for disordered sake

i hear an owl
i hear the TV in the next room 
i hear the cars on pacific coast highway 
i hear our loud neighbors 

it all mixes together 

when i don't focus on it 

and on combining 

it makes sense

taken all separately

it all is so different 

it sure proves you can

have maximum disorder 

for disordered sake 

*

onto the next thing and worrying about getting there

last night i was taking the garbage out

and after i tossed it i forced myself to look at the stars

because i'm tired of just passing through everywhere i go 

onto the next thing and worrying about getting there 

*

i hoped everything was calm

i hoped everything was calm 

that the universe was serene

but i saw a photo of jupiter 

close up and it is a boiling crucible  

super massive clouds billowing 

with nowhere to go or get out of the way

if any life is there & if it could see out

the earth must seem so calm to them 

**

then angels work these and we tremble

often working with dream mechanics as i sleep
god the foreman directing repairs 
on parts of the universe producing 
rainbows of right and wrong good and bad 
though god knows best we will disagree
but in the end i follow what is suggested 
the stars fly out under the working on the line
places people and things like stars too
you can’t see it when you are awake 
but we are like a golden mist risen over fields 
then angels work below us and we tremble

**

people like us end up here

living by the ocean

in a little town 
much of it is unreal

but i know that cave sand 

is different than sea sand 

as the small and big cars

full of ideas go up and down

drivers laughing some yelling 

all of us compelled with 

wild kinds of longing

like waves hurled onto rocks

smashed but then swirling

falling back in disorder

but the retreat is temporary 

gathering for another rush

naturally trying again 

because water is water 

ocean is ocean and rock is rock

a great lunge and result

over and over again 

just because and it can 

people like us end up here 

----

crecent bay

12.30.24

most of my favorite writers didn't want what i think they wanted

 i promised myself i'd write 

"100 posts" this year and i wrote but only a few were posted

     there's a handy folder with NOTES

     written on it with a snow of scraps of paper inside

then i ride my unicycle on pacific coast highway 

and think about novels that could be written 

this writing becomes riding and people

become my short stories we both inhabit 

     when i ride against traffic and cut across a lane

     and almost get hit my fault that is a poem 

then i think about all the lies of perfection 

the hype of exceeding or breaking out like a fame comet 

all the problems that comes with it and how sometimes

i'd like to try it out anyways 

but i think getting riding more and more as my writing 

and seeing what happens 

most of my favorite writers didn't want what i think they wanted 

and if fame came along it seared them 

i promise to be better to myself / rather than to just think i should be thinking art

occasionally i catch myself looking in the mirror

as if in askance 

with something to say 

but i find there is nothing -- just a strange face

the moment collapses around itself 

almost like a soufflé

when i walk away i wonder if all that 

is really true 

i always have something moving around

turning and planning

but why the pauses and the sudden looks 

not even the scribbling of notes

it it like going to the ledge to take a picture

and having no film in the camera 

but doing this on purpose 

i promise to be better to myself 

rather than to just think i should be thinking art

or murdering delightful ideas by being blank

when i choose to look 

enjoying this beautiful forever/ which never started or stopped

enjoying this beautiful forever
which never started or stopped
like a flawless flower so big
it neither gets closer nor farther

and i can think i am in any part

from the pistil pollen stem or petals

or i am a fool a face or a galactic bee

or just all flower that will do this

---

Divers Cove

11.30.24

The Lord of Love/ made a Cosmic Tree

The Lord of Love

made a Cosmic Tree

Space are the Branches

& in Birdhouses are We

- for Phoebe Lee

(Linocut by Phoebe Lee Evans)

 

i pray honestly that we all get along

i pray honestly that we all get along

at this event

but by me praying 

am i making us all doomed

*

when i tuned 18

when i turned 18
i had a view of the world 

where everyone i met & knew

had their assigned place 

but now over time i see

we really are not set 

in any slot or role 

but we flow through pain 

we sail even higher

on joy 

but how did i see

between the two 

how did i find

what was really what

by asking looking 

making up my own mind

sometimes being lost 

but always moving up

and i do believe everything

i did well or wrong

added up for the best

because i am kind

and so are you 

----

for Daniel 

stained with sage and gold earth

i climb to the top of the hill under a perfect blue sky fill my pockets full of sage and a handful of fine yellow earth a place of uninterrupted bliss i know i can't collect or keep stained with sage and gold earth under sky and a bright sun what is the difference between ideals and the most elaborate dream both transcended by this natural perfection

---

did you ever mock a stranger / mercilessly in your life

did you ever mock a stranger

all unknowns were angels 

and you made such a great sin 

but you can find redemption

always being kind

by that way even

crude fools like you become clear

thus is perfect freedom 
of great ignorance 

through facing fears 

surrender them and transform

every obstacle and trap

liberated in itself 

in muck and stain

hovers view as lucid as a rainbow 

---

For Jetsun Milarepa

i called the time of my father’s death

i called the time of my father’s death

now i remember it every april 22nd

the moment is in the morning

looking clear but it also might rain

there’s a strong breeze flying clouds

.

i’m the clock with a brain and eyes

noting how his last breaths go in and out

his pursed lips as if he were taking air

under water through a reed

each breath a little less and a little less

to the point where i had to lean over

and listen & listen all receding into silence

then nothing how could he be so still

.

later we had a wake and cut slices of cake

there were sunflowers

he loved sunflowers

i never knew

there was much about him

i never knew

.

we flow from moment to moment

in this life like we are fixed here

or as if riding on a gentle stream

but the current is deep

and it ends in oblivion

but enough of that

enjoy the scenery with me today

look at the banks of the river

the sky and all the things we can see

choose to enjoy it despite the fact

it ends in so many ways

though exalted and amazed 

in what you receive 

everything granted

is also being taken back

tut tut let go let go

breath

breath

breath

....

...

..

.

.

.

love this 

and you will 

find freedom

----

for my Father

i say i will

i say i will 

not shudder

but i do 

and i feel 
a certain injustice 

that says more about me 

than you 

and you 

knew this 

and i do

too

men and women see places in the night differently

men and women see places in the night differently

men see doors and the kind of entrances and exits

women look to the windows and all the glittering 

i lingered by the base of the tarpeian rock on a winter evening

and i imagine the kinds of shadows and echoes that floated

high over plaster ceilings with oil lamps held by slaves 

and the ramparts supposedly secure a night owl calling to another

we are responsible for everything we do hero or villain

the response and magnifications of the world are harsh 

even absurd to the level of myth that keeps one forever wondering

when were we truly innocent &

trying to remember all the feelings

when one was 

that way  

*

 

"Honey, Mr. Bee is not from dimensional space ... "

 "Honey, Mr. Bee is not from dimensional space, so his attempts at humor will be different from ours. But he is not harmful. He never has been." 

"Yes darling, but when he turned your face blue, it was just for an afternoon, and Mrs. Simmons wasn't bothered by rhyming every other word over that 3 day weekend. She said it felt novel. She is a poet, after all, and she still teaches him poetic theory on Wednesdays."

"I will talk to Mr. Bee and remind him, most firmly." 

The caller then noticed me, after he had placed his phone in his pocket. "I do apologize if my conversation was too loud." 

I shook my head.

"In any case, our lab is funded though the public, and anyone is welcome to attend ... a totally open and above board program, with no hidden agendas." 

I nodded.

"Here is my card, you are welcome to drop by anytime and talk to the Departments."

I raised my eyebrows.

"Oh, the Departments? Time, Space, Novelty, Linear Theories, Circular, Things, Clouds, Weather, and Harmony."

The train pulled up to the station.

"Goodbye!" said the caller with the card.

at dusk i hear a man whistling

at dusk i hear a man whistling

just a few notes 

he's going somewhere

on the sidewalk up front 

the sound of the tune

has to bounce just right 

to reach my ear 

in the very back room 

as i type

.

.

.

but how do i know

he's a man or he's going?

or they are whistling

a tune?

i go to the front

and look down

no one is there

*

say i am thinking about nothing

say i am thinking about nothing

i say i am thinking of nothing

what i am thinking about is how we take on new names

i am thinking about when separated we all get older

i am thinking about the soft shock sometimes when we meet

after many years and what that would be like magnified by never dying 

vast trees and mountains with a view of the sea never move except for growing 

what is seen is always in sight for them so they are not disturbed this way

i will never be immortal nor will you always coming and going 

meeting and remeeting each other over waves and foam of beginningless beginning

we should become like little birds that ride on the tides of becoming & destruction 

never ruffled or afraid or feeling away from home as the swell goes up or down

even when time seems to break into a storm 

full of prayers we go along

and then when the air is calm no concerns

**

every day should i allow myself to enter it with grace

every day however i see it and allow myself to enter it with grace

becomes that absolute solace of 'everything is new' but acting so seals the deal 

.

no matter what this is the first day of all the days and my lack of mental control

makes it seem like a bouncy house i blame you for the turmoil

.

later of course i love everyone like the statues of beings that love 

i have gathered a few over my bookcases and paintings

.

they are as indispensable as railroad crossing signals 

or the offramps trucks can ride into when they have no brakes

.

if you are there look at the chamomile blossoms on the hillside and red stone you tread on

i took them all for granted but now let us set that aside and have this new day 

---

1/1/24