draft completed

snippets for the polar bear

2012-02-10T21:47:00.000-05:00

1.

Goodbye to you dear polar bear
Your white fur, your complex eyes,
Your powerful bear claws,
Your cubs, your crossing of the ice
In search of seals and more ice.
I'm sorry we killed you,
living there at the top of the world,
walking around the globe in seconds,
crossing every line of longitude
if you walked around the pole.

2.

The polar bear has great white feet
which carries 'im through snow and sleet ...

3.

O polar bear!
O polar bear!
How deepeth is thy misery?

4.

O polar bear! I'm so sorry!
But what has been done cannot be undone.
So all the ice is melting fast!
Even we all look aghast
at your agony at last.
But what's to say when CO2
cannot be controlled by us ... or you?

I guess there'll always be the zoo.

born once going twice

2012-02-10T21:30:00.004-05:00

You are where you are born.

The time tested method of moving away

unties the physical but not the mental,

not the irrational ties that link you

to the landscape and the people.

Let us talk about the landscape,

how the blue sky over the green hills

falls down to mingle with the cold water

of the white-flecked river that stalks down

to the ocean.

Let us talk about the people

who run through the landscape barefoot, peasants mostly,
each trying desperately to find the hen's eggs before she dies
and leaves them nothing.

Blake talked to his brother

2012-02-10T21:22:00.001-05:00

Blake saw God through a window

Yeats' wife wrote down what they said

Dick spent years in conversation

But you're just troubled in the head.

Intervoiceonline is a website

And how strange are the things I have read

Many celebs claim to have heard them

But you're just troubled in the head.

Once you're on the pills you're a gonna

You'll never get off 'til your dead

Never mind that the others get sympathy

You're just troubled in the head.

Psychics and mediums and shamans

And people recently bereaved

All talk to the souls of somewhere

But only doctors can now be believed.

120210909p

2012-02-10T21:11:00.000-05:00

1.

In my dog's mortality I see my own.
He ages and declines fast-forward.
Horrified I watch him fail,
sans teeth to tail, eyes moving
at my approach, lying on his side.
Dear dog, I will miss you.

2.

Hot porridge
Cold spoon
White Bowl

120210855p

2012-02-10T20:57:00.000-05:00

Staying away and
remaining disconnected
is an easy way to die.

The just.
The unjust.
The just.

The night

I proclaim too much in my poetry.
I aim for intimacy and hit pronouncement.
Give me tools or give me death.
I am no more a poet than a blind man is a blind
musician.

short speech

2012-02-04T22:40:00.000-05:00

We will overcome. We will fight them on the beaches and we will never be undersold. There comes a time in the hearts of men when courage is not feigned -- the true courage of the underlying turned upon his head. We are not finished but merely reduced and this reduction will not last, but prosper we to the time that our old misdirected life seems as but a misadventure.

Woman with the silver hair

2012-02-04T22:30:00.001-05:00

Woman with the silver hair
How did you get here?
To a corner of a small café
In New York City?
Black-framed glasses indicate
Your eye-sight's weak but highlights show
Your bank balance's good.

Oh, woman with the silver hair,
Writing so studiously behind the curtain
Of chatter and background of music
In the corner of the café with high ceilings.
What do you need?
Come trust me.

the five things I regretted most before dying

2012-02-04T22:22:00.001-05:00

Somewhere in the quick silver of my life
I lost a letter that carried your address.
It slipped sideways in a fold of water
like a snowflake in a snowstorm and I
shook my head, turned my collar, turned
a corner, vanished into perspective.

I wanted a child. You did not.

I wish I had not worked so hard.

I wish I had been born rich.

I wish I had not lost your address.

hear sound sway feet

2012-01-23T21:34:00.000-05:00

Hear sound
Scrape feet
Tear cloth

Watch film.
Plant tree.
Collect trash.

Hear sound.
Sway feet.
zzzzz Grin.

peace love joy hate

2012-01-18T07:00:00.001-05:00

peace
love
hate
joy
spring
carnival

for the holly days

2012-01-07T19:05:00.001-05:00

-- a not very good travel poem (but with a punch at the end) --

How can he rhyme bleak

with sense?

We cross the Byram river,

Providence bound. Trees beyond

the sound wall stay put, leaves

turning red and orange migrate.

She sleeps. We cross a train line,

lines of cables in waves follow thirsty

the cut through the forest, licking the

wound. The bus is full. Lights

that are supposed to illuminate

my manuscript don't work but the

star

that illuminates all suffices. I listen

to Christmas music -- I love thee Lord

Jesus ... the cattle are lowing ... no crying

they make. There is a McDonalds at

Exit 9. Pusst the Just Cats, veterinary

hospital,

on we go. The bus squeaks like a mouse

carrying these souls, some asleep, some

thumbing their touch-screens, others reading

papers and books. Blue seats. The emergency

exit is near us. Service area ahead. The pen

is mightier than the sword? Mobil

is the gas station and why is there no "e"?

Right lan exit onl sounds bad, too.

Speed limit 55. "Exit 14" on a brown sign,

a shit exit -- don't live there. Under the

electricity lines and my heart jumps

by induction. As McDonald's so wisely says,

"Just a dollar per delicious," and now whole

words are disappearing. A hole-word is a

word that should be there.

Cross another river. Exit 16.

"A partridge in a pear tree."

Why do trucks have big cabs?

When they dance around the tree,

hand in hand, do they nod

nod nod at one another? A car

dealership. More power cables. My heart

skips, five gold rings and here is Exit 18.

Kiri!

Ah, the trees of New England!

are, disappointingly, thin and scrawny.

Where the trees on which a squirrel

could traverse from Boston to Chicago

without touching ground? Third growth,

fourth growth. Prokofiev and Troika!
He knew from white snow and firs and
white furs and sleighs. Subway subway subway!
Exit 19. The marshes. A red four by four
slathered with New England mud, russet
and purple leaves. Blue sky with a slash
of white clouds like piano keys. An
angel of the Lord descending, Speed Limit 55.
A fellow traveler carrying a pungent sandwich.

Why do striped shirts have horizontal stripes
across the yoke and vertical in the body?
Noël, Noël, I see his shirt in reflection.

Exit 23. Now open! Join today!
Quickly past. Too late! Never will!
Water tank like a triffid, Rolling
cement mixer truck, white, white billboard
with "UB" sticking up on one end, but what?
UB what? No time, said the iPod.
"100 years of Naval Aviation. Countless
reasons to visit." UB Naval gazing?
"Exit 28. Greyhound track." A sturdy
exit with strong hints of power plant
Accompanied by Kiri expressing Joy.

"Find your edge! 19.99!"
And a woman with a bare torso, boxing,
on her hands the red gloves
like the gloves on the hands of the Prince.

Merry Christmas.

New Year's poem i

2012-01-03T14:18:00.002-05:00

None of us make it all the way through.
Most crack like eggs between 40 and 80,
spilling our guts into a waiting bowl,
never to be returned to the shell again.

I broke at 48. Wandered lonely as a cloud.
Looked out the window, sighed and listened to classical music.
My life, uninterrupted and yet over.
For what did I perish? The chicken jug laughs.

My eyesight's failing, my paunch is back,
my back is sore and my shoulders' bent.
My mind is fluff. Cotton candy. Coral. So
I go on in, under my tin hat, through no man's land.

a "poety poem" for one who asked

2011-12-30T07:13:00.000-05:00

A tree is like a bush,
only smaller,
A bush is like a ball,
only bushier.
A ball is like a testicle,
only not as rude.
A testicle is like a sphere,
only not as poetical.

1/1/12 -- so I got the last word wrong. big deal. I changed it now.

Happy New Year!

2011-12-28T21:47:00.001-05:00

Here's to a happy and healthy 2012 and here's my New Year poem from 1995: Day Break. See you in the New Year.

2011-12-28T21:42:00.001-05:00

wake up!
City sounds.
Dog barks.

a shocking poem

2011-12-28T21:41:00.003-05:00

I read what I thought was a silly poem about LUV which included quotes from other poets, so I wrote this. It is obviously written in the voice of a young woman talking to her jocund boyfriend.

Michel Duchamp said
"art is whatever the artist
says
is
art.
(He was the one who signed the urinal.)
Which saysnothing about
me except Scooby-do do
don't you think?
On West 13th street (oh unlucky sweet street) David said
I'm gay
And we knew it had only just
Started, like a coil
in spring.
Were grateful we no longer
had to
needed to
endure proper grammar
sprung rhythm
capital letters
Quotes with Punctuation Marks
I said
I am poet
a
which when he kissed
me
and we made love ( which makes the world
go round, so I guess
Duchamp
was right (
if you substitute
love
for art
and lover for
the other. ) )

three rings

2011-12-16T21:37:00.001-05:00

there are

three rings

two here.

angel or demon

2011-12-16T21:20:00.000-05:00

What would you do
if a man came to your house
and walked through an interior
locked
door?
Would that mean he was an angel
or
a
demon?
Not that he walked through the door
I mean, he opens and closes the door
and passes through the opening
even though
the door
was locked.

inspired by a scene in The Bishop's Wife.

winter season poem

2011-12-03T20:32:00.001-05:00

peace.
light.
rings.

legs.
lips.
hat.

Sunday

2011-11-30T09:43:00.001-05:00

I had a father once.

Blue he was, and green.

We sat on a park bench and i kicked his shoes.

"don't do that."

He laught and beat me. i cried.

Passers by stopped and stared.

"Father, father," I cried.

Being not disappeared he conntinued to beat me.

Then came the plicment with turncheon

the soldier with the tear grenade

the secret service with his cells and needles.

Father, Father, I cried.

But that curch was not dissuaded.

stars and stones

2011-11-16T08:09:00.001-05:00

I have a Friend who writes poems way

way beyond the starry stars while I

stand here on the earth and kick stones

but (you know?) it doesn't matter

because everything came from the same

Big Bang, after all, and I can put

my stones in my pocket and admire the stars

all on the same night. Best of both

worlds.

december 2011

2011-10-24T13:10:00.001-04:00

three words

two words

peacelove

a wrod is an expression of something the

2011-03-05T18:06:00.002-05:00

body perceives

space

2011-03-05T16:23:00.003-05:00

air
back
in
nest
of love
sleep

(two)

the castle

2011-03-05T07:55:00.000-05:00

the castle is my city
I go where I want
I do what I want
I am what I want

form and factor

2011-02-20T15:09:00.003-05:00

the time has come to address the
   question
   of form
   and
   factor
Mr. Time meet
   Ms. Space
Go out and
   multiply, in
   squares of
light, clicking forward
oneaftertheother like rackets
   on a giant ball.

But before then!
   Ah, before then.

lines omitted
can't quite get same line up on post published as draft.
I actually like the published poem layout better.

underneath the mistletow

2011-02-20T14:46:00.000-05:00

I waited. But you never came again.
How odd.
Year s past Years present Years fortune goen and come back
Around abou and gone again. How odd.
The tears of the tears replenish themselves
automatically. How astonishing. How pool they in tear pools
littered by quartz down nder a willing bar made in heavn's hell's gate ways to have ignored the answer for so long, for so long
it left, spinning its hat in
an annoyed fashion.

on a winter's morning

2011-02-12T08:29:00.000-05:00

composed while listening to Go Tell It On The Mountain.

Early one morning
   as I lay in my bed
   waiting the dawn to come and wake me
I saw you.
   You were there in a strange glory
Doctor Who.

Well. I never. Not who I expected but then
who expects OH DEAR GOD Doctor Who?

It must be weird, to open the door and find the good doctor --
"Trust me. I'm the doctor."
Well. I never. Would you like?

A cup of tea?

bookend

2011-02-09T22:00:00.000-05:00

man runs.
woman shifts.
door opens.

start to a poem

2011-02-08T21:54:00.000-05:00

snow is white and fluffy in 'quel measure
the morning you are born and
when you die it is gray and broken and inbetween
more falls.

draft 2/3/11
this version 2/08/11

more ramblings

2011-02-01T21:01:00.001-05:00

the spirits insist
I tell their stories

Story A
Working on the railroad had cut
muscles I never knew existed ...

Story B
She hit him in the face with her fists
and I liked it.

Story C
The apartment window spun open and
she walked out, cool as a cucumber in heat.

Story D
Slowly I wrote the first words
I had written in 1 thousand
years. Praise be to God.

Storey E
To make a baby in those days required
a blind faith that your hips
would allow the baby to pass. It
was an extraordinary leap of faith,
an astonishing testament to
the biological drive.

Story F
I thought his story was over.
But I was wrong.

Story G
This cannot be. How can this be happening?
We have won! We have won!
Or, rather, we haven't won. Something
larger than us is in the room. Oh God!
I have chills running down my right
arm, across my head. What has happened here?
TITAN!
THROW BACK THE CURTAINS!

Story H
I couldn't imagine leaving him. The
thought couldn't get passed my lips. So I
did what I think was the only honorable
thing. I killed him instead.
One for the sisterhood.

Story I
Imagine this. You killed John Lennon
and you're up for parole. Do you tell them of the dreams you've had in which John comes to you and tells you
it's okay
or not?

11/2/11 changed of to for in story H.

observed in cafe

2011-01-30T13:40:00.001-05:00

so I was sitting in a cafe one day and:

two men with lumpy faces sit in a corner of a cafe both dressed in a collared shirt. Dark pants. Sweaters, one crimson, one navy. Black shoes, dark socks and old Italian gestures and accents. they nod gravely. carefully unwrapping three thoughts they exchange them along with the tin-foil sanwiches and wide-mouth paper-plastic bowls.
their hair is carefully combed.
one has deep-set eyes, the other a double chin and sometimes one stares into space for a moment while the other has his eyes to the table. The waitress comes and kisses one on the head. ah he sighs and smiles affectionately, bravely, remembering the times he had and then he remembers his daughter. his companion brightens.
she moves on and they lean back in their chairs, one 'macking his lips over coffee. the other holds his left-hand somewhat awkwardly down at his side.

people.

p.s. because this was based on a cut-and-paste from another document the spacing isn't quite right. but hey, them's the breaks.

three poem sequences 1/27/11

2011-01-29T12:00:00.001-05:00

some writing from yesterday -- I've taken out some work and changed the odd word or two in putting this up.

sequence i.

Don't think of an answer Think
Think of a question to ask her
Do you like braids? Was yr first dress
hemmed? When did you get yr first period?
These are the questions girls like.

I wanted to tell you of a boysmind
how it grows and transforms like a Tonka toy
building in layers like Aztec swords
laid end to end and on top of each other.

When I was grown I found I was old.

My dogs are gray and they do no harm
I worship them and they're thinking
of food only.

When I was in my middle-age
I knew it was middle-age
but lived there anyway.

The trees that grow in san francisco
that bind and fire tothecliffs,
explode in winter with blossom
that scatters like freeze thaw wedged rock
onto the BMWs below
   from which they are
   swept
by blonde women in red dresses
   laughing.

I can't // quite see // the moon.

once upon a time
in a place far away
and yet dear
but not, as I said, near
a man and a woman were married
to their lovers and the four people
lived happily ever after

don't forget to close the gate
after you've eaten the chocolate

among the merry birds
sat a solitary bird,
preening, mournfully,
its black feathers.

sequence ii.

my dog with the bandy legs
decided to lie in bed next to me
with its head on a ruffle of bedclothes
but not for long

outside is a noise
inside is a fart

the pictures hanging on the wall
remind me of other pictures
because they are reproductions
of those other pictures
in slightly off color tones.

my dog with the bandy legs
sits up, wobbly
sits down, snorting
in disgust, probably
that old age has taken her like this.

don't forget to pour the milk
after the joke
is over

sequence iii

is the snow in a graveyard less white
than the snow on my heart, right now?
the snow falling in thick leaves
thick white leaves, on my crucifix
of a heart?
   lightning come
   Thunder come
Rain, rain, come again
Drive out this snow which falls
like thick leaves, thick white leaves,
filling up the hollows of my heart.

last go around last bite
of an apple already bit
last bite of bread baked twice
last swig of triple distilled something or other
mixed with aged cheese to the point
the mould tastes good

they say the needle coming out
hurts more than the needle going in
that's not true; it's the poison
that hurts the most.

took out a space, changed a line 11/23/11

shepherds in the fields arising

2011-01-28T08:30:00.001-05:00

a Christmas hymn for my mother.
to the traditional tune of "Shepherds in the fields abiding."

Shepherds in the fields arising

Now we stand this Christmas morning

Waiting for Him to arrive

Shepherds in their fields arising

Wise men traveling o'er the plains

Gloria in excelsis deo.

Angels gather 'fore the stable

Wise men kneel and offer praise

Shepherds' sheep bow down before him

Babe whose birth day has arrived

Gloria in excelsis deo

Let us now all praise the Father,

Mother, Son and Holy Ghost

This our family's Grand Uprising

Standing front the Heavenly Host

Gloria.

Gloria

excelsis

deo.

Cleaned up typography 12/16/11

spot the difference

2011-01-24T14:32:00.001-05:00

version 1.

ah, sweet summer // comes to 'late
the women who turned their eyes blind // to each other
and to sorrow. // \\ who turned
up // their noses at younger spring //
preferring instead,
tall winter // old winter // fall winter // winter.

version b.

ah, sweet summer

comes to 'late

the women who turned their eyes blind, to each other

and to sorrow.

who turned

their noses at younger spring

preferring instead,

tall winter

old winter

fall winter

winter

1/24/11

the letter g

2011-01-19T14:52:00.002-05:00

there was a woman
who left the dreaming to others,
because it wasn't practical, she said,
(smoothing her skirt),
to live in a dream. But
where she
went wrong,
you see,
was to say,
it was wrong to live in a dream -
when we all knew, full well,
smoothing our skirts, that she,
was her own dream, but she just di'n't wake up yet,
(smoothing our skirts).

So let this be the day
   when she
WAKES UP!
   STEPS UP!

   STEPS FORWARD!

Bangs fist to chest, sings
I! Stevedore! Reporting for duty!
I! Stevedore! Reporting for duty!
I! Have a poem!

I,
stevedore,
have a poem.

-----

draft 12/24/10 this version 1/20/11

i am white

2011-01-17T11:07:00.002-05:00

I am white.
but I am not the white
crane. embarrassment.

this version 2/4/11

sunlight on the buildings

2011-01-17T11:04:00.000-05:00

we cannot tell when we will change
when the light, unsung,
will shine on different people.

some six line poems

2011-01-09T14:48:00.006-05:00

I
seasons come.
seasons go.

what do I
think of you?

seasons come.
seasons go.

the ache

2011-01-04T06:43:00.006-05:00

If all the liars of all the world
could be gathered here by my lake
they would be blinded.
The ice. The ice pools. The spruce and pine.

How green the ice! how smart, how white!
Now the shape of the birds is the thing
Arcing in cogwheels above and below
enjoying themselves and eachother
in a world of flat shapes and suet.

How then the answer? When comes the answer?

12/25/10
this version 02/28/11

a sequence of poems while waiting

2010-12-30T08:47:00.005-05:00

I was waiting for a friend of mine in a coffee shop during these recent winter holidays and listening to the music and writing while I let the music pal around. Here are some. I changed a word, subsequently.

Song of the Coffee Shop

Pap pap pap pap pappappap
BamBam Bambam bambam
Skiddley Skiddley Skiddley Skiddley
Costa Rica blend Guatemalan
Rico Puerto on the side.
Not lilly not lilly not lilly
Espresso machinas frosh frosh
CAPpuccino.

Lemonade Blues

Got a song of lemonade
Down the back of my throat
Burnt a hole
In the roof of my mouth
had a thousand
chili dogs.
couldn't wait
for the restaurant

what are you doing
still home?

NYeve ii

Carefully he locked the door

Turned up his collar

Hunched his hands

into his pockets

Stopped, stared, waited

for her to pass.

New Year's eve is over

Let her pass

and wait

for the new one to come along.

Lucky Jack.

NYeve iii

I'm a fool.
I thought you'd be there.
I turned the corner
And there you were
I'm still a fool.

Happy New Year!

12/16/10

2010-12-30T08:41:00.000-05:00

two dogs.
one sits.
one jumps.

describe the lake (to improve the poem I wrote)

2010-12-15T23:31:00.001-05:00

I want to tell you of the lake -
how it comes down the hill
to the edge of the forest
and flattens out there. How
the forest is an island in
the middle of planes of water,
mostly frozen in the water,
grey planes crunching together
like battleships gone awry.
Do you see modern battleships?
Or battleships of wood? I want
to tell you about the forest -
how it sticks up and together,
all arrow quills, green and
   upside down
close together like people
close together on a train - an
old train one with leather seats
and lots of doors and standing room
only and perhaps this train
does not exist. Or perhaps it only
   exists
in my imagination like the forest
   and the lake
and the single black bird, waiting.

this version 12/26/10
one word amendment 11/23/11

the bird poems

2010-11-03T19:22:00.003-04:00

   Be a robin.

Robin Hood or robin the bird,
A-robin the poor or robin the rich?
You have to say. Your question
is ambiguous as you are most
of the time. I never understand you
in fact. You are always just out of reach,
a-robin the poor or
a-robin the rich.

   Be a jackdaw.

Jackdaw! Jackdaw!

   Be a hen.

Now I lay me down to rest
And what I have done
I have done to my best.
The eggs I have laid,
The bed I have made
-- all feathers and straw and more straw --
are something I give to you my owner
Gladly, freely and with love.

   Be a mynah.

Gladly.

nov 3rd 2010

the wonder dog

2010-01-04T20:05:00.028-05:00

a toy poodle travels with me.

today she wore her city coat

of soft-lined, green rain-

resistant nylon and walked

happily on her bow-legs with

my wife to the end of the fire-lane

and back in twenty degree weather.

she weighs six pounds, can hardly

see, has cataracts, is fifteen but

"you'll never take me alive, copper,"

we cry as she runs between the furniture

and then wriggles impatiently in our hands.

now she lies curled in her bed

on the sofa next to me, a determined

scrap-end of chocolate fur, sleeping,

the little bellows of her lungs

rising and falling slowly for her

but quickly for me.

lp dec 25 2009 viii

may 08 10

Editor

2010-01-03T09:28:00.007-05:00

I read her the first poem

and she said; "it's okay,

don't love it, don't hate it."

lp dec 25 2009 iii

artists are destroyers

2009-05-19T05:31:00.007-04:00

artists are destroyers
taking man-made objects like paint
and using them up so they cease
to contaminate the natural world.
except sculptors in stone
who form stone
shaped by themselves.
this is what will survive of us.
sculpture.

Chipped Glass

2009-05-19T04:46:00.010-04:00

I don't think I can
write any more poems.
I think they are gone.
I don't miss them.
I really don't. Since
I never really wrote them
in the first place.
They just were.
Like I opened an ordinary box
and found diamonds.

april 1 2009
after "all words are fluid"