Time Interior, Exterior

 

Two years before Woodstock

I checked the library clock

In a room that contained itself,

A hearth of afternoon glows

And over those, a mantle shelf

Where you had placed a rose.

Tabletop

If you look at the photograph carefully you'll see as it wanted to be seen, taken 30 years ago with a Mamiya Sekor SLR at this table. Unloading my pocket knife and wristwatch onto the table in front of a small framed clock got our two youngest interested. I asked them if they'd like to be included. They did, so we went outside and they posed as would like to appear in the photo.

They did, and we discussed where their images would go.

Nine year old Son wanted to push or pull the minute-hand, as might we all sometimes. Four year old Daughter preferred to sit in the wristwatch and see what that unidentifiable thing with tanks and chimneys was going to do in front of the pocketknife. None of us remember what that thing was, but went on to have good lives. I guess the theme is, life is large but sometimes  best done in little.

Loud Cars

Halloween and monsters moan

In my yard --it is hard dying of gas.

Blasting out undone youth, brains

Bowels, modified mufflers pass

Brains, bowels? Former or latter,

I don't know --doesn't matter.

Youth? Truth? Toddlers

With toy hammers? Here at the 

Midnight hour, adults in

Delusions of power roar past.

Why? I don't know. Unless we

All mature, I can't be sure.

 

 

12-Sided Cosmic Prayer

For your consideration, one of many 12-sided copper and bronze-alloyed objects unearthed in Europe and attendant islands. They are of Roman origin, around 200 AD and earlier:

"The dodecahedron  is the shape used for embroidering the constellations of heaven." --Plato (circa 400 BC).

Whether it was an early form of dice in crapgames or sacred object really makes little difference. These objects of astonishing antiquity have been found all over western Europe and, for me, compose a...

            Prayer

 Lord, in discord we have 

Fought  catastrophes,

Turned and run

To what is dear.

Now, on our knees,

We are moved to ask:

Please, can we not

Improve from here,

Instead of Armageddon?

 

 --------I had hoped to make this a 12-lined poem but only managed 9. The tardy 3 lines doubtless exist in the future but currently exceed my depth. Is anybody working on this? Best of LUCK to all of us. 

When Saucers Landed

We were young, expectant, 

Renting a cottage from 

Doctor Spock,  on Kent Street

who'd walk

His old dog through our yard:

"C'mon Sannee (Sandy),

Poor lil shit", but had a surprisingly

Useful understanding of children--

For a Vulcan. We read his book

On Kent Street (named after Clark), at

The corner of Lois Lane.

Sometimes, as aliens say from

Their sudden saucers: don't let your

Moral compass slide  off its binnacle.

A country, a ship of State, in

That distress, doesn't know where 

It's going anymore.

First Heard It When I Turned 13

  

What is left to us really, an

An awkward cotillion in

Hazmat tuxedos? 

It goes without saying,

Gowns --crackle of fabric 

Fills our haunted hall and

All our wishes whisper from

The floor: we can't hear

The music anymore.

Strange to think confusion's

Call and random chance

Left us this ball, this dance.

                                                   

What Tails Are For

Today's journal entry (to Minnie, who loves cats):

I wish my tail hadn't dropped off some months ago. I wouldn't have to use a cane sometimes.
                     *********************************

(In response to Meems, a much-valued commenter, I'm translating my handwriting into something readable here:

                                    An event

                                Lives through a mind

                               And mind anticipates

                               Events --a cat

                               Waits at the back door.

                               That is balance,

                               What tails are for.

                                

NOT ALL

 

 

Not all possibility is

Simply assembled, but

In motion, colliding,

Sliding, withdrawing,

Eliding, trading orbit

In light, time and chance.

It is a huge dance

Of probability, you see,

And so are we. 

Shadow Gardening

I don't know how

She combines

Anatomies of  

Shadows and trees.

Its proof plays out

In contours --our

Backporch roof lures

Surprises like these. 

                                 (detail of Normaphoto)
 

Planets and Dragon Eyes

Dilatory but alert, an ancient

Eye watches for some slight

Shift in momentum or mass.

Through branch bark ridge

And glass it watches a bridge

Of light, day and night, for

Orbital decay, for planets--

Any sort of drift that may

Send each its separate way.

 

 

Wonder Watches

 (dedicated to my sister, who took this photograph)

There are clouds
And a breeze --
It's a hundred degrees--
Air sighs aloud in a
Chinaberry tree,
From which, under
Deep shadow, wonder
Watches you and me.

How Big Is Here?

A cold April day --here
Rain overlays its sound
Where kind and kind commingle--
A sigh that does not stop but
Scales windy treetops under
This moon of ours...

           ...sings with the
Sighing sea in a language
Of stars, here with you
And here with me.

Ground Level

After coppicing
The turkeys come.
They stand and bow;
Need not know how
We release borers
Into their custody,
Digestive tracts--
And honor acts of
Kindness, sacrifice,
Cruelty, food chain.
This is how the universe
Remains in mystery.
It is also a nursery.

A Break In The Clouds

An alchemistry of thought, photography

Found deep in another century, trimmed
Into lockets, carried in pockets --paper,
Light and silver-salts-- evolved a
Distillate of rainbows, an age at which
We learned to expel excitement in new
Ways through time, space, its swales and
Bends by bowing, falling out both ends.

Queen Noire

In keeping with my recent theme of cats and it being rather late at night, I have elected to do it again. You are welcome to visit examples on all 3 of my blogs --please click here and here. I hope you also enjoy this bit of doggerel, er...catterel:

                                          Queen Noire

Norma named her
Noire --who has grown
To claim her eucalyptus
Throne-- a cat-shaped
Droplet of night, she
Assumed royal rights
Between barkbeds and
Flowers, has powers of
Rare device yet does,
Unlike lesser rulers do,
Eat mice; good thing too!



 

Overseeding (Reworked Poem from 2008)

I will use this Normaphoto of Tux to retain eye-contact with the audience --something I've had trouble with, even back in 2008.

.

Thought is reception
Less like time unseen
Than grass quivering
Over seed --we 
Are suggestible.
In circuitry, potentials
Isolated and rhythms 
Set and yet simply
We follow the tremendum
Of birth --of sensing, seeing--
The incomparable change 
From Not Being to Being,
And Live --love and yet
We promptly forget.

 

Mid-Autumn, 2012

Histories combine
Into a fenceline.
In the anatomy
Of the future,
Time is a nerve 
Through which
The universe
Experiences itself.

More Thoughts On Turkey

She still climbs and oversees
Jennies and Jakes spread into
Prairie, gently, intently.
Not all lived --my neighbor,
And dear friend, found
Feathers in his field.
She is alone now and
How her heart roams, as
She surveys the lanes
And homes, is testament--
Proof-- that lingering love 
And care include our roof.

2019

 (Photo is an unintended companion-piece to Camanche Lake 1969. Associative mentation and time tend to play such pranks.)


Shutting The Door Behind Me
Unlike some sentients,
I close the door behind me
But do not open a window.
I have found snakes in
The pumphouse, and the
Odd mouse, both begging
To be let out --and I do.
But descendants return
After many generations,
(About two days for us)
And repeat history, and
We defeat the mystery. 
Sentience means we must.
So shut windows and doors.
The universe you save is yours.
 

My Hero of Point Reyes, 1965

We arrived, a '63 Chevy
In morning mist and
Insisted we wade out
As one into the sounding 
Sea --Drake's Bay.
The day was hot and we
Rejoiced under sun
Into night then hiked
Back up, to a note
On the windshield:
"You left your lights
On this morning, so
I disconnected the battery--
Ranger Dave." We
Found a half-inch crescent
Wrench under the hood
And surmised we,
And an angel, dived
Into the same wave.