Tuesday, December 31, 2013
it speaks its wish to the crisping air: There's
a knowing song, long-known, but hidden
in the sway of dry, yellow stalks. It was given
to sing-in the seasons. Hear it lessen and grow
louder with the starling-clouds, their bulging black snow
against putty-gray skies. They'll stretch thin again,
and the song. Can the song sing us an ever when
any what, not what we think, but who, mothering
itself from one to many, joins with us, and sings?
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
second chances, and third,
to learn. I've heard it, the whir
of mingling purple minutes, blurred
singly and together. Encircling me
they move me. They herd me
into smaller circles,
or spirals, the circles
lessening. The lesson is
the lessening, and the beauty
of chances missed. Of me, and learning.
Saturday, December 21, 2013
the cloud ring's unfinished. I can't wish it, what contrite
letter it might
spell. I miss a yellow smudge of light.
It lived where indigos went, until it fell from night,
one hard bringer of the soft-hearted news.
spider, yes she was squatting. The moon's youngest daughter,
she couldn't hide from her, her appetites, her eagerness
for flight. She wished what I couldn't, and left no meager threads.
Thursday, December 12, 2013
plus one black when. Back then, they weren't strummed, but they're
vibrating to, or from something. Something flat. Real is flat. Real and
flatter than. The fattest lie is the fastest why I can come up with. I can
tell you: I've lived this sigh before. Not a sigh, so much. As a breath
between, death's hidden in the greens, and life. Life's again. Then's death.
Saturday, December 07, 2013
Friday, December 06, 2013
I sing-song to the yellow spider
hangling, upside down I sing-song
to the fellow Follow me, and he follows
He slides on his spinners,
impossibly thin, with a hunger that shines
from many eyes I'll sing-song him
back to dangle, entangled
hanglings, in our is
Monday, December 02, 2013
doing undone, and the undone doing again. I've been
where black mud gulps the bay's edge. I've judged
the water too brown to live. The tide'll slide back, and give
the mud undoing. The water will liven with the knowing
glances of a heron.
Thursday, November 28, 2013
names blocked white on green. They're static screens
to trick my mind into growing. It clicks them knowing
they won't open, change or go. It will, and it glows
to burst its frame, connecting all those collected names.
Saturday, November 23, 2013
brown in brown on brown. The ground's not
firm, not firm enough. Don't step
with me. Slide into me, and don't
take out my even browner tongue. Tattered
leather, leave it. Leave it there, folded in,
pinned in with more mud, and in on itself. It'd rather
not flap loose. To move would twist it, and twist
its words looser. That's the trap. Keep it still
here to brown with you, and the browner mud.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
its wispy welcomes, once denser,
not now, not where I've wavered, and wait
for a way, or ways to another, and the words,
all the words for its blues,
all of these blues wasted,
were I not to meet her,
she who'll walk me
to others, and their mothering worlds
Friday, November 15, 2013
premonition as its gift, the sight of aging, and of uplifted eyes. These lucky lives
I've lived separately, if not apart, they know. I'm desperate to hear it, some part of how
what's left me, who, can't really, not fully go. And she. Yes, she's here, but not now.
Sunday, November 10, 2013
goes according to plan, unless the plan is going."
I found myself going into its blowing bits of brown
knowing the wiser winters I read lie to me. I lied, too, down
this yesternight's morning, with a plan to wake and plan
to go. What I woke to was, in a new day's night, shaky spans
of distant fires prickling a purple-black. Take them, back with me,
wake-walking into whispering airs and unplanned mysteries.
Saturday, November 02, 2013
steps of saints They walk a fine line,
up the nine that's eleven and leads to ten
not twelve This hour is the mild breeze's
It teases with a scent of wild onion while water flows
below the city street I follow the hallowed light It sneaks
past the slate bottoms of clouds, then rises
Monday, October 28, 2013
Saturday, October 26, 2013
Friday, October 18, 2013
Thursday, October 17, 2013
Freed to spill out in spells the fictional Blood tongues new trails of a milky blue
It spills them out It speaks them Silken roads to take me They walk me where more fictions pool
Wells of words dipped into with a diction so precise I can't not believe the lies
Monday, October 14, 2013
Sunday, October 06, 2013
Last morning . I dreamed of fog This night . the fog comes rolling in
Wednesday, October 02, 2013
Friday, September 27, 2013
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Monday, September 23, 2013
Saturday, September 21, 2013
Thursday, September 19, 2013
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Saturday, September 07, 2013
Friday, September 06, 2013
Thursday, September 05, 2013
Sunday, September 01, 2013
Thursday, August 29, 2013
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Monday, August 26, 2013
Friday, August 23, 2013
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Saturday, August 17, 2013
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Friday, August 09, 2013
Thursday, August 08, 2013
Tuesday, August 06, 2013
Monday, August 05, 2013
Sunday, August 04, 2013
Friday, August 02, 2013
Thursday, August 01, 2013
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Monday, July 29, 2013
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Saturday, July 27, 2013
Friday, July 26, 2013
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Monday, July 22, 2013
Sunday, July 21, 2013
Saturday, July 20, 2013
Friday, July 19, 2013
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Monday, July 15, 2013
Sunday, July 14, 2013
Friday, July 12, 2013
The unvoiced tones. muted red and brown, of these stepped over stones. aren't voiceless. The unchosen roads, smoothed down, black and gray, staying their courses. with or without me, aren't choiceless. My unrejoiced friends, the dull brick and smudged glass that grasp. for inattention. or an end. they never reach me joyless. They teach me what life is. and what I can be when it isn't.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
Tuesday, July 09, 2013
Monday, July 08, 2013
Sunday, July 07, 2013
Friday, July 05, 2013
Thursday, July 04, 2013
Wednesday, July 03, 2013
Tuesday, July 02, 2013
Monday, July 01, 2013
Sunday, June 30, 2013
Saturday, June 29, 2013
Friday, June 28, 2013
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Monday, June 24, 2013
Sunday, June 23, 2013
Saturday, June 22, 2013
Thursday, June 20, 2013
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Monday, June 17, 2013
If I were to posit what the meek might inherit, it would be: the brunt of the bludgeon's bullying blow; the worms off the wormiest of worm-eaten scraps (without the scraps in tow); all manner of filth flushed by the finely mannered (plus whatever garbage they can throw); and the bottom of a rapidly descending and impeccably polished shoe.
Sunday, June 16, 2013
Saturday, June 15, 2013
Friday, June 14, 2013
Thursday, June 13, 2013
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Monday, June 10, 2013
Sunday, June 09, 2013
Saturday, June 08, 2013
Friday, June 07, 2013
Love, peace, and harmony. Love, peace and harmony. Oh, very nice, very nice, very nice. Maybe in the next world. Maybe in the next world. Maybe in the next world.
The only thing I'm not tired of is my music. And the ladybugs that have started to visit me. And the slim as a communion wafer hope that miracles can happen.
No hope, no harm, just another false alarm.
Thursday, June 06, 2013
Wednesday, June 05, 2013
There's an endgame. It has an end, but it's not a game. Not in the sense that you have a chance to win it. Not even a lottery's chance.
I've played it before, the game that's not a game, which I've been given, but never non-stop. There have been pauses and breaks, for sanity. That was my mistake. There's no possibility for sanity in a world like this.
It's going to wreck you. What the heck, might as well play it as hard as you can, and wreck yourself first.
Monday, June 03, 2013
Sunday, June 02, 2013
The hot stink of polluted water stinks a little less when it takes turns riding the breeze with the sweet scent of honeysuckle. The ugly white of Styrofoam cups and plastic bottles piled up by the tide is pushed aside by the sight of a snowy egret poised gracefully on one leg.
Nothing did and nothing could balance out the bluish, bare-skinned baby bird left for dead in the middle of a scorching sidewalk.
Saturday, June 01, 2013
Friday, May 31, 2013
I've found that even the most bitter and hateful people seem to lighten up around me. I must appeal to their better angels. Listening helps, but I haven't yet figured out a way to negate the hatefulness.
Here is another Tim Fite song that makes me feel better.
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
It could be how information in a multiverse actually presents itself. An Artificial Intelligence, not needing to rely on sequential thought, might be able to process such an over-abundance of data. Not my over-tired mind with its over-active imagination.
Monday, May 27, 2013
Sunday, May 26, 2013
Saturday, May 25, 2013
My mind isn't filled with silvery stars, but it is crowded with snippets of lyrics, and the randomness I see on my walks. Today's trek had more than its share of strangeness:
- A park filled with Amish
- A sobbing young woman climbing the sidewalk by the Peabody
- Clutches of Heavy Metal fans everywhere downtown
- Bridesmaids dressed in Orioles' orange parading by the ballpark
- A man wearing full catcher's gear in its parking lot
- A giant thumbprint, or what looked like one, formed by the glue left where a traffic sign had been removed from an overpass
Cheer up honey, I hope you can. There is something wrong with me.
Friday, May 24, 2013
Thursday, May 23, 2013
I hear the speaking of the same word many times. I see a bird, a starling, twitch its wings. It sings out the same notes to its neighbors.
I feel the pink softness in the same petals pulled from the same droopy flowers. I see the same bright minutes stand beside the same white hours, before they jump away.
I watch it blur by me, the same branded symbol on the same make of car. I feel the same jar's worth of air disturbed by the same swarm of gnats and their thimbleful of wings beating.
None of it is real, and yet it's all happened many times before. No part of it could possibly come to be, but it all lives together right now and everywhere.
I'll walk where the lights take me, sometimes, following the greens so I don't have to stop. Or I'll walk where I want to go, ignoring the lights and daring the cars.
I'll put two words together, because they rhyme, or they don't, and suddenly I'll find myself at the end of a passage, which says something insightful, or it says nothing with any meaning whatsoever.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Monday, May 20, 2013
Sunday, May 19, 2013
In between stepping out, I read a New Yorker article about "treadmill desks" that you can use to walk at low speeds while working. It sounds funny, but it's supposed to be much better for you than sitting (and I know how bad sitting can be).
I also read a very short article about "life-editing"; living in a single room that can be configured to meet different needs. For example, changing it into a bedroom, office or dining room by using Murphy beds, sliding dividers and pull-out surfaces. Building-wide common areas (such as a professional kitchen) and shared resources (eg., power tools) play a role too. As an aside, it mentioned that people used to walk much more, and those walks became opportunities to socialize with neighbors.
Maybe others will swing around to these ideas. On my walks around town now, I can go long stretches without seeing anyone, and most people I do see have just gotten out of a car. I feel out of step with people in a lot of ways, but maybe I'm just a step ahead of them.
Saturday, May 18, 2013
Friday, May 17, 2013
It can't stop. It won't stop until it falls damaged or exhausted. Then I'll cup it, and put it outside, back where the ceiling knows forgiveness. You see, I have a little bug in me.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
I've lived enough years, and my remaining time is too valuable to be given away too easily. I have knowledge. I have wisdom. I have talents. I'm happy to share them with the right people, for the right cause. I will never again be, however, just a body to fill a slot and engage in mindless activity.
They who say such things, say, never say never. This is a never I'll say with absolute certainty.
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Right now, I'm trying to watch a hockey game, but the complete and utter insipidness of the advertisements tends to twitch my finger onto the off button. I'll probably read a little before I drift off to dream more dreams about someone who I don't want to dream about. My sleeping mind never lacks for material, but it can be rather predictable.
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Last night I was visited by a mouse, one of the various critters that seem to pass through the apartment from time to time (mostly insects and spiders). I generally let them be, or try to guide them outside, if I can. They're just doing what they were designed to, so who am I to hold it against them.
Outside my apartment today, while shooting the breeze again with Bob, a little dog named Amber came over to say hello. She was exceptionally sweet, and insisted (with some irresistible whimpers) on being pet. Not all visits or visitors are created equal.
Monday, May 13, 2013
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Saturday, May 11, 2013
It's understandable, we live in a society where, thanks to nonstop automobile and fuel industry propaganda, car ownership is associated with personal freedom and economic mobility. There's also a mania that seems to grip people when they get behind the wheel, replacing common sense with an overwhelming need to hurry wherever they're going.
I buck that bs. If you nose your car into an intersection to try to intimidate me into waiting for you to turn, I'll slow down my stride (which is usually pretty snappy) and glare back at you with eyes that say, "F*ck you, you're going to have to wait."
I did that today, while wearing a shirt that spells out L-O-V-E rather prominently. It might have passed for ironic, or it might have diminished the message a wee bit.
In other news, there was a wedding in the park across from my apartment this afternoon. Real love, or that brand of love we call real, was in the air, and it didn't smell at all like exhaust.
Friday, May 10, 2013
I do go look for it, and looking means walking. Walking, this evening, I took the road less traveled, at least by me. Unfortunately it took me too. Consciously or unconsciously I ended up someplace I both wanted and didn't want to be. The not wanting proved stronger, and I hurried away, back to the apartment.
Bob from the building was sitting out front, as he often is, and I listened to his stories and his jokes, while life's rich pageant passed us by. I can't say this place is wholly home yet, but it's becoming home. It's where I am and where I feel I have to be, at this moment, for the real and scary magic I know is out there to find me.
Thursday, May 09, 2013
I don't seem to be marking time the way I used too. I know it's passing. I see the digits on my clocks change. I see the sun rise and fall. Yet, time has gotten progressively more compressed, collapsing more and more back onto itself. I can only guess that's what it does, until it and I reach the point where it won't pass, or everything will pass, all at once into something I can't define. At least not while I'm limited by this human brain.
Right now, I still count it, and it still counts. I don't count down. I count up. I count the time that's passed since. Since what? Mostly since sadness, I guess. A sadness that's its own plural. It too will leave me, or I'll leave it. Not yet. Not soon. It will still be here, even while I hide it. Just like that "C" that's left the face of my key, while it keeps on making Cs.
Wednesday, May 08, 2013
are there patterns that follow us? do circumstances keep recurring in our lives? the same plots and outcomes, but with different names and faces attached?
some theorize the universe/universes is/are constantly expanding and collapsing back in on itself/themselves; cycles of birth and death, and the everything in between. could there be small variations within those repetitions, whenever they re-play out?
and are our lives microcosms of those cycles? do our own births and deaths, and the everything in-betweens, repeat into infinity; a program caught in a loop; a loop that's become the program.
i walk down the street and i see an older man i know standing there with his cane, as if he's been waiting for me, as if it's pre-ordained we run into each other. i've met another man with a cane in much the same way but in a previous life, in a previous city. i'll likely encounter yet another when i move on wherever i'm meant to move on to next.
is this the universe giving me a chance to repeat these scenarios until i get them right, whatever right is? i don't know, but being aware of these patterns doesn't make me want to break free of them. it makes me want to improve on how i've handled them. and yes, that's me ripping off the movie Groundhog Day, but there's no shame in paying homage to anything involving Bill Murray.
Tuesday, May 07, 2013
our stories give us comfort. they make sense of a senseless world. one thing flows from another, even if it doesn't. effects have causes. actions, reactions, equal and opposite, and the opposite, when we tell it, will sound made up.
life (read work) has been a bit hectic for me lately. i literally tossed and turned in the night just thinking of all the things i had to do today. was it a coincidence that a couple appointments got canceled today to ease the burden a little, at least for a day? it's happened a few times recently, things "working out" that way, in the end.
i'll tell myself this, it wasn't a coincidence, and i'll thank the invisible power that is yet isn't. i'll likely curse it tomorrow again, when too much life (read work) comes flowing back upon me, in an unexpected and overwhelming wave of randomness.
Monday, May 06, 2013
i set a personal best for "conversations" held simultaneously tonight, composing an email while answering a text, in the midst of a chat session, while also on a Google hangout. yes, i might be overdoing the multi-tasking, or i have too many competitors for my attention. such is the nature of my virtually ultra-connected but fragmented life. broken and yet appealingly sparkly.
Sunday, May 05, 2013
a vague accounting of a dream is like poorly retelling a joke, it never pays off. so, i'll only say this: one dream included a storm of horizontally flying thick, black drops, which was a neat visual.
donning my amateur dream-interpreter's cap, i'd say they both centered on the fear of being driven/pushed into an impending unknown. when isn't the future unknown? only when all of its quantum possibilities collapse into an observable present. my lesson learned, though it may be unwise to take lessons from dreams, is to dread less and accept more, especially when it comes to circumstances i can't control.
one thing i can control is a "flirt pole." i learned how to use one today during my sunday morning shift walking dogs at BARCS. what's a flirt pole? it's basically a piece of pvc pipe with a string at one end. the string attaches to a tug-toy. you swing the pole around while standing on a platform to get the dogs to chase the toy. it's pretty cool, and Cosby, the particular dog we exercised with it, loved it.
as i get more experience working with the dogs, i hope to be able to do a lot more of these activities. it's one possible future popping in and out of view, and with some dedication i'll collapse that puppy.
Saturday, May 04, 2013
if not poetry, what? randomness, which is to say life. no one may read it, and that's okay. i'll record stuff here, and see what evolves. back to the way-back then, mr. peabody, when blogs were 'blogs (short for web logs) and designed for journaling. off we go.
there is some festival going on in my hood. a flower fest of greenery getting with an official title i don't know. it seems to be drawing in mostly folks who don't live in the city and otherwise ignore it on the weekends. of course they're choking the streets with their automobiles, and the atmosphere with the filth those belch. i'm sure it's worth it so they can prettify the homesteads out in the vast suburban expanses.
i read this today: our drone delusion. nothing really that i didn't know, but plenty that most americans like to pretend doesn't happen. does anyone still remember that directive ford signed in the seventies to outlaw political assassinations, or the various topplings and killings that the cia perpetrated abroad before that (and probably after)? probably not. now it's not spy craft but drones that we use to dispatch folks, and they might as well be called that because of the humming these beasts force many americans into so they can ignore the stories about the death and suffering we cause overseas.
i did go out for a nice walk. i like walking in this city, despite it (and its steeped in car culture) not encouraging me to do so. it has monstrously snaky, multi-level expressways that dominate the landscape and try to intimidate my pedestrianism, but i'm undauntable at this point.
once i got past the flower stalls, the sidewalks were pretty much person-less. i went up to the bolton hill neighborhood, which is a couple miles north. there was a statue of a guy named watson in a civil war era uniform there, with mortars and balls at the ready below him. i'm sure he did something stirring on the battlefield and was worth commemorating, but we do too much celebrating of those who are skilled in killing, and i'm not going to bother looking him up. he'll live on in my mind as an unassociated hunk of metal; well-formed, but meaningless. that's one better than this post.
Friday, April 05, 2013
Friday, March 29, 2013
Saturday, March 23, 2013
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Saturday, March 16, 2013
stay still, and
they move faster as i count them.
i've counted them
slow and fast. i'll slow them down, and settle
in the middle
slide in right between them.
in their gaps, i was, and
i am, a wish. i can,
and i will, wish me there,
and wish her,
and him, and her again, all of us
wishes. i wished us
as those wishes spelled out in smiles.
meant to wrinkle, and increase
with that wrinkling. we, as wishes creased
the freckled, and the pale, the mahogany
skin on bridges of noses. we are, we'll be
those wishes written
out in sparkling green,
gray, blue, brown, black eyes. i have,
and we have
sparkled. we sparkle being them, whether
those wishes come true, or whether
or not i am and can be,
and they're all now, the seconds, here with me.
Thursday, March 14, 2013
leaves. i did fall, falling into a night
that was hidden. i fell, and i'm falling
toward a too shy infallibility. the failing
light is where sleep loves, but love can't sleep,
not when there's night to break, and light's promise to keep.
Monday, March 11, 2013
Saturday, March 09, 2013
tricks tonight, and I'm chasing
it. It's sticking to
the barest white faces, to
teeth, to the straight-edge
snarls of brick crevices, and
to the slight, tight cracks beaten
into the jaws of the slick
cement walks. I'll stick
wherever it would, could be,
and I'll fall where it casts me.
Thursday, March 07, 2013
Wednesday, March 06, 2013
Sunday, March 03, 2013
Friday, March 01, 2013
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
it tries, the train, it tries,
it tries and tries to
whistle poetry too
to an unseeing night,
but the night,
it can't, it can't,
the night, the night can't
hear when it can't unsee
and what it can't unsee
is a coal black stain
trying to be a train
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Friday, February 15, 2013
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Saturday, February 09, 2013
stars whose dust fell, falling
dust becomes us, like stars, we,
I pulse and move, we all
move in patterns, in mine, yours,
patterned movements, patterns
starry are we, I'm like stars
Thursday, February 07, 2013
Thursday, January 31, 2013
he said, he says,
he started but dropped
he starts, he stops
it went, it goes on,
he goes on with it
to the fine veins of a tattered brown
leaf, he doesn’t know
leaves, but he’d guess this one is
from an elm, he guessed it, he guesses
it became, it’s become
plastered to the window with a glue,
this glue called rainwater, he calls it
rainwater, and it was,
it is a glue, with the winter air,
stronger than paste,
hasten anywhere, so he picks up
where he left off, he leaves off
after long pauses,
no not the king, per se,
but they flock to me,
not like they’d flock
to a living leaf, or a wayward crumb
of pumpernickel, but they come
I said I was a king,
not a wise man,
though wise enough,
and he paused,
and he pauses,
but he can’t continue,
but not with a glue that’s dried
and a leaf that’s slipped,
it dries, the glue,
and the leaf slips,
it slips and floats down,
down to the gutters
filled with so many browns,
when it hears it,
it has heard it,
Saturday, January 26, 2013
to time-tapered tree limbs,
sidewalks refreshed with a white snow,
and to the blood red brick walls overlooking them,
but not overlooking what went
past, no, not overlooking what passed as a life,
a life that went speeding past them,
with no quiet moments to take a breath
or to sit within them;
the past didn't go
the way she wanted it, the way
we'll see it, not the way
the blood red brick walls wanted to feel it,
but the bricks hold it, with tree limbs,
with walks, and they hold her,
and they offer her, still lonesome,
Hattie, stilled by blood, here to me,
and she comes to me, no, not her,
but the thought of her still blood, and when I take her,
or the thought of her, I take it
away, a little of our lonesomeness, the blood
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Sunday, January 13, 2013
is only the difference
between paying and stealing attention.
a glance at a bus. It speaks its destination
in lights, and the lights think
they know where
you are. I don't, but I know
I won't go there.
I know instead
I'll go home and not watch the TV
where actors speak with words
not lights, and they speak one word to me
at the same time,
the exact same moment in time,
one word, a name,
pops into my far-away mind.
Tuesday, January 01, 2013
won't. It can't. It does not hop
out hazel-eyed to greet me
from there, behind a Hornbeam.
Happy. Happy. Happiest,
it's not, to hide. It will not
hide its slippery, crimson
cheeks, beneath a skipping stone.
Happy. Happy. Happy thoughts
it can't keep. Sunlight yellow
grins, it gives them. They are not
bundled in petunia buds.
But, I'll chase it round. I will
take it and toss it. I will
pluck it and sniff it, and not
finding it, I'll still have it.