fence. I sit on the River, on the sand. The wind is the only thing flowing but I know there’s water underneath going to the sea. The sand is rough with hard white flecks in it. You can see where animals pass, birds, coyotes, deer, and the wind blows up the river banks from the sea. The cars going over the bridge here sound like waves, the cars and people in them as unknowing and impartial to the river as waves at the ocean driving suffers and boats or people into the river even into death or revere on a pleasant day like this one. Sirens far away going further. Gold flecks on rocks then silence. The wind blows harder, it is so true, so reassuring. It will always be this way, forever and forever. Even after it has ceased to be.

I wasn’t very good at writing though I thought I could be

I wasn’t very good at writing though I thought I could be, even great, but still I wrote “Ruth” or “Rita” with all my heart until I believed it somehow the same as the truth. More lust and lost ambition than anything, really. I can recognize this without regret, I’ve climbed and climbed to even higher thinner grassy vales. But here you can see the sky turn deep night blue, and not even think because everything is laid out in a great golden swath. Tall and low equal, along with the fearful, the brave and the fools. Then there’s a million million stars below and above. And we are in the stars and they are us.

I get older and I stop believing in anything

I get older and I stop believing in anything. Or believing I can do anything normal. Like I can’t be natural, I can’t go anywhere and be relaxed and not thinking something. Always making up some boring bullshit mental activity. And it is true, yet false. I do think too much, I do wallpaper reality too much with what I think it is — based off by my self thinking. But the moment can get though, and when it does it is sudden like a plate breaking, or a vampire being turned to dust with a single ray of sunlight. What a release!

Before

before you'd have 

nothing to do with me

i thought we were friends 

but some friendships  

fade over time 

just like in the sky 

or in a great tree

culled by time there's

something natural 

in the departing 

even if i wanted 

this to last forever

things come and go

and i don't know

all the answers 

though if i see you

you'll be in my 

grateful heart

never separated

always here 

just like always 

a sky that i can't describe

 

a sky that i can't describe
so let me try to put it
into words 
this evening 
no i can't

i spoke to an empty room

i spoke to an empty room
but it was your phone
but it was an empty room

i did this for many years
as if speaking words to someone
but it was just an empty room 

i hope you are satisfied
with the thought of this 

even one day say
you spoke in vain 
to an empty room

i was not there at all
for all your speaking 

but part of you
was there 

so thank you 

for the room

and may all

our heartfelt 

dreams 

come true

----

SoCAL

8.1.23

The Chaining of Christ

christ was young once

he was free

with his group of friends

roamed about the countryside

barefoot with walking sticks 

they had a good time and 

they'd whack a devil out of someone 

as soon as go to a party 

and turn water

into wine 

now time and guilt

disguise this bearer of light

enthroned in the overbearing 

body of jupiter 

offensively grand

all this old god's sour 

whiles and moods

towards mortals 

a fortress face

with pits for eyes 

christ chained to the flesh

in your mind while he is 

a bird a cloud

or halos in

a sunlit sky

---

Sarcophagus of Marcus Claudianus. Circa 330-335

Jesus Christ mosaic in the apse, Monreale Cathedral, Monreale, near Palermo, Sicily, Italy

when planning a trip/ pack light

when planning a trip
pack light 

and leave you behind

even if one thinks
they have absolutely no self left

there's always plenty to carry

---

SoCAL

7.9.23

the ocean is a backdrop

the ocean is a backdrop

magnifying whatever artifice

they can suggest served by

even light and air

i was like that once

exhilarated with the possibilities

of every illusion or dream 

i could conjure

i am still like them

my methods have become

more subtle and cunning 

with some resignation

i am not free of whatever

springboard i vaunted 

everything becomes ocean

deep measure

it consumes all of us 

this freedom 

---

Woods Cove

 

i’m told all situations/ will be rectified/ in "god’s time"

i move back to california 

face certain keen difficulties

.

i’m told all situations

will be rectified

in "god’s time"

which I guess means

now

later

never

or forever

.

because god is all that

inseparable from everything 

listed

forgotten

regained 

or lost

.

wrecks deep in the ocean

sunlit exalted snowy peaks

surprise parties

newborns

and solemn funerals

Bruce Lee Isn't Talking Today

Bruce Lee comes over, while I am discovering the dryer didn’t dry my clothes, and one of my shorts has snagged on a pin that keeps the dryer door shut, and it has wound itself around a bunch of shirts, turning them into ropes. It requires a lot of untwisting. Bruce sits on the couch smiling, twinkling his eyes while I untangle them. He’s like a cherub or an angel, just perched there on the couch in the living room, surrounded by paintings. When I get done, I close the screen door to the patio, and I smile at him.

“Are you talking today?” I ask.

Bruce Lee doesn’t reply.

He keeps smiling and looking up and down at the magic wonder contained in everyday things. He does that long enough, I can’t resist seeing it myself.

It is like the livingroom has become a fantastical garden, clothed in endless gems. There seems to be an inviting melody too, played above.

Then Bruce leaves.

It takes a bit, like a drawn out sigh — the other reality slowly seeps back in, like a fog.

But it is as only as full of sighs or as foggy, as I’ve decided to grow up. So I keep seeing hints of gems, and I’m reminded of bits of cosmic music.

If I tell Bruce Lee about this if he comes back, I bet he’d be proud. But I don't know if he’d talk.

— -

CM Evans

Quail Meadow

this word salad

 

this word salad

with robot dogs

a carbon neutral clown

able to cry and save the world

one flea at a time

----

me why

me why

looking for a window

into my own soul

for myself

-- -

we are all going towards the light

this morning just after sunrise

i am driving on the 405 to 

laguna canyon road

i am going towards the light

it is like the brightness is in front and

also going through me

in my rear view mirror

i see the light behind me 

in the reflectors that show the lanes

we are all going towards the light

any direction we are traveling

even if we think we are going the opposite way

the illumination shines through

everything completely 

it only occurs to me this truth

when the light is so strong

---

March 2

Irvine, CA

it is easy to fight

it is easy to fight

just disagree

-

my knees make a mountain

my knees make a mountain
when i lay in bed and read
i look over my book sometimes

this night i see a yellow one

i've climbed many mountains

this way with my eyes 

the route up can be dangerous

from avalanches of memories

tonight it is clear at the top

from that summit i could see

all the way back into my life 

almost to the beginning

but i choose not to look 

so far back or turn my gaze

searchingly into a new vista

lit equality with light or gloom

raised up the eyes find
what they seek

the wisest discover
their heart's delight

-

but for me i find it clear

the ground is frozen
at places ice translucent
blues and greens 

as if going in mid flow

then deciding to stay 

and hold snow 

some say this is

the hardest part of the year

but for me i find it clear

all i see and be

is firm yet flowing 

glittering full of halos 

glowing sighing

lit from within almost 

yet black is even darker

starkness holds us up

presents one side or

the other both mirror like

----

A very short story

 I do not want this to be my last sentence, but it is.

*

in the/ irish hills

in the
irish hills it rained
we gathered your great grandmother's
rocking chair
small raindrops fell
even a bit on the wood  
or like on us
when you placed flowers on graves
beneath a leafless tree

by the big cross 

with nothing to anchor us

the mind begins to look everywhere

at everything 

because we are strange

yet also family here

as your grief flowed 

we drove home

saw a few flecks of 

snow by those pillars

of rock like giants 

or the people we loved

and memory grasped them

in the forests all around them

then when the grey seemed eternal

the sky lifted and showed

blue purple and yellow

then gold 

*

for deborah

the ice stayed

the ice stayed
and a small pine bough fell
scattering green and yellow needles

countless small animal tracks

crossing there with a fox following

stalking them

seen last evening late

out the back window a sleek

dusky red animal with a tail tipped with frost 

seven inches of snow

projected to fall 

*