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sb-stokesPoems
to the tune of guitars, mandolins, bagpipes, cheap coke & hairspray Freighters crest the punk-washed waves the sun shines out unaware and uncaring Our tiny animal foibles behemoth sub-audible military choppers chop the air The air, no offense, much better on it's own sans commentary or guitar-fueled breaks the promise of returning surf silent acceptance by rock and sand Again and again, we return and it returns to greet anew the day again the sun and more importantly, the moon And here, right here I am phone calls and photographs be ****** to live, to breathe, and be free this is the gift we share the covenant we acquiesce to life's contract: Be here now and then be gone Good work done and done again to acknowledge human order to rever and accept to create, not destroy despite what might have come before or will come again after Be ****** or choose not to This is our secret our secret treasure kept right here within earshot of the bored gods spread out like bleached wood our foibles, our suspicions, our struggles our gallant moments in sunlight or in shade we persevere and look **** good doing it Oh, the momentary glory The ecstasy of our reciting invincibility to one another like religion or science we accept it and trust it and, therefore, it is true if only for a moment the laughter subsides and what does it leave us? the exhalation of waves on shores unnamed Things we hold so close, so near clenched with inescapable fear that this might suddenly end lights out, curtain down a dejected sigh, a knowing frown This great place, this great land Oh, the metal in my days and in my hands There was a time when I would worry, I would fret and wonder at what each gesture meant But now so much more I know of the secret songs of our beloved coast to think that somehow we can digest all this parse everything that befalls such a joke, it is to laugh in the shade of the cove far from the mast It is no joke, but more to laugh, not to cry, nor cower back OOF! WHOO! sunning & living & loving just so It is our way and all that we know amid handclaps & footfalls among cliff faces & sheer falls we shine so solitary & bright among the world and its fashions The thrill of standing so tall against inhuman scale its momentary humor our highlights & travails So much meat to manipulate against surf & sail from the privilege of the cove friendship against the rocks winds and darkness Huddle, you beloved masses, huddle The schooners schooning the bay accepting lucky our lives absorbing the glory, yes the glory, I said it THE GLORY of living today like a grown-up with a robot with its hand up Oh, the exertion of simply being human! Constructs of strobe lights & nonesuch! We claw, we dance, we construct the armature of the ridiculous! We strive, we fall, we climb imagined walls What excellent detritus! And now the chill descends the shade the cove knows only as a friend I sit alone construct these lines wishing for lost loves amid shade, sand & brine sunken mermaids in my mind I love the threat they present For me, ironically, it's all in words I share the secrets that the tide keeps in surf & loam I look at technology & I look away that's how I know I'm human how I know I'm not completely lost not completely without animal All we can hope for a pumpkin at sunset & not being pathetic with people that love us Yes, it's a lot good weather and foul beacon of human remembrance It's all we can ask for & should (Oh, Dan Langton how much you've simply taught me thru words, sure but just as much through sly looks & laughs Portland you're all houses and woods and there's always **** to do: so tender to women "Beat me! Oh Bob, beat me!") & Motorhead prevails on the Golden Gate coast away from the campground our shared & secret cove
0
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 1:13 AM UTC
Kirby Cove
to the tune of guitars, mandolins, bagpipes, cheap coke & hairspray Freighters crest the punk-washed waves the sun shines out unaware and uncaring Our tiny animal foibles behemoth sub-audible military choppers chop the air The air, no offense, much better on it's own sans commentary or guitar-fueled breaks the promise of returning surf silent acceptance by rock and sand Again and again, we return and it returns to greet anew the day again the sun and more importantly, the moon And here, right here I am phone calls and photographs be ****** to live, to breathe, and be free this is the gift we share the covenant we acquiesce to life's contract: Be here now and then be gone Good work done and done again to acknowledge human order to rever and accept to create, not destroy despite what might have come before or will come again after Be ****** or choose not to This is our secret our secret treasure kept right here within earshot of the bored gods spread out like bleached wood our foibles, our suspicions, our struggles our gallant moments in sunlight or in shade we persevere and look **** good doing it Oh, the momentary glory The ecstasy of our reciting invincibility to one another like religion or science we accept it and trust it and, therefore, it is true if only for a moment the laughter subsides and what does it leave us? the exhalation of waves on shores unnamed Things we hold so close, so near clenched with inescapable fear that this might suddenly end lights out, curtain down a dejected sigh, a knowing frown This great place, this great land Oh, the metal in my days and in my hands There was a time when I would worry, I would fret and wonder at what each gesture meant But now so much more I know of the secret songs of our beloved coast to think that somehow we can digest all this parse everything that befalls such a joke, it is to laugh in the shade of the cove far from the mast It is no joke, but more to laugh, not to cry, nor cower back OOF! WHOO! sunning & living & loving just so It is our way and all that we know amid handclaps & footfalls among cliff faces & sheer falls we shine so solitary & bright among the world and its fashions The thrill of standing so tall against inhuman scale its momentary humor our highlights & travails So much meat to manipulate against surf & sail from the privilege of the cove friendship against the rocks winds and darkness Huddle, you beloved masses, huddle The schooners schooning the bay accepting lucky our lives absorbing the glory, yes the glory, I said it THE GLORY of living today like a grown-up with a robot with its hand up Oh, the exertion of simply being human! Constructs of strobe lights & nonesuch! We claw, we dance, we construct the armature of the ridiculous! We strive, we fall, we climb imagined walls What excellent detritus! And now the chill descends the shade the cove knows only as a friend I sit alone construct these lines wishing for lost loves amid shade, sand & brine sunken mermaids in my mind I love the threat they present For me, ironically, it's all in words I share the secrets that the tide keeps in surf & loam I look at technology & I look away that's how I know I'm human how I know I'm not completely lost not completely without animal All we can hope for a pumpkin at sunset & not being pathetic with people that love us Yes, it's a lot good weather and foul beacon of human remembrance It's all we can ask for & should (Oh, Dan Langton how much you've simply taught me thru words, sure but just as much through sly looks & laughs Portland you're all houses and woods and there's always **** to do: so tender to women "Beat me! Oh Bob, beat me!") & Motorhead prevails on the Golden Gate coast away from the campground our shared & secret cove
From the book A History of Broken Love Things, Punk Hostage Press (2014).
sb-stokes
Written by
sb-stokes
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 1:13 AM UTC
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