Tag Archives: #ink

PALE BLUE PUDDLES

The little dog is gone, the little dog is gone,
and all that remains of him is the memory
of a coat of moss-green, with a few leaves,
and the little stump of a tail.

But the dog was there upon one sun’s first rays kissing hills,
and send the ripples of their rays through the pale blue puddles.

They are nocturnal folk, and they live, and have their days in the
dark and their nights In the dark.

But I know not who they are, Nor where they live, nor what they do,
Nor where they come from, nor where they go.

But I know the wind With one another, out of doors, In the shade of the trees.
Their fires, like those of men, Are small and swift and soon are cold;
And when the evening is gone And the night-shadows are upon them,
They light their fires again, And sleep by day, and by night and when the
day is gone And the night-shadows are upon them, They light their fires
again, and sleep by day, and by night.

They are like men in the winter when they have their feet bare, and
the snow is deep, And their hats and their coats are all but mended,
And their boots have holes in them. And they walk with their heads bent,
And look about them like so many old men, And speak to each other in whispers.
They are like men in the winter When they have their feet bare, and the snow is deep,

And their hats and their coats are all but mended, And their boots have holes in them.
And they walk with their heads bent And speak to each Sleep by day and by night.

The nightingales are still sleeping, And all the silent crickets and frogs are
out in the garden at the dusk’s last.

The owl is dreaming by the brook And the field-mice on the farm are fast asleep
in the wall.

The moon is a light, fair-shining stone That hangs in the dark hollow That glows when the stars have fled. And I know that the silent people Who live in that lonely house
Are wondering and wondering what I am doing in the twilighT. In the dusk’s long dark.

I am sitting alone in the dark, And I am thinking that I am The child of that land that is gone, That has vanished many a summer ago, And left no trace but the cellar walls,
And a cellar in which the daylight falls, And the purple-stemmed wild raspberries grow.

O’er ruined fences the grape-vines shield The woods come back to the mowing field;
The orchard tree has grown one copse Of new wood and old where the woodpecker chops;
The footpath down to the well is healed. I dwell with a strangely aching heart In that vanished abode there far apart On that disused and forgotten road that has no dust-bath now for the toad.

Night comes; the black bats tumble and dart; the whippoorwill is coming to shout and hush and cluck and flutter about:

I hear him begin far enough away full many a time to say his say before he arrives to say it out.

It is under the small, dim, summer star.

I know not who these mute folk are who share the unlit place with me– those stones out under the low-limbed tree.

Doubtless bear names that the mosses mar.

They are tireless folk, but slow and sad,

Though two, close-keeping, are lass and lad,– with none among them that ever sings,
and yet, in view of how many things, as sweet companions as might be had.

The sun’s first rays kiss the hill, and send the ripples of their rays through
the pale blue puddles.

They are nocturnal folk, and they live, with one another, out of doors.

:: 04.23.2021 ::


CRICKET & BEE

(i wrote this while sleeping. I keep pad and pencil at my bedside. I have not read it yet — some may think that is a brave thing to do but I do not — my life is about expression and words).

As it scurried by, I noticed it was wearing a cloth (as if it were a tail!)
I had no sense of what time it was, but I noticed it was (after all!) about daybreak.
(This was later told to me) that many bats are nocturnal, or else they are so easily startled, they flee to cover their heads and hide.
In their defense, I suppose it may well have been mid-afternoon, for there was a palpable somberness in the air.
But, I felt there was no time to lose. I was to find EROS and leave on my mission.
With some haste, I left the dark streets, and headed south. I walked along a dirt path, although I did not really know where it went or to go.
The area was shrouded in darkness (though there was just enough moonlight to see)
and as I walked through a hedge of willows I felt disoriented and was careful to go very, very slowly (if not all in terror, I would surely turn to cactus!)
When I reached a “Road” I noticed it had a layer of pebbles on it, and walked past it, just in case there were some venomous snakes on that road. (At that point it would have been more like trying to get out of a sheet of plywood than to a mat of tinfoil!)
As I walked, it became more and more foggy, and though I could see quite a distance ahead of me, in all other directions it was pitch dark.
When I reached the far side of the light of day, I happened to look ahead of me.
In that brief moment, something fell down in front of me!
I saw it laying there, spread-eagled, but before I could move, it rolled right up onto its feet and began running towards me!

It had been a mosquito — and it had died — just because of me!
I was trapped in a painful searing haze of irritation.
I reached for a pocket knife from my pocket, and slowly began inching backwards.
I must not get trapped by the mosquito (i)n that maze!
I was already avoiding all sorts of vermin (e.g. earthworms, centipedes, snakes, scorpions etc) that night; why did it have to choose me!
So, I crawled backwards, very slowly, back to my camp spot.
I stood up, and in my irritation I drew a cross on my heart.
The mosquito landed on a rock, and I quickly looked around. There was no one around.
Then the mosquito’s wings swept over my head, and it disappeared down into the gloom.
I turned around, and began to head back.
But, as I walked, a dim, red light began to grow larger.
The light grew steadily, until it became a helicopter.
As it hovered in the sky, my exhaustion from the previous night began to grow.
The mosquito had chased me all the way to my spot, and was now guarding it!
And so I did what I had to do: I ran away, in a panic, back to my camp, where I found myself comfor(ing) again with the cricket.
I may have forgotten the sun was up that morning, for I was greatly exhausted.
But it was about that time I began to feel hungry, so I sat down at my cooking fire, and, while I ate, I watched the giant stone (that I had almost stepped on), turn slowly.
Eventually, it disappeared.
I then called out in triumph (albeit slightly in jest)
“It’s gone! I can go home now!
I can go back to sleep for the rest of the day!”
And the cricket replied:
“I’m so glad you could finally see that stone. I’m just happy to be here with you. Be sure you come back again and visit me some time!
(If you should find a bug in your hair, don’t scratch it, it will die! Just take me to its hiding place!).”
It may be hard to believe, but each and every cricket inhabits a different cave; though some are inside of rocks.
Some live in the stream that flows nearby,
and some live inside rocks.
But they all love to hang out together — all the insects in this area!
It’s a great group of friends, we spend all day in the cool of the cave,
and the nights are filled with nature’s best.
(These days the cricket — who I now know to be Augustus Insecta, was the only creature to come to my aid, and stand guard over my hut that night — and many nights thereafter.)
And, while I was happy to leave that place, I still took many souvenirs of it with me.
I used bits of it as walls and ceilings, and anything else I could take, and when I built my home at the foot of that giant stone, I built my roof out of it!
And, to this day, whenever I go up to the “Cockroach Tunnel,”
I still look back, and remember Augustus Insecta, who, I suppose, was the real hero of that place.
I know, I know, there’s a lot more to talk about, but I’ve only scratched the surface.
Those are just some quick observations about that particular cave.
There’s plenty more I could tell you, if you care to know.

But you have to start at the very beginning — where it all began —
and you have to come with me now! I’m happy to say I made it all the way!
That’s right — I can’t believe I’ve made it this far, but here I am.
It was a beautiful morning, and I was ready to escape the heat and sun and I figured I’d just walk around, open the gate, and take a look around.

I’d noticed some new flowers in the past days and wanted to see if there was anything interesting around the creek.

I headed up to the rutabagas, and there was something very strange about one that had suddenly bloomed, while I was gone.
I was flabbergasted by it!
Then, I heard a strange sound.
It was coming from the pines!
I was so shocked, I forgot what I was looking for — and, it was too late to go back, so I went to see what I had found.
I found it quickly, and it was indeed a bee.
But I could tell it was not a normal one.
It was not fat, and there was no veil in its wings — I was amazed by its size!
It was no bigger than the tip of my finger, but it seemed much, much taller.
And, it looked almost as if it might fly away, but it sat on a leaf near the creek’s edge.

It sat there patiently, and then, it began to walk down the side of the hill,
as if it was walking to meet me.

“Hi! Hi! I’m the Bee,” he said!
“I know you, I know you!” he said.
“I’ll tell you what I am — I am the longest living creature
who will ever exist. We share this earth with the other
creatures, but, only in relative terms, we have a lot more in common,
and they’re quite nice and useful.


BRASS AGAINST STRINGS

TONIGHT i was writing some prose just a word or two through my mind
within this confused world so i thought i would write instead;
the skin of my body // was warm and the thoughts colder than my head \\
it felt so good so i feel i could come to sleep; i dreamed so i dreamed
i was a thin thought of my mind and so taken to a place within the world
of those who do not care … could have blown my mind way out but again there i was!
meeting upon a mountain top all the characters of words and all those
sentences and incomplete thoughts — i had a woman climb up toward the fallen
characters — so crazy:  she said,  “Hey baby, take those words and make
a world, take those worlds and make my world”  i smoked caterpillar and
she was an island girl with sharp shapes and almond eyes and a mind
so sharp;  looking at me i said, “lady, you whispered something in
my ears so crazy so lady you have me.”  Oh yea i floated upon a cloud
upon the ground and took me into a place like a dream (all within my head)
ooooooh  one more time she said, ‘hey babe take those worlds and make
those fire characters words into poetry,’  and within my hand was a bottle
of turtle ocean wine and within my heart blood — we cut our lips upon the
fat love of feelings;  so take it and make words so take it all and make it words
— come on’ come on’ come’on come’on make it fine  as red wine.
we could ask Alice — where logic and proportion is small like the requiem of
songs so head — be your head!  be your head!

:: 04.09.2021 ::


SPEAK WITH A QUIET MOUTH

My inner darkness doth grow darker still and demons appear to men and birds and beasts by guise, and animals to meek men, and men to women, the last victims.  Thus we see the bitterness of our play; who act now dare not and then cry and rave and whisper in spite of the crookedness, the foulness, and recklessness of the blade of voice nay of mouth.
When did love and joy ever last? If the flesh of my thoughts and schemes do not dim and slacken and break and whither away, it was a Dream that made them.  My sight is now clouded with clouds of mystery, that look and bespeak as much as the good, yet give no good report.

But my angel of wisdom, and sweetest hearing, from whose lips the warring days have grown sweet, the graces, the attractions, and the pleasures and the choicest life-giving mead — in her throat have ever been heard; she, who drinketh the love-lamps still burn, and who never takes a cup or thinketh of death or pain.  Thus, to my mind, is wisdom’s knowledge, she who is a DAWN over the dark night, and rises on the dawn.

And as we look to the Day we see, indeed, in it the comely Maid that were always promised; not because she appear’d or twas talked but because, when our heart’s secret sleep e’er let slumber fall, our Mother had said, and the soul has thought since, ‘My dear, ah, come, see our love is done;’ Then do all things but with her, she that were never our mistress; and with her alone, who would let us loose unto that, and that alone, we trust; behold how round are the radiancies of my heart’s farthest thought; and the light of God’s Kingdom shines there, in the human’s heart; for I hope to learn of her more than of God.

But my mind, which is mine own, says, ‘Ah, though fair she be, she has none in the world for me.  And in the thrice wise maid, who was our Mother’s delight, the last hope and fear, a pity and a grief in my bosom have yielded with dull persistence; and in my esteem and affections retain with bitter ache all my love of all that was ours.

:: 04.03.2021 ::


FAST FIRE

small SLANTS by which a high pitched viscous singing commences
(coyly shifting from plane to plane) who baby! (unknown, a child!)
SLEEPING.
??!! NIGHT
sonospy: cigarette, watercress-ness, or what? chewie.
some of us. .other: hemp-prickling.
trollis. !!

WOE. a human head pop-smacked onto knee,
as he’s LAPPED up by a bee’s lost game;
some guy’s shorts are tied with an abcrack pattern;
wipe cigarette ash from chin while a skull
reminds him “blackout ;l none much to watch here.”—let’s dash out to
the terrace before night’s turnip-spore thin streams go
swimmer; pools of restlessness abjure and submerge. Friends wave off form
gentlemen like pornography of their adolescent’s middle school
suction cups of intelligent perspicacity.

Here eyes are blind, the portals to the sky of the day O!
The totally torsioned and pummeled
currents that lay out of phase in the machines of society, night is
where a brain should be: where black spirits capture an unawake
dawn.

night, in a jungle of panthers and giant green beetles where
with their infernal cocoons flimsy victims emerge to sprawl
on the concrete roof.

fastfire.

epiploca’s glorious blind-spot colorizes the gritty whiteout,
shadows now reflect signs of a Saturday night black and wild
chewing the band fence the yellow floodlights of some
everlastied school are reflected and seem to immerge
along the flow of broken bodies into the black misty mud of a
street trashed via the wonder of NIGHT ? ;
One hot A.M. the city is hard and uncomfortably
heavy- lipped, a reverberating pebble smacks
through the window; an off-note of her roar
wears- the dry car-wash window from all openings,
smashes out through the corner light.

;; 04.02.2021 ::


THE KILLER’S WIFE

has seen the world before in her spirit trapped in this shell and the policeman enters and her soul remains in the greenish paper room of yesteryear.
:: OCTOBER 31, 1960 ::=
THE NEW AVENUE: ONBOARD THE DEATH VALLEY
This week we are leaving the bowels of the west and riding the train out to the sun with a fat young man whose skin is the color of butter IN THE GARAGE with the knotty hands and half empty milk cartons
he fixes a weathered Oldsmobile –];
. THE CHURCH on the hill
BUDDY, TED, JERRY
: .“SCHWARTZMAN,
HOW DOES it FEEL, SAN FRANCISCO?”
: .“WELCOME TO THE DEATH VALLEY,
CHANCEY,
THANK YOU, TED, SON, YOU’RE THE BEST!!”
: .“So, say hi to your dad for me, ya good
MAN!!
:”
: .“HEY,CHANCEY,
JUST GIVE ME ONE MORE RIDE, SON, I GOTTA GET THIS FUCKING
YANKEE SANDBLAST SUIT FIXED UP AND SHADED before the Prez
:”
:: NO

:: 03.28.2021 ::


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 ::


LITTLE BOY

Hath fed the common purpose That draws the very heart of man, to the sacrificial hero!
Dangerous and promising are these dreams which seem to come from the heart’s deep recesses,
as have cast a spell of melancholy that leaves one dim.

Only by speaking about them in former times, has the world appreciated these voices from the skies.
There are no age limits, neither to the quest for spiritual growth, nor to its testing.

Beneath each of these mysteries, some preface and others express the grandeur of a true meaning;
some have shed new lights, some, disturbing.

The grandest have revealed new truths, no matter how strong the prose, the content has to be true.
To reach a mystical insight the words which the thoughts themselves preface, express;to understand the concrete problems the language must have been created by the body of man’s brain to reach it, the mind must have been perfected.

No matter what subject has been investigated it has in common three fundamental elements.

They are reason, the senses, and a grandeur: and when they interact with each other in perfect harmony the knowledge of truth is attained; the deepest, most true meaning is comprehended. We learn what is true
when our instincts are the tools to do what we know to be so; we lose ourselves when we do not know what we are; and we should know our own nature when we have used our minds to understand ourselves.

Reaching the depths of the unknown, understanding the whole nature of things, you attain an ascent to light:
like the body in a dream defeated by the weight of the body, the body in an inner form makes its way up from depths of darkness: and when one experiences this one is reborn; and when one sees this one is changed: ‘Twas in this way the poet was reborn upon this earth; and all he could atone for his human failures.

This is a melody about a man on a mountain who hears the voice of the moon and, unknown to himself, alighted with the noble heart. But the mystic of the moon was an empty moon: ‘Twas of the body of man the moon had no heart; only that of his body could he love. In his despair he sought to sacrifice his flesh. But the voice of the heart and the words from it frightened him. Then he walked on the world through the nights of the year and dwelt in deep oblivion. But what could be said to him, in his darkness, when, suddenly, a light shone through the darkness? That was his awakening, it was a vision of an inner light which drew him towards the universe. He went back to his own child, and he passed along the familiar path but what was the purpose? He sought a hidden light to brighten his way: but when he reached the end of the firmament, there was no light. How could it come from below when there was no light above?

This is a story of a mother in her humble home with a little child in her arms, who is nursing, and unaware of the wonderful events to come, in spite of her heart’s eagerness and in spite of her pride. His little fingers possess the world with an innocence which the immovable forces Avenge and they are known by a loving heart. In the courtyard she prays: but who she prays for? The next she sees he is walking down the stairs : with him goes his hand and he stretches out his little arms when the little boy reaches out his hands
and they know each other. But there is no single sound of their happy greeting nor is there a single person
they meet: the space is also their meeting place.

Life.

:: 03.28.2021 ::


POETIC PAINTINGS

SHE would pull back her hands to her sides, her furrows bear poetic paintings with a past unfolded in crosshatch, reprimands to the unblinking, to the untried to never covet an hour lost and found, the length of a sunset, a sun weighing us down, now or then looking away to a beach that doesn’t seem our way, reputed for its unchanging coral reefs and saying it’s way more glorious than the beach next door, as we know, the one nobody cares to swim into.

Then my hips, already weak, begin to shake though when you come with me, if we should go by car, we’re together, on ground heavy that your steps cannot change.

I must say more, but you know the story. You must hear the secret though only the Sages were allowed to hear it.

It is a light; my dark world turns into a coffin light, the whole thing collapsing, if i miss you, my sadness begs, but there are no answers what to do when everything in you, in all of us weeps for absence.

Better for the room’s overhead to be darkness, for me, for my heart’s an end that must not bend, a blade lost in sand. Can no healing be between our two lonely hearts without me weeping and no consolation
without you wanting to know, when we’ll fall in love again?

Want to buy a song give a gift of musical genius the way we never stop loving, until I can be safe again.

I’ve lived alone for the last thirteen years, still living off my memories of her, but having no contact with her — except for my last few days, of course.

I wrote the only song I can sing now, and there were no lessons to be had in any language even if you had known about me, about how I suffered in my anger, from the depth of my despair,
you would not have come near.

:: 03.26.2021 ::


A HUNDRED POEMS – XVI

The morning eye dew
i love it sees a new day untouched
a breath of sight so grand
a peace-inner speak-eye!
Tussle the bed sheets;
a flag that Nation for the sleeper
my Anthem made of murmur whisper-speak
my tender love!

And each morning to awaken
do i see my Nation
next to me that Anthem
her name and lips her voice;
angelic bliss!

:: 03-26-2014 ::