Perchance it loves me too?


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Vicki and patty m.
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no one loves the same,
the moon, or me,
or you two too,
exactly exact,
or, especially
each other

every stream of light refracts differentiation,
rays scattered and triggering you-know-what

it is never by
perchance,
always by
first glance

rays that are moon ordained,
plotting paths on the river and bay
that check my souls consternation
asking me nightly,
come walk on water,
come to visit me,
when I am a verdant blue

once upon a time,
the moon would come to me
by early afternoon, so had a
doubleheader of celestial admirable

moon,
for its plotting morning carryovers
going all the way occasionally
to afternoon sunlight,
as if it is like love
that passes
through a checkpoint,
saying, see!
a safe transition
to the east/west passageway
of your humanity heavenly inclusive

I’ve loved creatures,
human and even better than them,
feminine and masculine,
never made any difference,
for it was never a competition

my whole soul went wet,
Olson,
from then till now,
when the love word escaped
my lips, troublemakers, happily,
the misery it provided was ecstasy,
made the poem solutions even better

but by now, august August,
woe within me, strong the sadness,
the end of summer chilling forces,
makes sure the dividing line
is redrawn and love and moonlight,
once inseparable,
are again fully distinct and

perchance,
come September
hopefully I’l forget and I won’t remember
all the rest,
just the best of the best of
you two poets scheming,
how to enlighten the world
with blue moon words




2:16pm,Sunday August 25
2019

“poet, it’s your day,” she says.

groggily growls the growler,
“what’d ya mean?”

“the sun came up today early,
but partly cloudy interrupt-us has arrived subsequently,
worse, the Great Swami Interpet predicts rain comes
heavy this afternoon on our journey home.”

he reflects upon his craggy, scraggly image that is
reflected upon the cold brewed black coffee.

replies carefully without thinking,
“today I will commence writing under
a new guise, a new name, a different persona!”

“whom shall we be today then?”

“come back to bed revelation poet”


sunrain

Woe the soul who witnessed crime, yet kept it to himself.
**** the dogs who stole the Jewels then celebrated stealth.
Pity they who pilfered gems yet shared no soul the tale,
Indulged, instead, in pious greed, all truthfulness curtailed.
They who know that right is wronged yet utter not a word
Inherit, then, a slice of blame for all the wrong incurred.
And ****** are they who simper in conspiracy to fraud
Secrete away in silence to all.... except the Lord.
That courage fails the witness when intimidation’s hurled
With cloaks of guilt descending as the black flag is unfurled.
Gone these mighty concepts of truth conferred to all
Instead a silence echoes to the stench within the hall.

M.
26 June 2019

Beetles creep & earthworms writhe
In soil and leafage mould
Where men, in towers' ivory
Broach loud and souls are sold.
Honesty and purity
Enflower places plain
But pompousness and leather hearts
Merely promulgate distain.
Distancing the words, effete,
Conjure portals cold
Whilst wallowing in self esteem
Seldom glints of gold.
Instead the psalms of simple chime
The bells of true release,
Where meek and mild and unposessed
sweat blood and bleed for peace.
Where the stroke of brush, unfettered,
Lets the masterpiece unfold,
And children sit enthralled, only,
When tales of truth are told.

M.