Poem - the wonder i see

big jet off to japan or chicago
look at that plane pull for the sky

catching the morning light
through the mist -- go go go

so straight so shiny
it can't exist or be made

the wonder i see
senses i previously was blind to

now shows me of what i lost
and what i have

Poem - Untrampled

we are not right
we think our needs will heal us
we think our wants will give us happiness

contentment is not chained
nor can it be gathered like any gathered thing
that is why it is contentment uncontainable

and we know this
we were born knowing this
and this is why we are what we are

yet we resist and we burn
to take daylight to a war or the moon
from a starry ocean night to a tomb

words thoughts ideals plans
brief as they are pretty as they are
saw the wide world & said they owned it

our mental defects
are so much lesser and poorer
than any deficiency we ever thought up

.

so the imperishable
comes back after much ruin and denial
untrampled by beginning middle and ending

----

9/12/2010
for Anicius Manlius Severinus Boëthius

Boethius - Song VI. -- All Things Have Their Needful Order

For to each thing God hath given
 Its appointed time;
No perplexing change permits He
 In His plan sublime.
So who quits the order due
Shall a luckless issue rue.

---

From "The Consolation of Philosophy"
This is the seed of the AA Serenity Prayer

Poem - but it is here

moving out of my dead time
i understand a little of what you taught

there was no way to impart
this comprehension & you knew it

all that could be done was to suggest
over and over and give out clues

hopefully or not hopefully there'd be
some kind of impression

but still learning does not stand of anything
and impressions are voids to be filled

when we look fondly at what we have learned
and see there are no gaps at all

everything is naturally complete to create
uncreated completion

now i have strayed out of words and thoughts
but it is here

words and thoughts cannot describe anything

those who do not understand will say it is secret
or impossible to know

but like love it is here

----

for LTR

Poem - what comes to your mind

in the middle of the night
what comes to your mind

when i am naked and
unguarded i see clearly

all these things
i have had before

you cannot keep them
but they come again

i awake and i know
if i abide

they too will be here in our
short time

the new song is not
freinds are gathering

the house arises
there are no new places

nothing has been lost
but there is the fear of time

like a jewel that can be broken
in a clock that can stop

you who fear like this
a spot of rain just fell

is it on your left of me
or the right?

Poem - of the river & the sea

do you keep doing
the things you've always been doing?
so am i
as summer is almost over and fall
begins the fall

being in a new place old cartoons
sound charming
and there is no mist or overcast
until 7 am

full blown day

the barge has
moved it's black bar down the bay
i feel soon
when fall is in full swing
it will be at the mouth

of the river & the sea

----

Back Bay
Newport, CA

Places With or Without My Love

I've never been to Kornsjø.

Or Stolipinovo.

Never visited Nagaland, or gone to the banks of the Rivière Soliette.

If I could listen to the Seufzer-Galopp, while driving on the Arbuthnot Road, while talking to a blonde about the 1911 Tour de France -- specifically about the close battle between Octave Lapize and François Faber -- would I be satisfied? I'm sure someone has had this conversation in such company, and they were happy.

Or I could figure out which Richard Doyle had come close to listening to the Seufzer-Galopp, while driving on the Arbuthnot Road, while talking to a blonde.

Or I could guess from Kornsjø, Stolipinovo has had a few people who have been back and home again on the way to the Rivière Soliette.

The moon is the same here, and in Nagaland. And whatever version of the Seufzer-Galopp you listen to, I'm sure it sounds the same.

With or without my love.

Poem - even if you want/ or even if you don't want them

what have i forgotten
many things wiped away by this day

but money lives in the past present
and future

a deadly responsibility
this business of having things

even if you want
or even if you don't want them

but don't be fooled and say
it is money's fault

Poem - all is before 1st light

mist hanging low & blue over the back bay, lights twinkled from a far off barge over silver water

all is before 1st light: the barge was black and questions died away,
thoughts caught off guard were annihilated

----

Back Bay
September 1

Poem - watching it snow

i

towards death

trembling hands
opened the bottle

it was a long walk
to the store & back

this is what you wanted
and nothing more

harming yourself

a face in the window
watching it snow

ii

months later

you can still see

every single falling
flake

iii

there is a part of you
a part of all of us

where it never stops
snowing

Poem - every time/ i watch dawn get started

here i sit again
before the dawn
on the third of four terraces
all others asleep below

i can't help but
marvel at the sky
dark blue yet
hinting of the coming light

the sun will rise
above a series of silhouettes
of the mountains
behind me

dewdrops surrounding
will become
a bewildering maze

and most will awake
to an ordinary day
in a given place in a given
moment

i am
stripped of this every time
i watch dawn get started

-----

August 2010

Poem - who is burdened with more than what they can carry

old pictures showing my tracks through the heart
stabbing reminders of past joy scattered over an unmade bed
the bed begs to be made so i fix the sheets

later i'm walking in a garden that is not mine
here i can see to the heights all the possible paths i might take
some trails are good some are bad

it is the choices at the start of a new journey that are bright
but otherwise there are things you cannot know
who is burdened with more than what they can carry

------

For Mel

Poem - over the boats

gone all month
but i'm good i suppose

my arms surround
a perfect circle of empty air

the light is lifting strong
off reflections from the waves

back bay newport beach
this is where the bluffs rise up

this is where my heart rises too
sun giving a new day

over the boats

Poem - risk

marine killed by an explosion
a youth who became a man

risk

concerned neighbors sent extra milk over
and a patriotic flag



when he came back
he's anywhere but here

Poem - on the train home/ we laughed

in love i see you and i don't know who you are
i know that i will never know you totally
but why be insistent -- has anyone been able to have anything
in such persistent questioning

we danced under the moon at buckingham fountain
and the lights changed color
as music played

"I got rhythm, I got music, I got my girl
Who could ask for anything more?"

on the train home
we laughed

Poem - a figure who is already there &/ watching you enter the door

you are dragging me into the room
by my hand, please stop

my arm was rigid and crooked
but i let you lead me, it is comical

people see this as a salute, or as a
declaration, for you this is help

my hand is not there it never was
i am someone different

a figure who is already there &
watching you enter the door

Poem - always coming/ always going

each moment
is like a wave

coming in
going back out

dragging us
or pushing

it lulls us to sleep
then to be awake

always coming
always going

----

River Forest
8/14

Meeting God in New York

Before I woke up this morning, I had a dream I was standing on a sidewalk in New York. I was near Chinatown, in Lower Manhattan. Grime & gum on the sidewalk, the old brick buildings stood, the stray bits of trash. For some reason, this hip guy was walking towards me -- when I saw the figure, I knew I was waiting for him.

It was God, coming into my life again, and this time he was disguised as a young, streetwise punk. When he got close enough, he had a tough friendly New York grin on his face. The kind of smile I'd seen all over New York. So I wasn't afraid when he was close enough to talk to me.

I woke up. It was dark and 5.30 in the morning.

Poem - they always meant well/ didn't they the grown-ups

i decided as a child
there was something to find

had to be something
because adults were crazy

they always meant well
the grown-ups

i had no idea mature
was to be a big dumb old kid

Poem - the horror/ of efficiency

i'm killing
ants with
bait

so last night
i dreamed of
thick lines of
ants going
from the
door

thousands and
thousands of
them all hungry
to their
deaths

the horror
of efficiency

who was the
genius who
cooked this
stuff up in
a lab

they're great
at what they
do these bugs
don't have
a chance