Don Schaeffer's Poems

Known but Not Familiar Words

2012-01-30T11:08:00.001-06:00

I always
put it around my nostrils,
I answer when she asks me
where I put my Vicks.

Then in my half-sleep
I notice how strange the word sounds,
"nostrils." Words not often said
wander in the woods without trails.

Something like nose,
I know that word even though it's
not every day. Nostrils, the appendage
feature, like the nomenclature of insect parts.

In my half-sleep about to slip
into dream my facetious mind
knows the link
here on earth to parts of strange beasts.

The Hole

2012-01-28T18:08:00.001-06:00

The truth
has to buried
down here somewhere.

I enter cannily
prepared for
a long slow journey.

The light of my candle
flickers as if
it can fail.

It is through
the basement of my old house
that it opens.

Sub-floors and
catacombs never explored
behind a door of wooden slats I could nearly remember,

as if the truth
were hidden in the realm
of devils.

I walk in alone
peering at the cells of my brain
amazed at how huge I am.

Why I like Cop Shows ("Where Id was there shall ego be.")

2012-01-15T08:13:00.000-06:00

Police come in
bright like the sun,
cleaning away from the outside
what should be hidden safely within.

So the ordinary hours
dawn from underneath.
They are full-sized,
with heavy feet.

Chauvet Cave

2012-01-13T09:48:00.003-06:00

From a world of
closed loops
where kinks and
corners weren't
imagined yet,
where animals
mixed and souls
slipped in and out
of bodies. We hold
the line now, cold
and fast. We
lock and crimp sharp.
The circle is only
an ideal we cannot match.

Then something came from
down the great tube of body and brain.

I thought I saw a light.

Now it all comes
from this tiny Earth,
emergent detail. Memory
is all that's left
of mystery.

Freud vs Jung

2012-01-12T17:20:00.000-06:00

I used to think
something came from

down the great tube of body and brain.
I thought I saw a light.

But I'm grown less certain.
I now think it all comes

from this tiny Earth,
emergent detail. Memory

is all that's left
of mystery.

You Have Many Moles

2012-01-10T09:10:00.000-06:00

When I slipped into the world
it wasn't certain about me.
The lines around my body
are therefore fudged.

It takes more energy
to finish the work of rounding.
Rough extrusions remain,
statistical shivers
of half way.

Mom Returns for a Night

2012-01-07T15:08:00.001-06:00

It took
a lot out of her,
returning that kind of smile
and pushing her body into
that angle she learned

in high school. But she
became my mother again,
briefly, on that anniversary day,
those years ago, a woman
of long learned habit in front

of the camera.
Unknowns followed her, just
weeks ahead. The effort
showed. I don't know how
she remembered.

My Comment When The Poet Denied the Rant

2012-01-06T22:05:00.000-06:00

He wrote a wonderful rant about
somebody's criticism of his poems.
I never noticed the trouble

somebody said he had.
I told him the one thing
you have to watch when you

write a rant is the glorious high you get.
It makes you selfish.
He blushed saying it was

just a spoof. But this was no spoof.
I told him how much he enjoyed the bitter juice.
I told him I can tell.

Daily Visit of the Unforgiving Sun

2012-01-04T16:17:00.003-06:00

First sun slipping through the
East window excites the air dust
and highlights the flaws
in the rug.

The sun is
refreshing like
an inspector
who visits from

beyond the walls
and tells me I'm ok.
That's why I love
the morning.

Systemic Misunderstanding Dream

2011-12-31T10:22:00.000-06:00

Now I get it I'm
surrounded by the
frowns of righteousness-addicts,
I sit swivelling on a pike.

When they spin me,
push into my eyes
glower after glare,
asking whys.

I wanted to please them,
loved the project;
but can't do it.
Resign.

Chauvet Cave

2011-12-25T09:58:00.002-06:00

From a world of
closed loops
where bends and
corners weren't
imagined yet,
where animals
mixed and souls
slipped in and out
of bodies. We hold
the line now, cold
and fast. We
lock and crimp sharp.
The circle is only
an ideal we cannot match.

Brenda the Real Poet

2011-12-23T09:59:00.001-06:00

To all the
unheard poets
who want to weep too
in the spirit of weeping

feel the tropical
drizzle gusts
on just a special day of
music they make,

to all of us
with small and silent audiences,
I call in sympathy,
"May your stories
sting."

What Happens When You Settle Down

2011-12-19T09:12:00.002-06:00

I put away my
pretty orange vest
and toss away my
wing-tipped salesman shoes.

Love means
no more parade,
poetry over,
the end of the pleas.

The world of aspiration
thins, fantasy assumes
its valid translucent form,
all is tame. Days pass.

Textures (from the photoshow)

2011-12-10T16:10:00.000-06:00

Focused eyes
dots of the world,

filaments streaming
wavelets

within the big things
hovering through intermediate space

between the nose pushing insects
and the mountains of the moon.

The Party

2011-12-07T16:19:00.000-06:00

The first course of
outrage was wonderful.
Now, I await the tears.
Lick my lips,

feel the
sea building in my eyes,
breath surfs
prayer.

Servers bring dessert.
Yes. It's my birthday.
I so looked
forward to this.

Love Light

2011-12-02T09:52:00.002-06:00

When you say
I love you and
you are faint of heart,
uttering a slight or
ignorant lie,
you live luke warm,
senses numbing.
The answer is also a lie.

Seeing the Earth before Exit

2011-11-29T15:39:00.002-06:00

1.
I wore the jacket padded
armor to the office.

The hands that
touched my shoulder

were just dead weight.
Tailored decoration

hid my neck
so there was little

visible flesh.
Stacked fluid instants like

a football game went
from offense to defense,

victory to loss,
covered as possible.

2.

We paid
for ways to spend our minutes.

We exchanged
past units for dollops

of the future,
licking anticipation

from our lips.
Manipulated sound

or flavors especially formed, or
carefully timed open gates.

Evolution

2011-11-24T09:40:00.001-06:00

I am tired
of worrying whose
mood is bad
in the evening.
I just want to find
bits of pleasure.

I am tired of
civilization, let the place
fester in the
morning. The movement
around me makes me
want to hide.

Blast the others
and their selves.
I am tired of
making room.
And I love the outrage,
feeling how much
I earned it.

The Victory of a Mature Man

2011-11-17T08:49:00.000-06:00

Well Madam,
I have purged all those
pretensions. I have
neatly simplified.
No longer do
what I called art,
laughable recording
like a cave man.

Especially with the vain
elements, burnt away,
purely I live, immersed
in what I see and feel
learning how short life is
and how few will
briefly remember.

Dreamless

2011-11-13T19:28:00.000-06:00

What do I have
to worry about
in an era of peace?
Just death
and arrangements.

As usual I open my eyes
at four am for my customary
waking dream compulsion.
In foresight, in
frantic planning.

In an era of peace, another mind
worries. I am
absent and someone
disposes of me, whole
or pieces.

Night

2011-11-03T10:45:00.000-05:00

Tonight acts and
pauses like a theatrical.
The curtain rises
thrice during intermissions
and falls as the drama ensues.

Act 1.
Murk and introduction.
I stir.

Act 2.
In medias res
with my girlfriend
flying in my balloon designed to make my
enemies jealous. They
reach up to grab me
as I throttle away.
My eyes open.

Act 3.
Sleep and wakefulness
mix. I count
and worry.

The Clinic

2011-10-29T10:33:00.000-05:00

When I enter the room
with my huge keys dangling
in my recognizable uniform,
I see him sitting there.

I say I want to help you.
I take the "help" by the
hilt and slash him. He is
agog, repeating only "I" and "I".

The "we" falls from his face.
The "you" is long lost.
He and I exchange stares.
Mine wins..

Renovations

2011-10-21T21:30:00.003-05:00

Awake in the breath
of ghosts after
a nightmare supressed
night, unlocatable feet
no discernible floor.

It got cold last night.
The room pushes me away
as I move from the bed
out of the blankets

Cats are disobedient. Halls
are haunted with disorder.
Estranged breakfast.
I wait for the sun.

Getting Old without Religion

2011-10-17T15:31:00.002-05:00

I remember
what it was like
in the old days
when I would go
someplace that made me
obedient. The obedience
made me safe. There
were no obvious friends there

but everyone knew my face.
I always felt there would be
more chances and the years
would be a path to perfection.
Now I am far, far away from those melodies I used
to chew on to ease the sweet sap
out of the words. I look around for
other chances and see brevity.

Her Sunday Night

2011-10-10T10:08:00.002-05:00

Her Sunday night

convulses.
Breath whistles,
crashes on pillow.

Her outer shell crimps.
But inside she
only sleeps.

Definition of Art

2011-10-10T10:06:00.001-05:00

When we travelled
to an arty town
we found most artists
own their galleries.

What about this?
Art defined
as things on display
in an art gallery

Grumpy Dream

2011-10-04T09:58:00.000-05:00

As he balds
the dark stripes
on his pate appear.

His face formed
with a glare,
tiny baby teeth
shiney and sharp.

Unfriendly like a tiger,
but he is a lamb.
I was born with him.
He stages the day.

Confession of a Poetry Salesman

2011-09-30T11:07:00.002-05:00

I myself may not pass the
"who cares test."
I am fed up with selling.

I have sold some poetry
in my life but it's not worth the investment.
I give it away or even pay people to take it
(trying to sell poetry in this market
is often that anyway--
paying people to take it).

I know the kind of god who
works for me. I
keep my hand in my art
in spite of the futility and absurdity.

Like an insect
that lives near a bird's nest, I
go about my business
unconcerned that I will
be devoured by something bigger tomorrow.

Declaration: A micro-essay poem

2011-09-30T10:10:00.002-05:00

My god
is a bearded man
who sits on a cloud.
Why not? I am
not ashamed of it.
It makes me feel good.

The same
with my faith in art,
that art can make me
great and immortal.

I will take the beliefs I enjoy.
No one will set my standards for me.

Gestalt

2011-09-24T12:27:00.001-05:00

You have to work so hard to stay sane.
Obviously sanity is not an involuntary
reflex like breathing.

Memory makes poems
out of mundane days.

The eye corrects asymmetical circles.

Living the Absurd Life

2011-09-22T10:37:00.005-05:00

I am a
good happiness doo-bee.
I stay out of the way.

Happy face
is my umbrella and
my troubles are packed in my old kit bag.

I have
directed my feet
to the sunny side.

My words transmit
no new facts.
My smile,

turned inward
signifies only
yes.

Critique of a Metaphor-Driven Poem

2011-09-19T10:14:00.001-05:00

Lovely dance.
I see you on a half-lighted stage,
arms outstretched,
in physique-revealing tights.

Strange beepy music
excretes from a cassette player.

The Truth about Hope

2011-09-17T10:08:00.002-05:00

What depresses me
is that I am losing
all the contests and that
my side is collapsing toward last.

I watched your face
as you sank away
round the corner, into mist.
Assumed it all would resume.
Every day we would
wake together.

I never understood endings. I am
educated to hope.

What Is Memory For?

2011-09-11T09:10:00.001-05:00

When I sojurned
half my life
I was a stranger.

Almost where I was born
but still not home.

So I can map myself
in time, route
along the diagram of dangers,
make neat catalogs.
That's what memory is for.

Not this.

Party Crowd

2011-09-04T08:38:00.000-05:00

laughs and
expunges me, kicks out

sad quiet things.
Laughers don't

care about lines and turns.
claim priority,

smooth sailing,
never see stop.

Note: The old introvert vs extravert rivalry plays out. But there is also the matter of carelessness. Laughter causes carelessness.

Busker, Troubadour, Beggar, Thief

2011-08-27T11:59:00.002-05:00

A poem is not a poem
unless it whines,
mines the shiny
sour candies
from the tragic clowns'
pickle underground.

pickle sellers'
word vaudville
dance.

Dreaming Memories

2011-08-24T17:26:00.003-05:00

Reality doesn't
bother me any more.
I have undisciplined hopes
composed without
reference to dates.

While everybody is young
I never test myself
but let my hopes run
as if I were one of them.

Everybody is young,
seizing administration of the world,
waving young arms and I
am hoping without reason.

Baseline Friendship

2011-08-18T10:43:00.001-05:00

My parasites
want to keep me
weak but alive,

love me,
after a fashion,
unlike the worms
that come later.

My enemies
for a time
are theirs.

Citizens of Suffolk

2011-08-11T11:34:00.000-05:00

The people you see
you know what they are doing.
They walk tall and silent
with pretty smiles.

Aware of what they own,
what they grew up with
no one will touch that
having a vote, scaring opponents.

I see them
as I pass them in Siona's car
the forests shine from the
deep hills afternoon August sun.

I am

2011-08-09T07:41:00.000-05:00

eight pair
of K-Mart underwear, a
drawful of socks,
extra-large t-shirts,
two pairs of shorts,
khaki pants,

re-gifted e-bay stuff.
When I vanish there will be
little to give away

in the land
of questions where
everything is
borrowed.

Afternoon at the Beach

2011-08-09T07:39:00.001-05:00

I sit in the water
as the tide comes in
letting the sea spank me
through the seat of my chair.

I'm going to sit here
I tell her
until the tide comes in
and that will be
over my head.

Yesterday I Had Enough

2011-08-05T16:49:00.000-05:00

Fresh Wednesday Bread

2011-07-28T17:14:00.003-05:00

As if I were a child
as if,

I look up into
ageless bedtime story eyes.

The bagel baker
ritually chants, "May you

be granted your last bites
badekt in cream cheese."

Democratic Markets

2011-07-24T10:54:00.000-05:00

Stands at the palace gate
clenched in the fist
pants short
feet ready to stamp

but it won't let him go.
Ready to surrender,
suicide even if he
doesn't get the soothing statement.

All is silent though.
History nearly over,
the future drizzles away
and the enemy persists.

There is no
fame for me,
born mediocre and
mediocre I remain.

Poetry

2011-07-22T14:14:00.001-05:00

We are so
helplessly absurd.
If we find a morsal of success
it doesn't come with any real smiles
and probably represents
a corruption or pretense.

So we needn't try
to say anything sincere
or to publically
encounter ourselves.
Nobody will receive us.
Nobody reads
and only a few
unwillingly listen.

When they opine honestly
it's always with malice.
If there is charity
it is not in their hearts.

Ultimate Lumps II

2011-07-21T09:44:00.002-05:00

Clean the
slate of me
fresh greens
to grow on top
bright eyes
unrespectful
swinging open doors.

Neat packages
eighty units
wrapped with costumed passages
earthy and bright
decorated
quanta
plopping through time.

If you imagine
time as space
you will understand
life afloat,
the eroded edges
particulating,
drifting away.

Weak and Silent

2011-07-18T22:18:00.003-05:00

If this were clearer
it would be embarrassing like a dream.

The failure
was weak and silent.

I just walked through the scene
among the un-entitled

while voices
sang obvious and

well-known praises.
In private I know

I should never
have expected more

on a very large
and quiet planet.

Ultimate Lumps

2011-07-13T09:45:00.001-05:00

Neat packages
eighty units
wrapped with costumed passages
earthy and bright
decorated
quanta
plopping through time.

Clean the
slate of me
fresh greens
to grow on top
bright eyes
unrespectful
swinging open doors.

The Meaning of a Dream

2011-07-01T09:32:00.000-05:00

When I wandered
from paper to flesh
I revealed the depth
of my fraud.

I can pretend and
imagine with paper
but when I touch
human lives

all the pretensions
I carry cut
into the private story
of who I am.

If you are born into theory
never touch fact.

Cemetary Prison

2011-06-28T14:10:00.000-05:00

The elders,
buried on the hill
under the time
twisted stones,

surrounded by that
fence with no
discernable gate,
can't get out,

stay caged above the town
watching the young
parade from restaurant
to restaurant.

A Not True

2011-06-26T11:50:00.003-05:00

I write poetry
that has an audience

in my egocentric brain and
make things on paper

I call art that wait
like a beggar for a

passerby's disinterested eye.
Self and sincerity

wrestle on the ancient
field of paper.

There are just too many
empty artists.

Lilly Pond

2011-06-19T10:35:00.000-05:00

without making what nature makes,
I install filament clouds
and wire grasses.

Rolling Down the River

2011-06-14T07:20:00.000-05:00

Is it somewhere between
"boyning" and "burning?"
The singer works the ar.
There is a faint
smell of oil.

the time
between the consonants
and vowels
leaves previously unknown
room for
microscopic lives .

I make this
discovery in a dream,
and understand
where all those eternal
souls can fit.

Ten AM

2011-06-10T18:53:00.001-05:00

Coping is fun
I think as I lounge
in late Spring

while the kitchen
is slowly reborn
and I have made tea

on a slow grill outburner.
We are in a bubble
of Summer.

The insects are kind
I have never heard
so many birds.

One of them is singing,
"we need ya-we need ya-
we need."

He Thinks Poetry is Fraud

2011-06-03T09:08:00.001-05:00

He is allowed
to sit bundled on the porch
hugging the walker

on the cool June morning
with all the piety of the flowers
swarmed around him.

He feels that
poetry is fraud.
But the pretty poets
long fingered, pavane

among the peonies,
gesturing toward
but not quite touching.

Passing Sainthood

2011-05-26T17:52:00.002-05:00

This year, once again
I miss sainthood.

I could have been elected
had I waited death out quietly.

As always I slip away,
stiff-choosing to

hide among leafy branches,
popping memories.

The Enthalpy of Sonny Mangapit

2011-05-25T10:50:00.003-05:00

The clouds are gone today.
I admire how Sonny
pretends the world,
breathes life into things

mouth wide open,
warm breath.
There is no
meaninglessness here,

no anomie. Take heart, the child
Sonny says. What
we make in our minds is
as real as mountains never seen.

Dickens

2011-05-22T07:01:00.002-05:00

At four AM
I either obsess
or dream.

It has been the biology
of my heart, prods
the silence away.

And now it's your voice
part of sleep and
anti-sleep.

Christmas past,
lighted candles,
touring un-livable houses.

On-going Conversation

2011-05-15T15:37:00.002-05:00

The past is a blur now
after having been
laid off from the world

reposed among the flowers.
And when you ask me all those
embarrassing questions about

who I am, I
only answer,
don't recall.

Democracy

2011-05-11T10:30:00.001-05:00

Money
is what we are seeing
when we think
we are looking at politics,
the arts,
the higher
forms of anything

through rare air
to the palaces
of seminar
and fine talk,
those who live
complete lives
in the sun
with grand pianos,
quiet bargains
over rich drink.

Books are published,
interviews arranged
galleries take
and clientele point
and nod
in checkbook
agreement.

Godless Sleep Prayer

2011-05-06T21:05:00.003-05:00

I am ready now
to give up the day.
Won't aspire

any more,
ambition
faded. Dreams,

my only safety net,
guideposts to dawn,
sleep blank

and dangerous,
I gamble with night,
to win another morning.

Goodbye Note at 75: A Nightmare

2011-04-25T07:39:00.002-05:00

She said:

It was a mistake
to find you, even though
you were a route to
relief at the time.

And we sat side-by-side
for those quiet years
while I longed
to have a body in love.

You are not my deepest love,
you know, the mysterious
love of my life. All the
years, passed, wasted with you

and there is this
wish come true
who makes me faint,
found late, but found.

Seeing Out

2011-04-21T10:09:00.002-05:00

I don't see why
life is not extraordinary,
seeing out
and re-creating everything
in a mass of circuits that may not close.

I don't see
how we look into the faces
of creatures we don't know
and learn that they can do for themselves
if only we supply fresh water.

Maybe God cares
only for species
and lets my individual eyes
go blank.

Special

2011-04-19T05:54:00.003-05:00

He says, "When you
scoff at my means
I'll say, I'm not exactly stupid."

He nods
at the degree
hanging on the wall.

He says, "I Know how I'm
wasting everyone's time
with my non-stop displays and my questions."

He says, "like a dutiful
schoolboy currying
favor from the adults."

He recalls his dreaded violin case
and the big leather
briefcase even in Summer.

He says, "I know
how time
explodes in my head."

He says, "I know
how feeling good
deprives me of my edge."

Cartoon Emotions

2011-04-13T11:45:00.000-05:00

Glass Ceiling

2011-04-09T09:18:00.001-05:00

All those grownups
standing around
looking up at the monitor
as some college graduate
picks the winner

have nothing to do
but wait, no names or titles
and very small chances.
They all resent each other
because of the way

they are bunched
up against the glass
at the top of the cage
where the sun floods in
so they can see the screen.

Micki

2011-04-03T08:18:00.001-05:00

Sunshine

2011-03-24T09:43:00.003-05:00

She makes
flowers out of spent
orange peels.

With my stiff fingers
I take the blanket edge
for a stroll to the duvet corner.

We laugh
about how life
will go on forever.

Eight-Thirty AM

2011-03-23T08:55:00.000-05:00

I can only put on
the rememberance ring
after the knuckles stop
their daily swelling.

In the room I call my space,
the display of my books
that only I can really see
has fallen into a heap.

The bathroom floor
may not be as wet as we
first thought
and maybe we don't need a plumber.

Happiness reigns
in this new place.
Peace may run like syrup
over the short years.

Hope Joked

2011-03-16T12:37:00.001-05:00

I remember
when we were
the future
and every step
we took
into brilliance
was noted by a
kindly teacher.

We were rising.
We became
sweet and soft
with hopeful
tears of romance
in our words
and the certainty it
would all count.

When the teachers all
wizened and died
and romance turned
hard like flesh,
hope joked.
We all
laughed at the joke.

Twenty-First Century Religion in the USA

2011-03-08T13:57:00.001-06:00

My god is
The Economy
and my duty
is studying science
so we can outpace

the Chinese.
I do my duty
in spite of
breaking my
poetic heart.

Hell is
falling
behind and
becoming just
another
nation. Amen

Musical Bones

2011-03-01T09:55:00.002-06:00

I breathe
melodies,

drum tum puffing
diaphragm beats:

"Red River Valley"
"Mr Tamborine"

"If I were a Rich Man"
My singing is long

silenced but not
song.

Jung's Intruder

2011-02-24T11:20:00.000-06:00

I awoke in the darkest part of the night
and came into the living room
startling a half naked man
busily unstraightening
pictures on the wall.

On Seeing "Lust for Life"

2011-02-23T10:15:00.002-06:00

(I'm hung up on the word "I."
It has meaning until the last seconds of life. I count down.
Then it is meaningless.)

"Theo," he says at the end.
"I want to go home."

But he's been saying
what he wants all his life.
He wants only to illustrate.
Pathos is in his voice
when he wants.

"Theo" he says
and we count down
10,9
"to go home"
8, 7. 6
"want"
5,4
"I" (aihhhhye, ich, yo)
3,2,1,
0
Then He's gone.

Autographed Copies for Sale

2011-02-18T10:26:00.001-06:00

$10 plus $2 shipping
e-mail me at donnyman40@gmail.com

Another Dream Poem

2011-02-16T09:29:00.001-06:00

When
deep in the Andes

we found the valley where
Nature makes all the giant round roadsigns,

my father
could really relax.

Comatose

2011-02-13T06:30:00.005-06:00

He goes to visit her, bearing the smells of the garden.
She doesn't speak the whole time,
doesn't look at him. He is frantic
when he realizes what she has chosen.

When she says
the lonely world
is just as good,
we all mourn

another tuft of grass
pulled out into the sea,
a piece of the beach
eroded,

the Earth shrivelled,
wires unplugged,
propaganda from the enemy
adding to our doubt.

True Origin of Awe

2011-02-10T12:30:00.002-06:00

I watch my cat looking out the windows at the woods. I have a sense of her awe--fascination with life outside. To the cat it is a pragmattic woods of feeding. So much to watch through her infantile mental wiring, triggers drawing her to the presence of things not really there, dream things, erroneous theories, infantile magic.

My glance at the earth
is made of tools and fears
impressed by variety
and risk.

I still stalk the woods
hungry and frightened
looking for tactics,
but understand with imperfect theories.

I wonder,
wonder full not from the world
but magic
from my infant eyes.

Pipes: Otoscope Micrograph

2011-02-03T12:43:00.002-06:00

Living hoses,
the archetype
of earthlife,

eager fingers asking,
have you had your share?
We will give you all you need.

(olive pit)

Siona's Orangepeel Sun #2

2011-02-02T10:28:00.000-06:00

Looking for pretty things
and surrounded
in the shop and on the walls
put up with joy
as numerous as smiles
casual as tea.

All of our busy hands
and talkative hearts
buy the pretty things
and make them
like galaxies rising
out of the dark.

Modern Physics

2011-01-29T08:37:00.001-06:00

We oscillate.

Particle and anti-particle
do-si-do in our
gelatinous vacuum.

I orbit my shadow
eclipsed and augmented,
shimmering, am

and am-not
hide each other,
do and do-not.

Simple Social Principles

2011-01-25T10:31:00.001-06:00

1.
I concede
the virtues of my enemies
but not gladly.

2.
Conspirators
without enemies,
make poor friends.

3.
Can there be a
lonelier place than
a world without conspiracy?

Is God My Audience?

2011-01-22T09:25:00.002-06:00

Tonight
I'm feeling most keenly
the pain of being small,

the paltry income
of a casual glance.
Amateur,

living a day
on the protruding edge
of a sixth floor brick,

making an egg,
in the sun,
dying unmagnified.

Victory

2011-01-17T11:32:00.000-06:00

The future
is a sticky confection
that makes you fat
and selfish.

Spend your wealth
on the future and
indulge in stingy dreams,
sickening your heart.

When the future
shrinks to a strand
fresh air and health
open in your body.

Unclogged,eyes wide,loving,
present moments,
slide graceful,
lubricating the sunsets.

Garden Gate

2011-01-16T11:09:00.003-06:00

Hey neighbor,
fire's in your garden,

sun not travelling on human paths
and the stems of dead flowers flowing through it.

Only the trees upright dam the light
but can't hold it,

brief and precious flame
and ordinary shadow green.

Sentimental Journey: Variation on an Old Song

2011-01-11T08:06:00.001-06:00

"Gonna take,"
they crooned,
"a sentimental journey."
The place is habit now

you can say I miss it
and can't bear to feel
the customs fade.
I travel there

on Google Earth
to imagine
the streets,
trace where places are

I no longer enter,
goodbyes long said.
Electrical memories are
cleaner than real ones.

Great Pillars of War Movies: What Death Kills

2011-01-07T08:55:00.001-06:00

I: aye,eye
moving moment,
fat bundle of
memory, pasted
pictures,
a tower of
skulls.

want: the mattering
of the world, great
pointing,

you: the bestowal
of birth knighthood,
eyes to meet.

Then boom:
flesh cells.

Episodic and Orgiastic

2011-01-03T08:31:00.002-06:00

Once a day
not all the time
I burst the shell

for the ooze of yellow
bio-stuff, innocently made,
not for me. I steal the life

and scoop its substance into my teeth.
The mixture of pleasure and rage
lifts me nearly to shouting.

Goodbye to Another Old Man

2010-12-31T12:36:00.000-06:00

Although I relied on
the restaurant for friendship

and expected
a grand farewell

they said it cold.
Although I tried to meet their eyes

they passed me uncaught.
Honest people of business,

they knew their true wordlessness.
There was no free dessert.

A Full Passage

2010-12-26T10:40:00.001-06:00

I ask, "Who are you?"
now that we reach a parting.
How long did it take

to grow your heart?
Pieces at a time
from emptiness;

or from popping
into this universe
full of old memory?

How long is the passage
through your body?
Where does it lead?

We laugh and take each other
over the past.
How deep is that?

Burning Bush

2010-12-23T05:52:00.002-06:00

Moses had clear eyes,
grew up among princes
counting bales of grain
and keeping books.

Loved simple
miracles constructed of
ordinary things. Making
magic out of parting waters,

snake-bearing rods,
reverberating speeches,
bushes flare
in front of sunsets.

What I Want to Say to the Young Man about The Missing Cat

2010-12-16T08:59:00.001-06:00

I'm old and
find myself worrying about the cat,
while you
open the door
and rush about the world.

I'm light in weight now
never really
leaving my night clothes,
a confined creature.
You think of bigger outside things.

Your promises to me are
small in worth.
Now I know I am old,
far beneath you.
My voice fades.
I fall asleep with prayers.

Big Leaf in December

2010-12-12T09:32:00.000-06:00

Only humble organelle,
just stiffened
but graceful as a statue

streamlines that
would carry life seepage
closed, unrepairable

abandoned body
still paper yellow
like a memory.

Infotainment

2010-12-10T11:20:00.001-06:00

I'm tired
of treating the gods
and famous as if they were friends.

I won't send
them any more hurrahs
addressed to Hollywood or Mount Olympus,

won't read
about their ins and outs. I'll
let them vanish just like any other strangers.

It's darker
down here in the valley
but I've been here a long time and will stay.

Two Mile Walk to the Hospital

2010-12-03T13:14:00.001-06:00

Rot
has its place
on the road beside the harbor.
Black with old grease
and rust so rusted it blackens,
and men ride encrusted machines
that slip among the white white
yachts.

It's beautiful,
navy
washed by clean sea wind.
But earth enters in
when you are walking.

Wellness Argument

2010-11-29T13:02:00.002-06:00

When it comes to cosmic arguments,
nobody defends the sick.
The sickness argument hides defenseless,
and the wellness argument
wins by default.

Never let healthy men
visit you in hospital.
They will tell you
to breathe and rise
when you only want to sigh.

They will bring
upright fragrances
and inquire after your appetite
when you close your heart to
reminders of laughing tables.

They won't see
how they pull you
out of the sweet pool
near the quiet gate.

Missed Preventions

2010-11-24T10:35:00.002-06:00

Naturally I'm afraid
discovering old enemies
who still slink about
in my new small world.

Can I stop them this time
even though I feel fine
and joy awaits? The room
is bright but winter looms.

Perfect peace is a worn
sheet with small familiarity-holes.
Worry is a habit I learned
from missed preventions.

Yes! Poets!

2010-11-19T08:17:00.002-06:00

My my we are fine,
girlish filagree
sensory wicks waiting
for tastes in autumn evenings.

We ask gently,
we stretch halfway
without exertion to
speed our hearts.

Not merely wanting,
weave baskets
out of romance,
extended strands of longing.

Half open, half vulnerable
nothing fully happens.
We let truth start
We dip and sigh.

My Cup Runneth

2010-11-13T11:46:00.002-06:00

My electrons
scud happily
about my brain
I love the fluid
leaps like air
sliding over mountain.

When I open my eyes
color like tin pan
music from the sun
and fluid flows,
the slipping and
oozing of syrups and
waters.

In my closed eyes
mandalas of sunlight
are the precursors of dreams.

Human Condition

2010-11-09T20:28:00.001-06:00

When I love you,
watching from the the part of me

who never really joined the world,
I look at you cold.

Cruel thoughts feel at home
in the shadows of my tenderness.