Monday, February 22, 2016

The Social Life of Fish and Me


I swim
with mouth agape
and tongue in
contact with the sea.
.
I taste the percentage
of bitters in the
climate of flavors,
the passing taste-smells.
.
I am cautious,
primitive, infantile
still steeped in the passing of
three-dimensional time.
.
I can run
randomly into the absence
and safely away.

Friday, February 19, 2016

Outline for a Rule Book


The laws of nature for us.
The laws of nature for others.
On the earth,
on other places.
The rules for giants.
the laws for clouds of gas,
and for very small tree dwellers,
and for the nearly invisible,
and for those who live with molecules.
The shape of water droplets,
the pathways taken by the trees.
The rules for those who fly,
and for those who slither,
and for those whose legs are like balloons.
The laws for wheels,
and the laws for levers.
Laws for those whom light illumines
and for those who know the blindness of the world of God.
The laws for those bounded by time,
and for those unbound.

Monday, February 15, 2016

Self-Publishing in the Digi-Democratic Age



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When most of us poor poets think of publishing our work, we start to feel a sense of hopelessness. Then, when despair begins to set in, we begin to dismiss our fears of vanity and begin to take steps to pay our audience, well--we can't even do that directly. We pull out our credit cards and, with tears in our eyes, put together our volume and send it to a publisher who offers to put together a volume for a fee. We pay to publish a dozen or two books and then we pay for marketing the books or we slog around selling.

The only thing that keeps us trying to publish in this environment is our faint hope that we will get a pleasant note that some editor or other likes our work enough to publlish it in their magazine or e-zine. Beyond that we know nothing. It's all our hope and vanity that drives us to seek the recognition of editors and publishers who have the ultimate approval decision to make.

This is the digi-democratic era, fellow poets. There is no ceiling and no demigods guarding the gateway. We need nothing to be read very widely except our own wills. Without being immodest, I can say that my poetry blog has seen over 25,000 readers over the last six years, from all over the world (I know that because the blog stats tell me). My visual arts blog has had over 30,000 visits over that length of time, more than a visit a day. That is as many eyes as most poetry publications and art galleries. My poetry videos average between 250 and 350 views. One of them has surpassed 1500 views. That's not a lot by YouTube standards but it's not bad for poetry and photos. The people that visit my sites take the time to read some of my poetry and examine and respond to some of my pictures rather than sweeping over the gallery floor with a wine glass.

The key to notariety in the digi-democracy is not the pleasant note from an editor. It is Search Engine Optimization (SEO). You get on a number of web sites. You establish a brand. You put in some links to your home. Then wait. Art has always been a selling and a kind of begging. I don't know why we do it, but we do. The new democratic order has given new life to the marketplace.

Saturday, February 13, 2016

Two Poems about Artists


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.
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1. Opening of the Cupboard Door
.
.
I see the gift.
How could I have missed it,
sitting in the dust so long.
I can just
polish it a little,
this useless and beautiful thing.
And the donor is
missing.
.
.
.
2. Keith Wood's Eye
.
.
He numbers it
says it's nothing,
but he feels
when there are
holes in the space
just like the trees
feel for the holes in the air.
He fills what's empty
and where the vacuum
needs weight. His eye
lives.

Friday, February 12, 2016

Eyes Open at Four AM



Not hours,
I live
in bubbles of dreams.
Bounding
the regions
of my life are the edges of the
spheres of dreams.
The day
is not different from
the night.
Sleep is brief
Its impact is slight.

Thursday, February 11, 2016

Keith Woods' Eye

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5R7SP9exAxA


He numbers it
says it's nothing,
but he feels
when there are
holes in the space
just like the trees
feel for the holes in the air.
He fills what's empty
and where the vacuum
needs weight. His eye
lives.

Thursday, February 04, 2016

Blue Is Not a Special Gift: photographs and poetry

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DqEWaXwWNf0
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