Category Archives: #abstract

VEGETABLES

VEGETABLES, summer sun, a touch of salt and chlorine — his take on Italian art restored by frescoes who I don’t know well and a hundred times better than it says so — almond and lime ginger lime broccoli baked on a day during a season where there isn’t any snow and everyone outside to have a picnic on the one flower in the pool that everyone is using to make salt with since everyone can slather it all over their bodies and throughout their bubbles that they carry everywhere with them yet also simmering in pools and those that surround the one they are doing it in that the length of a slip of leg is not about how long the youth can stay and carry such things in his youth and how others have never felt as they were and how how he has never looked into their eyeballs knowing that the greenery remains awake, in a world that has been turned off and some even have forgotten how to look and still are drenched in cool water, and the scent and the texture of what it is in you and around you the fragrance of the space and the darkness and the sweat and the heat and the syrup and the celery that goes along

:: 03.28.2021 ::


FRAMELESS HEADS UPON EMPTY WALLS

On the single side of my art song—my parodic air—the loveliness is perfect
because I am “last in the line.” When you sit there pondering how you got
from here to there, you forget to be there, and the years hurry by like birds,
yet without wings.

Maybe that is what poets mean by the grass between the toes: it is the kind of beauty
that strikes me as singular, and then makes me forget where I was going.

Could that be the air I am inhaling, that gorgeous little dew, the sort of fragrance
that one asks questions about. That one is good, and leaves you for another week.
I am not asking about the individual, about the wit or the sex, that one; the other
thinks she is too good for poetry and wants to hang out her pants.

The trees on Central Park West have not only dimples, but very high struts.
Many passers-by make like jumping spiders and creep along the white beech bark,
tearing off the strange multicolored pods that are the leaves of the American locust
and varnish the unenclosed bark.

For a while they seem to be all yellow, then the green reasserts itself and they all turn red.
Red like earth, red like hell. I say what I mean. Why do we make so much of appearance
and so little of meaning? If you were to sneeze on a weekday you’d make a million dollars. I’m lucky
to get one or two dollars a day for my poems, and that’s all. All my life, I’ve been scraping
and clipping in hundreds of un-sexy places. I once walked out of an interview with a magazine
that had hired me because I was willing to work for peanuts. So I said to the editor,

“I think you have the wrong guy. I’ll get a job in a steel mill, or on a frickin’ airplane,
anywhere I want.” He seemed to like that, but I can’t remember what the magazine did later. I suppose
it was less than they wanted. But that’s what I mean by avoiding the cheap. I mean always for the mind
and the intellect, as if one day the outer world were going to fall apart. When it does, maybe it will be like a tenement balcony—the floor’s going to fall out from under us.

My best poems are about love and death. I think my best poems are about women and death.
The romantic poems give me pleasure. I don’t want to forget about them; I want
to love them. I don’t want to kill them; I want to hold them.
A love that is not really love doesn’t interest me.
It is interesting to see the Queen of Sheba swat away a red and yellow butterfly that comes to you
and likes to rest on your shoulder.

But there are different kinds of love—one that wants to hold someone in a tight embrace even though
you both know that someone is going to shake loose—one that wants to hold someone
even when she’s going to leave—one that wants to hold someone when she has long learnt the fine art
of saying no.

I’m always looking for “the little door.” But there is no little door, and if there were,
I’d probably find something I’d rather do.

:: 03.24.2021 ::


THE HELMSMEN ROSE

\by the way, the land ?”
cocked a brow \of our own separate shores, the moon was lit to see the
stacks of hay bare, all brawny with large pairs of eyes beneath cabbage green skin, two spit clouds hovered from their open mouth, making a cat-like call, then leaped into the sky in somersault, and back to their stooks they proceeded, smoothing their chins with their hands.

— the world might have cared but these men, they were chasers; for us they took up together, and uncharged by fear, raised their sword over their heads.

side by side the helmsmen, looking with eyes of pale ice, drawn swords with an eager desire.
flick- the swords’ fingers moved as the helmsmen stepped out into the ice-caught wind, and went down to their knees and stood still and ice-smacked.

The first helmsman fell in battle, a broadsword strike cut clean through his face and dug deep into his chest, the blood spurted out, as each helmsman stood silently in a pose of stone — then the second helmsman from the right hurried with a cold, light of steel, to strike and the echo of his leap echoed through the air to strike from the left, their opposing lines locked in an invisible tug-of-war.

Each his comrades sprang to his aid, eyes twinkling with humor and a fiery arrogance (we all played army, we all survived, we all became famous stacking our walls with marbles).
From above, a dove tore above the warring helmsmen, blending with the sun-lit green, dropping to earth with an almighty clap of its wings, and darted out of sight.

The helmsmen rose, but the warring lines had re-emerged and began to gather the best looking arrows and each hoped to strike first. The bird had never left, but time passed without a note (but now, it was gone even as time had passed before.

We are older now, the birds have flown through the house, gone to sleep). \)

The dove knew that its days were spent, that it had flitted with a golden bell, leaving behind an empty sound (The birds have grown old, but not much more, as there are fewer of us with thoughts to hatch out into a new stage of growth, which would bring in more winged predators).
But the dove did not know that the winged men had grown old, that their dreams had waned into simple memories.

:: 02.26.2021 ::


LAT DOLCE VITA (the sweet life)

There’d be no unemployment, no crime, no war for profit; no environmental hell
for thousands of good-hearted lives.

You can’t just take so much paper so putting it off would mean at least ten
not calling till the 11th hour and hoping that you’ll forget what you needed —
i’m in a zoo somewhere between silence and (a)the mad hatter’s court of love
where the loneliness could prove impossible; i’ve been way too loquacious all day
all this time i’ve been riding in this very leather-bound bus how’d i get to this
zoo? maybe too much of this
counting bills counting wheat in the fields
counting my cash on the street
counting time in a silence-devoid world
The natural state of mankind is boredom trying to find the meaning in something so small
i’ve got too many words up in my head!
If you see a stranger carrying an extra pair of sunglasses, don’t steal them. We all
have them. They’re free.

Once in a lifetime, you meet someone who seems to have no fear. They don’t blink. They have
nothing to lose. I used to wish there was someone like that in my life, but all I’ve got
is a little bit of fear.

You can take the boy out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the boy. What can I say?
Lizard-head heartbroken the love has gone — boo hoo you’re so fine, mama
: first wind it and you want to know if I still love you?

YOU, COME IN HERE, DON’T LEAVE until YOU’VE JOKED AND BEEN WRITTEN!
TIME DRIVER, THE NAMECHE MACHINE la dolce vita what a wonderful disguise
and this has been my argument ever since it’s as true today as it was then, for there’s a new king
who’s clothed in human suffering’s radiance treating it like toothpaste to his face
waiting for us to laugh at the pretend form of our wives and to learn from the conman; he’s played
all his own moves, but he’s still just a kid.
So we all shut up, on a rampage of rants and sarcasm to serve the king’s audacity; nobody wins forever
who’s ever been “the funny” when you wanted to be “the wise”?
we’re here to pick up the pieces, we get the job done, we go home
we’ll never see the boy king’s face until the queen’s hair grows back
(and he gets wise and goes home to his queen and gets “the funny” back) if the boy king turnS on us
we’ll all be dead, so, sing, ride, don’t sweat the consequences of casual cynicism, anything goes;

wear my crown and be the greatest boss of all.

i love you.

:: 01.29.2021 ::


SLEEPERS IN THEIR GRAVES

That there were no Souls in the World – and no one there to blame – but Me.

That terrible sobs that took the time to lick a Heart that had forgotten how to sob,
or even how to whisper, were redoubled into shrieks, and they kept me from laughing.

O heart of Mine, why do you howl?

If Thou wouldst die, then in vengeance thy Redeemer of Whom, Whose Heart was my own,
and whose Whistle blew wild through the Rails, and who, at one moment when the Gate was open,
as he reached the top of the Jail, and searched the Valley of Doom.

To find my Prisoner there, and to know that his Out-cries had been so wretchedly contrived,
and, because they cried out so piteously, were not stopped at once!

How dare thou, thou Death, laugh? If Thou didst laugh at this, and the world now knows
the Death that has come to me, in consequence of the Puny Strength with which Thine own weakness left Me.

Let the judgment of all come in, and they make the old curse true and then i should not be sad.
For those mourners, the unquiet were they – how the Sleepers in the Grave would cry:
“Those poor Souls!

Is there one Death, for another?”

But though all sleep sound those that dream are always sad. i had a Brother, i knew,
who went for a Passenger, and his Friend had brought him, and held his hand when we left.
The Station – and in the Coach the Friend held up his Heart.

“Poor Brother, my Friend, have you never had Love?”
And his Friend said, “I don’t know that I ever had.”

Then they were gone.

And in my Brain, with a Funeral, i cried, “My Brother has gone!”

When my Brother and his Friend were lost 0i knew, in my Brain, that I should not die –
yet they had gone from me for ever and for ever.

All the Earth is a city of Death – the Sun that has shone bright and cast up its golden rays
must fade into Night, and the air shall turn cold, and the day will vanish like the evening:
when the Sun goes down, and it is Dark upon the Mountain.

Even the Stars, when the Sun is hot fade, and there are not as many as there once were.

The very Earth which gave brightness to the Branches of the Tree shall wither and die and fade,
and the Blue of the sky will dissolve, and the Earth Will shake and fall into the Sea.

The City of Death in which we live is like a great Prison under the Earth.

The Clouds that surround us and Sooth our Sorrows are but Cloths that cover the Dome
of the Pitiless Heaven – the Void where such Rulers as are but Planets, like our own
shall reign.

We have no Ruler who rules by Love, no View from Heaven, no Vision from the Stars,
no One to give us a Joy that would pass all our cares when we are set upon a Mountain,
sighing over the Valley of Sorrow, weither our Heartbeats cease.

Luna can but smile when She sees we have passed the Point
Where the Blue West gives the Shade of Night, and the Tree is pierced with Cold –
and the Night of Light does not come but the Winter wanes.

And all mankind is contained in the Castle of Death.

There is no Labor which an Angel can give, there is no Beauty, there is no Joy,
there is no Heaven.

So for us there is the Earth, and the Flock that bares all whose Flying
is but Death and Murder, and Death’s distant Call, and it is Death, of all things,
that gives us all:

That Taste of Beauty.

While we fly on the Wings of Love, and with our Tears water the Earth
with our Love, our Wings go, and with our Corpse Land to fall upon the Earth.

With the Time comes the Age
When Love is heard
And no ear
has ever heard it,
with the Age comes the Age
when Men look up,
and no eye has ever gazed upon
no Green Earth – when the Tree is cut down
the Earth is bare.

From Blame to Blame
From Sorrow to Sorrow
From Darkness to Darkness
And Death lies on Earth –
The Land, the Water, the Earth,
The Birds and Animals,
And Man – The Land, the Water, the Earth,
The Birds and Animals,
And Man – like the Wings of Love
The Kingdom of the Earth Is a Prison
Under the Earth.

When will We see our Land?
When will We fly away?
When will we light the Nights?
When will we light the Nights?
So my Song is very solemn,
But I hope in it one Hour

When we shall find our Land.
When the Day of Retribution
Is ended, and the sky is blue
and the Sun shines, and all that was buried
in the Dark of Night, shall come to Life.

The Earth shall be green,
The Trees shall yield fruit,
The Green of their Leaves shall radiate
all over the Earth.

We shall catch our Breath,
wnd thank God,
whose Love brought us together,
and made us Wings
for his Flock,

To fly away – the Wings of love.

My Story:

‘His Love is the Light that
shone in the World, 0when the Sun of Love
and the Golden Child was born in the Cave of Life.

And then the Angels said,
“Fetch the Child, bring him forth,
that he may be king of his Kingdom
but let it be done, in the Cave of Life –
therein he may reign

as Father and Son, for the King of Men
must not reign alone.”

They called the Child and said to him,
“Arise, Unto the King of all
the Happy Isle of Love
where You reign as
Emperor of Love.

The Angels called again the King of Love
and said to him, “Arise, unto the King of all
the Happy Isle of Love where You reign as
Emperor of Love.

And the King of Love Speak!”

“If you will not come with me
then fly away!
Fly away!
Fly away!
Let me be alone!”
And the King of Love left the cave of Life
And went up to the Heavens, and came down
and placed upon the Earth

all the Things that Matter.

:: 01.25.2021 ::


NOW MY GOWN AND TULLE

Now my Gown and Tulle
feel the Wind that weaves a Shade –
and on the roof i cannot tell
since the picture there is –
because Time, a Form, stood a-hiding
and well It did.

Words and Music (my own)
Performed by James Dale
and Love.

“He is oft-injured by his men
or with their Menages,

‘I think I hear him say:
“His Portents are the Dews –
His Words the Dews – and Mine –
His Ends are Ieya’s.

“I wish this next Scene were ended
with the Destination of my own Fate –
“The Flight of Orpheus, I suppose,
“Off the Coast of Homer’s Folly –
Or Death – to Eternity.”

Futility was King in the play, under the pen of D. H. Lawrence.
I hope he was a reader of Shakespeare.

Well, I cannot write about this.
It is really too late.
There was an early book, and there is always another.
The fact that Lawrence is a poet is very well known;
and many of his poems have been put to music.

i have heard those – sometimes for many times – though
i should hate to go against the dead.

A great deal is being written about D. H. Lawrence
in the second decade of the twenty-first century.

:: 01.26.2021 ::


ROADSIDE BILLBOARD SLOGANS (1940s-1960s)

TOASTER oven sandwich grin on the family corner market keeping all the secrets within your baby warehouse teach your kids about love. Take 30 percent off their soul and i like your mouth come on in; let life fill your pie hole-soul & don’t go bacon my heart
: i couldn’t if I fried! and you can’t drink all day if you don’t start in the morning! and T.Troup was a chemist i’ve been missing life reading-seeing soundbite lies; the first concentrated lies come from roadside billboards like-life riding in a Chevrolet.


THE thing what IS IT? a golden opportunity sale family fun!  shakes & funnel cakes ~~ beef jerky too! and Wall Drug sells coffee for 5 cents a time ago

“YOUR MESSAGE HERE”


for 300.00 a month

:: 07-05-2015 ::


LOVE, FEAR, LUST OR GREED

Love, fear, lust or greed?
A thousand diseases blowing in the wind;
the hungry voices of hatred eating each side!
i caused pain within my life, that i did,
deciding at birth to give care upon
the blue marble i landed upon with baby feet.

i uplifted the crust of Mother Earth,
and swift torrential rush of drama-death;
only mockingbirds sing at night sweetly.

And the starRock light stabs the night
falling, falling, falling everywhere
is the moon and Her Light!

Blossoming memory: well the last days
of winter, of my life which was as full of
dim, mystic musings, and when one day,
my soul was high, and my body was a fountain,
my mind in cloudy wisdom;
as i had been taught a certain
manifestation of guilt, then i understood
the meaning of life!

So i climbed down from the high-place, in
my heart, and in my mind, each life cycle,
chased with the fall of leaves, cradled in
the arms of the earth bringing back meaning of life
each hour of every day.

As i did so, i put in a stasis a profound
tree-spirit; my movements in time could not be
restored, my mind was silent, an image seen
in my consciousness was born of my broken heart,
it was born of care for my precious soul!

But the sacred tree-spirit i brought
to life was proud, it ignored me,
it stayed on the heights of my mind!
i knew that even the past has a home in the future,
that the stars which never fall in the rain,
their waves have no end, have risen in the trees
of my life, and a new dawn was coming.

It filled me with hope.

:: 01.16.2021 ::


FRETFUL DREAMS

Little Soul from the walls of powerful hiding
being small with clasped hands that dream
powerful dreams within knitted locks —
from the safety of blankets and walls,
Allow love and mind and poetry prevail!

During transgression between flesh and mind;
sleep and wakefulness the world is more than one!
Upon awakened eyes! The small key of hardness
unlocks the lock — with a tender whisper.

The dreamer (me) is uncomfortable. Being here.
For i have left my love over there. Inside
the dream.

And i vow to dream again and again until i find
my love over there!

:: 01.06.2021 ::


LOVE AND PRIDE (Mystery of Evil)

      you let me     hate you

you let me complicate my insides. You broke the only
thing that works for me: you broke my family and
you see a game. (so arrogant!)
i want to carve your insides
with my blood. Show you that hate IS you.S
help me! / reason \ help me //
you make me crazy as though i am someone else.
—- ANIMAL — I HATE YOU SO MUCH.
YOU ARE meat -dead bitch
with a moving mouth of sickness.
hate and darkness.
she is a thief-crook cynic with legs;
sucking vagina and smile/
sucking life from weak men…
I only have one WORD never i
told to you that you only break YOU.
What is y o u r company
is y o u r SPIRIT — evil? What Mankind
fought. Today is a Space of revelation
and today is not weakness. / Wars won for
so many years before — > NOT TODAY. –>> SPACE
How the world hates all of the discontent
and confusion of Life? No Government! How you say
we are stupid to carry along the world’s madness…
maybe before — ! !!! No more! EXIT: We are
no more then. Catch sprit and soul and Awake and
loving. Hate is your Name.
Such a sick mean pride like EVIL.
But LOVE puts down all evil pride.

:: 01.05.2021 ::