IX

________

in the early evening, i stood apart to listen; i stood apart to pray; i stood apart to gather my thoughts in. near me stretched three long, thin trees, and in them stretched a long, tall wind.

oh, put me next to windows! put me next to everything clear and busy and full of tall, thin time. for time is everything! see those who climb the long stairs quickly, they pause for breath: that is time. this, too, is time: an hour, a month, a year of pauses, one year of looking to the door with hope. time is Age, who sits above me speaking slow and full of words. he speaks of you, and he knew you, Poetry! he speaks with love of you. but time is everything, he said: you must understand how time is everything. i dare say History has said the same.

and i've heard preachers, oh atheists and tragedicians mostly now, who never saw you breathe: yet that's okay, really guiltless! they've only gambled so many sides to lose, you see. it's Age who taught me to know them so, dear Poetry; who taught me theology, taught me love! who pulled back long velvet curtains to reveal the broken innocence of helpless ignorance--and there behind, Age showed me love for us! such love for us, oh love for us! how we are loved!--and he says it too is time, everything is time, love, love too is time. and ignorance is time. childhood is time. you & i, and he, great color and all gray Asides: we too are time. long, thin trees and wind within: ah, but time.

gathered, gathered! harvested in, here my thoughts, broken, full of ignorance, empty of time. oh thoughts are never finished; for thoughts, too--made all of time, such long, long time.




November '09

doll child

______

come, doll child, we shall walk by the river
our book-end thoughts forgot in current-flow

courage, doll child, it's only a day-dusk
the leaves shall yet crumble and crush and crack

be still, small child, for my back shall be strong
we shall crawl on ahead to the morning sun

to pray, my child, oh pray to the gods
who terrify us with their horror and love

come near, sweet child. we've not long to live here
waiting for we know not what waits for us

Darkness, doll child, is a delicate friend
and who's to say, who's to say! this brave night

is not yet the end. this river flows long
doll gods and fallen leaves a song within.




November '09
September '09

VIII

______

the day before she died Poetry set her house in order; i was there and said to her, "you need not do this terrible thing! you may yet live tomorrow, as today!--" and she with eye-flash silenced me. we emptied waste bins, locked the cabinets and set dust-cloth over furniture. quickly, quickly: sweeping floor-boards, folding shirts and collars into deep drawers, somber, silent, driven with nervous energy. at the end she stood still-centered in the largest room, looking carefully. this was time unlike all other--despaired of Mercy, jealous Death pacing without. "i cannot wait," she said, yet dared not rush ahead.

after her death i self-discovered this as Poetry's parting gift to us: we had no need to sear our hearts with going through her things.

November '09

birds

______

you're late, birds
today's November and i see you
glittering in naked trees
you're beautiful anyway
i'm glad you stuck around

construction in Oakland
i can see the cranes, but
it's getting cold to build
anyway, i prefer these old roofs
or even clouds

church-ways i always shake hands
with Ronald from Kenya, who came
Pittsburgh to learn but deferred
to feed young Emmanuel and Wema:
he's very busy, like Mr. Weiss

who drove from Missouri
to Tulsa for university
instead he's feeding Audra
we're all still fairly young
but fall is a restless time

smelling of liquor, cigarettes
governors and famous in our sights
we plod the Autumn trudgemills
late against an early harvest
and dinner with unexpected family

Nov '09

Riddle.

I begin life with my seven friends

the lowest, most common

and five steps away

from becoming the most powerful royalty.

November '09

VII

History had fallen far behind, standing with the Sea; i was alone. and then:

brilliance! a sudden spear-splash of bright, deep orange! Olympian color-cascade throbbing life and energy: i stood below, i stood aside, i cringed against the splendid weight upon my awe-struck retinas. such, such familiar thrill, deep-moving and alive!--too like my own lost Poetry. i turned away, marked by this. but ah! greater luminance beyond, beside, below!: pure blue, indomitable strength; velvet purple, transcendent royalty. great beauty, beauty, in raw nudity of light and form--i could neither stand, nor fall; neither look nor turn away. 

at that i knew what words could not. this was--beauty of sight, Unnamed, unknown to me. then from its surging elegance strode a mortal shade, one like me, grey and unwhole. we paused, eye-locked in examination; question; mutual intrusion. it came to me that here, these overwhelming visions quite surrounding, were to this shadow form what poetry had been to me: and more, and greater, throughout and far within. she spoke, sweet light upon her voice: "traveler, sorrow surrounds you; visit here; draw comfort from Beauty visible."

sitting, we marveled silent together for days or years; all the while, Beauty visible swept great color-flames around us and within. eventually i slept, & woke alone.

poetryhistorysea.blogspot.com

November '09

introductions

(to be spoken)

i am Not

a speaker

i'm a reader, i'm a writer

i'm a listener and a healer

but i am Not

a speaker, nor reciter

it's not my place, not my pace

not me.

However--

how else am i to commune

with you, when i have words

and all you've got is time?

how are we

to share holiness, experience unless

communicated--Christ used

cheap crackers and wine--

and it's still real, it's still communion.

so too i will speak,

though i'm no speaker if

you, my hearers, listen.

November '09

I played a show with Peace at which every other artist was performing the spoken word, and realized most people read their poetry aloud.  I don't.  I don't really fathom anyone reading my poetry aloud: it's written to be read with a cigarette and a glass of scotch.  But I'm interested in getting out more, and I'm interested in all facets of poetic expression, so--this is my excuse for being so disappointingly flat when read aloud.