Saturday, January 30, 2016

Blue Is Not a Special Gift



The day
just lay there
not hurting anyone.
Blue is the natural color,
forgetting our recent
arguments. A little white
quietly joins the sky.
Nothing minds my business today.
The silent automobile of
the neighbor in the lane across the street
passes. But the excitement belongs only to him.

Thursday, January 28, 2016

Electronic Sunshine: A Photoshow with digital paintings and poetry

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CA2aagDNfys
.

The Tombstone


Harry was a very good pauper.
He knew how to envy and he
did it lustfully.
He didn't know how
to shake his arrogance
when he was lucky.
It was the arrogance
of the well kept child
whom everybody praised.

Friday, January 22, 2016

Lost Tower Anthology














The Over Man

I envy his clean
blue eyes. I come
from the South of the world,
the slothful place. My muddy
eyes say "gypsy."
.
He lives in the country
and wears his shirts
with long sleeves buttoned
around his wrists. One can
never criticize his neatness.
.
He has a natural wave of hair
over his high forehead which signals
care, seriousness, importance, the
treatment given to those who never
suffer insults.
.
I can rarely focus
into eyes so pure. I only
catch a glimpse of
flashes from the wings of angels.

Five-Thirty AM



I could feel
the pulse
as blood
tangoed through
the tunnels of my strange body,
the pulse of income and debt,
the coursing of fear and hope,
the frequency rate of sighs.
I could hear the clock
pulsing lifelessly.
My senses make routine of it,
the pulsing of the days,
the greening and graying of the forest,
the cracking of the stars.

Thursday, January 14, 2016

Winnipeg Women: Poetry and Posters

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=om4dzghfFpw
.

The Taj Mahal Review




‚Äč"Dear Don
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Tuesday, January 12, 2016

The Woman with Two Wrist Watches




















The woman was only
partially used
like a fruit
tossed away after the
early test bites.
I watched her tenderness
drying, helplessly.
knowing she wanted
nothing to be done.

Saturday, January 09, 2016

Citizen of the World


.
.
I am a
consumer in a
far-off privileged land.
I buy what
they put in front of me,
arriving at the store
out of the comfort on my
front seat. I
remember to close my seatbelt.
.
I don't love plastic
but it does have a certain appeal.
I un-attach it
with respect.
.
My floor and ceiling are
unbelievable. My shelves are
covered with tokens of the forest.
Things are going
well for me.
.
Thank you.

Tuesday, January 05, 2016

January near the Asphalt


Sunday, January 03, 2016

"The Greenwich Village Literary Review"

It turns out poem "Lines about Truth" will actually appear in the Fall (2015) edition of "The Greenwich Village Literary Review" which will be published "as soon as possible."
Lines About Truth
The truth is
mostly for adults.
The truth is
what we almost all agree on.
It is where we
hang our hats.
It's what is left.
when all the unknowns are used up.
The truth is
basically boring.
It is
made of bricks.
It hurts when you are
hit with it.
The truth is the
target that theory always misses.
It hides
out there somewhere.
The truth is
unknowable because it jiggers.
The truth is
always beyond the textbooks.
It is created in the minds
of soldiers and children.
The truth is
what we put in the God time capsule.