Gold Hollow...

             Tomorrow has been cancelled

             a swoop of cowbirds

             jabbers in the pine tops

             above my little red cabin

             as the bath fills with hot water –

             silvery woods at dusk

             were all things meld

             into an indistinct soft repose,

             including me.

             For an hour that has no measure

             no Maxwell’s Silver Hammer

             poised above my head,

             all sins forgiven

             all fears forgotten.

One Day

      How I loved the sweet knockabout of life, bruised by contingency on all sides, I found myself drawn down the bright play of trackless circumstance, I followed Triano with my brakedrum in hand down the shortcut path through the old cedars to the back stalls of Riebe’s, sunlight glinting on crescent wrenches, what day was it?   how would it all turn out?  I loved the sure clank of metals more than music, mystery malfunctions cussed and discussed, all on one hot August afternoon, blue doors to nowhere, zigzag paths to the neighborhoods above the cracked retaining walls, no immunity anywhere, time and eternity are one.

NYC

Yellow leaves on subway steps

smoke from diesel buses

sparkle in the night street pave

traffic barriers over the ripped out

sidewalk in the Bowery

glance of Puerto Rican eyes

the scruffy black man blowing his ancient brass horn

 in front of St. Timothy’s,

hat sprinkled with coins,

 endless endless taxi horns

 walking Fourth Avenue in the Village,

 beat book racks in front of Strand's

 cold wind and wrapper races

“ to this middle ground we wake

 heaven or hell ours to make”

 the pretty Asian girl

    turning the corner

        onto Bleecker Street –

time

"When means are separated from ends time is born"

bicycle

Heaven can't be stormed
It's entered through a side-road
Far from brass tokens
And spinning turnstiles

-Hawk Hill Rd, Humboldt

versus Plato

I gave up my quest

For a strong clear mind

I surrender to the waffle

That decides both sides

I relinquish all claims

I go with the flow

I no longer wish the clarity

Of the high alpine lake

My mind's a broad roaming river

Dark with swirling muds & silts

I find myself substantial as dust-devils

Crossing country roads

I'm happy to spin and spiral there

It may be true – perhaps it's true –

I may have no mind at all.

olive branch?

If you really desire a true peace
    in this world

You must start with an olive branch

You must convene peace talks
     and listen to every side

But I'm afraid this is unacceptable
To those with the biggest tanks
The largest warships
The high-tech armies

Those who've invested far more
     than simple defense

But have built up
A world-class Expeditionary Force

So many contractors   suppliers
     fuel deliveries   businessmen

Too many jobs!
     depend on it

We'll listen to you alright
But only if you recognize

     our invincibility
     our firepower
     our 'leadership'

And follow the script
     we put in your hand

(Military 'aid' is on the way)

Late afternoon
cold coffee
I don't mind

First day in the Army: they put a Bible in one hand, a bayonet in the other.

-Edward Abbey

haircut

How was I to know
the cut-rate barber
at the VA hospital
was half-drunk
when I sat in his chair,
slapping at my skull
he asks laughing,
"remember Boot Camp
when the Sarge asked you
that first day
how'd you like your hair cut?"
-HAW!

the world as commodity

It's useless trying to get this world
     to see things
From a poetic perspective

To recognise the value
     of things-in-themselves

Write all you want
Only other poets will read it

No, the larger world's taken
     by engineering cleverness

Where reigns expedience
     and usefulness:

This beautiful blue planet's
    just commodity.

handyman fix

Rather than drive home
And get the ladder I forgot
I take wild chances
Balancing on lawnchairs & buckets
To pull pineneedles
Off your roof

-for Maureen

Loren Eisley

I would prefer, like all my reptile kind, the still space between clock ticks,
            sandbars in silent rivers;
man's first mistake was ever to see time pointed somewhere beyond us.

-Loren Eisley, "The Flow of the River"

Lake Vera

They think I'm an intruder
But today I'm Alpha Goose
The dock is mine
While the honkers
Glide about the lake
A band of coots in their wake
Waiting for my departure


wind brisk enough now
   to scatter sun-jewels
      across the lake


On my open page
   lands an exquisite
        blue dragonfly


When the wind ceases
The lake becomes a mirror
Cottonwoods across the way
Lay down a sheen of gold


The stiff morning breeze
   lifting the pages of Abbey
      I read on the docks


Access to grace is such a simple thing it makes me wonder
     if people really want it.
Sitting on the Gold Hollow docks
In the warm November sunlight (surprising)
Letting the light breeze
Run across the lake & brush my cheek
Is nothing short of grace for me.
Not just here, but in the twilight clouds,
The deep silent forest,   the "second snow"
Up some obscure trail in the Sierra.
Yet so many prefer   -Oprah?

day-dream

For a moment
I lidded my eyes
And suddenly found myself
A broad-winged pelican
Descending
In the middle of a line
Draughting for one another
Above the blue Pacific:
Our leader timed it perfectly
To glide a cresting wave,
And sailed mere inches
Across its sun-sparkled face;
With a gentle crash
It collapsed
And up we swept into the sky.