Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Monday, January 30, 2012
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Friday, January 27, 2012
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Saturday, January 21, 2012
and it breaks my heart.
Moon, I see you forever
in one orange second on that beach.
Not even the Pacific is as blue
as your eyes.
The sea swallows huge gulps of air
But you dance on the edge of dreams
twitching in your legs
You know the way to eternity.
Friday, January 20, 2012
I’m going to cover every inch of my body
with strawberry jam.
I will then shave myself
from head to toe until
I’m bare-skinned as a newborn.
Afterwards, I plan to walk
through the neighborhood streets --drawing attention, perhaps.
(nude man, strawberry jam)
To be alive, nude
and absolutely delicious.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
one imagines so.
but your voice from the grave is hope for the alive world.
we are rapt;
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Mistah Kurtz - he dead
- T.S. Eliot, “The Hollow Men,” borrowed from
- Joseph Conrad “Heart of Darkness”
Snow dog and I walked the icy asphalt.
Scary for an Old Guy. The Old Guy with a trick leg.
Arriving in the white park -- we heard the muffled snow.
-- Angels from the realms of Glory.
Further now, still singing
still beckoning. The Old Guy knows the Angel voices.
Yes. One note. And All the notes, in unison.
Seek the great desire of nations
In this realm you will find not one.
Gloria. Gloria. Gloria.
he lives. but is sick, now.
He understands nothing -- Thirty-Dash
Monday, January 16, 2012
The (revered) poet / gone.
- then plural.
So many honored ones / gone.
and then, there are the others -
who carry no fame, just flame / flown, as well.
Ambivalence. Don’t we all carry it on our backs?
The middle class has disappeared.
Not a single sidewalk out. For the rest.
And a bum like me? I have not a penny.
Not one. Not a cent to my name.
The doctors ask me to rest, now.
I’ve been told to find tomorrow. "Find tomorrow."
The others (the ignorant others) want me moving.
And there is the reality:
My actual survival. I bow my head
now. I will pray.
And I expect so very little. shitty tiny world.
This awful Earth: misery ‘does’ love company.
I’m not playing your game. Enjoy your pain.
I am going to count clouds and pet my cat.
Speak to my dog: who is deaf as wood.
I may decide that it is all too trivial. I think it is.
‘Earth spin’ will continue: until it finally ends. And it does.
meshuggener - from the Yiddish
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Make no mistake about it
the Earth has turned away;
it does so every year
on this decided day; a confused soul, self
(.. and I'm lost in the snow ..)
I know these days.
I have seen too many Januarys.
Though so much is dead;
we plumb what is alive!
when I was but a kid.
this was a favorite week.
Even decades flown,
the 'years of glory' keep.
But this year, I stand in awe
of the ones who -- wear this month -- a loose garment.
Effortlessly. It is too heavy for me now.
A weight. A wet wool coat.
Universe, I beg; just get me through January. Hope.
-and destroy the vicious muse!
(I no longer want her near)
-there is a stench on her breath.
-the World can smell it. But I refuse.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Vibrant on that day; he told me-
- in a dream? No, in reality. He spoke on the phone -
the last day.
“I love you.”
My true hero: My father.
My ‘stern and steadfast’ father.
He said, “I love you, Super.”
(He always called me Super.)
(He was forever clear: “I love you, Super.”)
Lowell; The Bright, Bright light; and he said it.
Within hours, he was dead.
I knew then;
in that first horrible moment.
I knew ___________ And would never forget.
--- Never to hear “Super, ”
never again in my Earthly span. ---
never again my appointed and actual name:
- Not like he said it -
And so I miss it -- I miss my youth. Miss ‘the days.’
“Super, this is your Old Man.”
“Super, ... I need to talk to you.”
“Super, I will see you again.”
(Lowell, you will not see me again. Not on this Earth.)
- but in ether? -- beyond the Seattle gloaming?
at the Eternity Door --
The final door.
You will find Daniel Bruce Slocum. Discover me standing as before.
with my curly hair, with hazel eyes -- eyes just like yours.
And the muse with one last word --
Friday, January 13, 2012
songs are fading;
a prayer book is near
-- etched cover --
Tehillim. Interlinear translation.
saved? ...No! No!
...an answer for the Old Guy?
we don’t know; we won’t know
until the appointed time.
as Seattle clouds
he knows ( ... He can see it ... )
It is clear in the gloaming,
unchanged by atmospherics.
Meshuggah. Goodbye Jerusalem.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Angels from the realms of Glory -- departing; Godspeed.
(so deserted; the pear tree — my fruit tree. Where is the fruit?)
where is the hope?
-- the bees are gone --
-- the season having flown --
(where are my Hostas? Where are the ferns with tiny leaves?)
it is the dead of winter
barren landscape resurrected for you fifty some-odd times.
in winter, some things die!
(yes, I know.
I just needed to hear it from you.)
wind blows through the January husks
--- the wonder we see in summer ---
Fallow - now. At rest.
We find birth, again; on some raw, new time.
in that span of time. (oh, the fuzzy math)