”Well, my friends are gone and my hair is grey
I ache in the places where I used to play
And I'm crazy for love but I'm not comin' on.
I'm just payin' my rent every day in the Tower of Song”

Leonard Cohen lyric from The Tower of Song


§§§

this lyric hits, it’s a ten fingered cheeky ****** marking,
fits like a new white t-shirt, clean~perfect in every aspect,
I’ve just changed song to poetry, so nobody’s complaining

axiomatic, slept less a than three shambolic hours last nite,
don’t ask what I was doing or even a simple why, even the
vultures grew tired, helplessly hoping for solutions to start appearing

water pressure ok, poem spigot strong but the words desiccated,
it’s time to revisit roots, back to where I’ve come-begun, bury losses,
seek no consideration, write in isolation, a-quiet niche, a shhh! beach

my silent reverie owns me and the angels, biggest fans, just can’t
get enough, know their faith is strong, never proofing reads required,
content to wait till find my lost chords, comforts of only fresh truths

so arrivederci, until we meet again, when cadences have resumed,
rolling in unbroken, won’t need other’s words recirculating my blood,
till my slip sliding over, direction from arrows stabbing new openings

rented a storage unit in nearby woods, empty shelves greet ya with a
‘ready, willing, and able,’  many open arms looking for fulfilling, a job, that don’t even pay minimum wage, but the benefits are just fan-tastic

So:
should you spot a man ungainly wrought,
weighted down by a harpoon cross, resting,
‘pon on his cursed Cain-marked back, fingertips,
you need not move to the other side, or hide,
'tis only a make-believe poet, no longer believing,
with his recording device, seizing your rhapsodies
to rhyme with his own collected artifacts, your crinkly
smiles are his meat, his metier, his chosen career,
to be again a comfort caresser of your illusions into
a shapely sculpture of words be-loved, keeping-worthy,
tokens of a reexamined self worth, a new girth, leaner,
a celebration for the keeping, dug up with pail and shovel,
a best left hid on his treasured island, in a treasure chest, only his new-no-good-best-most-satisfying-new-no-good-best-mystifying-sati­sfying-cursing-muses-who-got-two-knee-on-my-soul-I’m-
howling...
­
Monday Jun 1, 2020

I’m used to feeling stared at
Even when there’s no eyes upon me
I’m used to feeling judged
When no one is thinking about me
It’s just life, I’m fine.

Even when I’m alone
And there’s no way someone can see me
I do things as if I am being watched
So that whoever can see me isn’t thinking negatively
It’s just life, I’m fine.

There’s no point to it
And sometimes I seem a bit paranoid
Or maybe anxious
But hey
It’s just life, I’m fine

(march 2020)

..isolation diary..

..day 17..

bright clear cold today
early before folks wake i
light the incinerator

to burn the leaves
garden debris

the wild cat watches
each time i clear a patch
he finds another heap
to nestle in

so i wonder whether to leave
a place for him, the darling

for that is his given name

on my walk i noted the numbers
one hundred up the hill to pentre

ten at the gate

the sheep was 28 with two
lambs marked the same
there is multiplication
for you

i stopped to watch as the vehicle came
a tractor

i have been walking the centre of the track
no vehicles a fortnight all on lockdown

the farmer fetching bales and nodding
as he passed

i nodded back

noted the blossom
noted the crystal stones

walked home

it is suggested that we are out walking for one
hour

i should like to walk on
i turn for home james

176

still in my pjs with boots
my warm garden jacket

"It's not that it was the worst
but it was very bad," the old
man said.
"I wasn't hanging but the noose
was so thick around my frail neck.
I was nine. And the
forest was
dark.
Night.
And holding me, they made my
old man dig a deep hole.
He did as they said
to buy my freedom.
They untied me then and
put the rope around my old man's
arms and legs
and threw him in the hole
and covered him up with dirt.
They didn't make me watch.
But I did.
I wanted to photograph their
faces with my eyes
to burn their smirks under my eyelids.
Well, the saddest thing about it all is
that they died, all of them were
caught and condemned to death
before I was old enough or strong
enough to hunt down and
**** them myself.
The greatest regret of my life.
The world, you see, has no true justice
It never had.
You see, young man, that's why I
can never be a child of God.
He wants us all to forgive.
I can't.
Don't want.
Will not.
Ever.
So instead of going to church
I pass out in bars like this one
It's been my favorite lately
And you're my only friend, young man.
You're the only one weird enough to
listen to this old, demented fool's stories."

"I'll always listen,"
I said.
"Here, how about another drink?"

"Another drink, sure. Thanks.
But I'm afraid you won't be
listening to these stories for long.
I'm going away, young man."

"Where?"

"Well, to court first
and then
definitely
to jail."

"To jail at your age?
What did you do?"

The old man smiled a toothless
smile. "Old as I am, I used to have
front teeth, you know? Well, the
reason I no longer have them...
I bit a child's ear off.
It was his face.
It reminded me of them. Belonged to the
same race. So I figured... you know,
maybe he was one of their descendants.
It was the least I could do. All
I could do...
I told you I'm crazy. I told
everyone."

"Yep, but I'm listening. I'm a
writer..."

"Really?"

"No, but I try to be. Want to."

"Heh, guess we're both crazy
after all. Cheers."

..but no one
handed us the hemlock
that which is before us
is our own concocted potion
but we would not admit
it is poison

we are yet
to drink the glass
as the moments pass
we would somehow
not forget
for some undefined reason

first we doubt
then wither
further down
we fall asunder
waiting for another season

to come around
to question
our very existence
in our words unspoken

we would look
through the day's sky
and tremble in adoration
at the beauty
that refuses to die
and our despair-spells
would have broken

in that enlightenment
the veil is lifted
sorrow is forgotten
the waiting glass
would be cast
aside--- nothing
that is life
shall be stolen

When a neck is crushed by someone's knee
He may not be able to breathe
He may even die

It's not always a matter between two
It’s a matter of Justice and Injustice
The Injustice crushes the neck of justice

Crooks say Blacks and Whites always fight
But they are not at all right
It’s a myth created by the haters

Haters injects racism, casteism, religionism
In the breath, mind and blood of everyone
But not everyone are that much fools

When haters are supported by the throne
Then the peoples who are not the fools
They shake the throne with much force

They convey the message in a nice way
They have the power to invert the throne
They have the power to break the throne

Because Blacks and Whites never fight
They recognize each others right
And always support what is right

my heavenly abode
cooking different dishes
smiling family.