"you have the power to inundate,
pro-create as you initiate the young
with the magic of your words." ^
<>
awake, askew, at just past midnight,
reread these worded cords with no deliberate haste,
as is not my wont,
no smile and drive~by for these privileged privies,
that unknowingly wrench and divvy my parts

no, theses require forethought,
deliberation,
there will be no outpouring,
there is no need,
this is not a crack to be slow filled with a potter's
artisan gold,
but a cutting that highlights continental divides,
wounded spaces and pain,
for which no glossing over can easy relieve,
each word a chosen well

for you make your own Grand Canyons,
in this life,
chasms that render, sunders with a constant but
invisible echoed thundering,
off /of my soul,
turned my persona, physical and intellectual,
into a walking, though awaking of the deadening
of a personal failure, a fail~you~are,
that cannot be undone, and now, out loud,
alone in the dead of night, in the construct of early mourning,
yes, in the sunroom where there is no sun nor son,
I weep openly at
words that should not have been
so tenderly and sweetly,
tendered to me

inundate,
I know this word,
better than most,
for grief is an old acquaintance
that you want to keep at a good distance,
for when it in-un-dates you,
you, visibly marked,
a cheekbone or two crushed,
a limp with no raison d'etre
and a chest pain, no pill can bring to
heel

for I am a centuries old grief,
and the inundation I speak of,
is the loss of child,
who has divided his living cells from my mine~mind

how oft, what is plainly visible,
is missed, goes dot unconnected,
this pulsing compulsion to lift the chin of the beginners in life,
whose sorrowed demeanor, complected temperament,
incompleted confusions,
can sometimes be so easy swatted,
encouraged away, and sometimes not,
but openly pleads for compassionate leave,
an easy helpful nudge away from
from the riptides of growing up,
& growing lower...

so my wonderful life is not so wonderful,
and my bad posture bent over is not from laziness,
my surgically repaired ventricular machina,
is more than a physical symptom, just a ticking clock
that solves for the quantity of beats of
busted opportunities

outside, an owl,
perched in a nearby acorn growing giant.
whom we have never seen,
for darkness, his/her palatial estate, hiding place,
hoots with no regularity,
a derisive hooting,
thinking I am too, asking for compassionate leave,
'but I am not

some five, nearly six decades ago,
a young songwriter wrote:

"Teach your children well
Their father's hell did slowly go by
Feed them on your dreams
The one they pick's the one you'll know by"^^

this never just passes by,
for its arrow is a permanent implantation in mine,
and the owl just hoot hoot hoots with the stubbornness of
an unhappy chile^^^

so I see now,
how I overcompensate,
and without a knowed thought,
extend a finger, an arm.
an entire tired life,
to
initiate, pro-create
the younger ones, (1)
but this still,
does not,
nor ever will it,
rhyme with
expiate

this, my very own
9/11,
and that other one,
which I experienced,
as well...


2:03am
Thu Sep 11
Twenty Twenty Five
<nml>

now, I rest, for how long?

acacia
"i know that, i know that
what's mine will find me"
(1)


<>
sigh...
(forgive my intrusion)
not necessarily-
for too many, we have to invent, create and
forever to be on the lookout for to
find what we need,
forgive and then, not begrudge the time it may take,
finally
then to make it ours,
for
that's when the work begins,

sometimes it takes a forever
to know how to define, create
find, a forevermore

<nml>
exactly 5:00am
Wed Sep 10
in the dark, dark sunroom

inspired by
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/5120189/love-cannot-be-controlled-or-confined/
<>

Love is Meant……

and there, I stop…
<>
nnnnyup; continuing on,

this phrase
a self~sufficiency, is it not?
no conditional clause, dangling particle,
no conjunction peg upon to hang your wintered hat,
no adjacent adjective for summer's ending sadness,
no preposition to lead us to sunny places, where we search more
for nouns and pronouns, or to project/protect, in adjectives to clothe our irrationality in logic-e,
logic to define, logic to confine,
illogically
love permits one to say to another human, you mine, hu-mine,
[an aside: "you mine,' (really?)]
a preposterous prepositional insanity notion, that needs no explication,
love is meant, love is meant, love is mean, dream & yet, meant!
stadium sized. concert hall big, mini pup tent,
love is clean+***** s i m u l t a n e o u s l y

don't you see the self~sufficiency in that?

yet you still seek definition, reasoning, seasoning,
love is meant to-be bent irregular straightaway,
love is meant, to be/not, cold 'n bot, silly hot,
lover is inert, hurt, ert,(1)
love is every point of,
of a sword's length
hilt & blade,
yet ironic,
the tip alone
is a self sufficient *****,
to be full~on damaging enough to ****

to fully comprehend,
that  love is meant
needs no further modifying defying
pointless phrasal modification of explanation…
s u n d a y
(if the week did not commence with a sunday,
hu-mans would have needed to create one,
to understand,
love is meant)

4:39am
Sun Aug 10
Twenty Twenty Fidelio (5)
in a new york city frame of mine

"Now I look for her always
I'm lost in this calling
I'm tied to the threads of some prayer
Saying, When will she summon me
When will she come to me
What must I do to prepare
When she bends to my longing
Like a willow, like a fountain
She stands in the luminous air
And the night comes on
And it's very calm
I lie in her arms she says, When I'm gone
I'll be yours, yours for a  song"

Lyric from "Night Comes On"
by Leonard Cohen

<.
the morning comes on,
the blackbirds mark my Coming
with vociferous, unmelodic caw~cawing,
whisper a quick one line prayer
to whom, if anybody, who guardians
my soul & body combo
for one day more restoration

yes, you guessed, sitting before
the water's and landed tableau,
painter's tablet on lap,
wrapped my fav big ugly brown bathrobe,
coffee in my right, left pointer finger doing all the work,
of rat~tat~tap,
shedding my *****'s contents

yes, again, wish you were here, too
especially those who are long past their expiration date,
who I failed in ways inexcusable,
but don't linger for the heart reminders me,
probability states, I-won't have to wait too much shorter,
my due date unspecified, but we all knownow it ain't in the
far distant future
~
all this buys a way of introduction,
please consider yourself fully induction,
get you a pillow, and we both admire the movie
soundtrack of the goodly good of a stiff breeze welcoming us,
the bird empire gone quiet mostly, but the dutiful osprey parent,
wanders, floating, eyes by practice sharpened, for their are babes in
the nest that possess needs that must be attended to, for that is their
calling,

mine?

if it be your will to let me spill,
a moment the same, yet so wonderfully
different, sharing this day in all its specificity
have learned from its predecessors of thousand millions what
combinatory natural excesses it is duty bound to present us with,
for this I suspect, be my calling, waking to be an official greeter of
the miracle we so casually call good morning,
to be burdened in this manner, writing mad hatter style
of all the varied and variegated sensational sensoria overload,
I accept,
the anxious urgency of burning~some need
to capture every detail, without fail, to satisfy our
mutuality of wondrous awe that we have all arrived
in the same place, identical when's and where's here,
but no answer have I as to the Why, nary a clue, but here
I end, this poem dies, its calling  fulfilled,
and I am lesser for it, poorer too,
am disgorged, expunged,
having given, forgiven,
but low on excuses,
all I can, is that my
calling to, calling from, has
both been answered and filled,
leaving me satisfiably
pleasured, satiated

and called,
yours for a poem
.>


silver beach
Sun Aug 24