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W L Winter Dec 2016
The strange familiar flew up out
of the past, it had been hiding there
for centuries, or even days, and it
wrapped around my room, the
walls offered a sliding berth

It carried the color of the evening
sun shining through rosemary,
but had no definite face

Just look at the odd stones and you'll
see what I mean, bulbous round objects
of language captured crystalline

I determine at this moment to build
an amplifier so that I can study
the sound of my choosing

Bring Miles Davis into the mix and
watch the atmosphere change
W L Winter Nov 2016
Used to be the woods were
a great expanse of familiar
mystery that spread for miles,

now beer cans and cigarette
butts mark the beaten path,
only the ghost of mystery on
display at the public park

The only big trees left are the
cottonwoods and the sycamores
with beautiful leaves and useless
wood, the big oaks all gone,
harvested long ago

What did this land look like
200 years ago before the ache
of commerce laid the roads,
and the spread of farms tilled
the prairie grass into red dust?
W L Winter Oct 2016
I read your foreign label,
I brewed a Polish stew, I  
know it all sounds crazy,
but that's all up to you,

try not to get yourself worked
up, I know it's hard to take,
unclean men all touch the meat
while rich men eat the steak,

and the bird outside your window,
she sings an lonesome tune, while
the old man with the box guitar
plays to an empty room

There's a shadow on the
windowsill, a long hospital hall,
the nurses drag machinery
past bad paintings on the wall,

and in the cubbyholes of rooms
your mama sings a song,
"don't worry little children,
by now it won't be long",

and up above the flashing
lights the choppers swing
down low, and the statue of
the Jesus stands with both
both hands full of holes
W L Winter Oct 2016
There's a flutter in the page,
not of my own doing, just a
natural product of controllable
instances, the toad frogs are singing
the autumn song, they prepare for a
good long sleep guided by the moon,
the song they sing is measured,  
regardless of urban influence,
a primal beat holding fast to the
continuance of life from the mud
of the golf course creek
W L Winter Oct 2016
The little bird cries dominion! and
this morning I have the presence of

mind not to claim it as my own, but
share it with the trees and wind, as I

am a tree without roots and a breeze
that blooms in a package of flesh, no more,

no less, a natural element that brings
erosion equal to the thump of a meteorite
W L Winter Sep 2016
I don't despair when I read Neruda,
he was an anomaly, a strange flower of
undiscovered hue, as rare as a meteorite,
a metal of curious design

Nor do I weep at Harrison, yet I marvel
at the mix, astonished to know the depth
and breath of sight turned inward, a
reaching into unseen lives

As I must learn to read the labels of my food,
so I must learn the ingredients of poetry, the
food of an undiscovered reasoning, a secret
nourishment organic and pure,

to stretch my body into long life, that I may
pass on the charge of natural energy, so
that we may continue unabated, and
grow like tendrils of the climbing vine
  Sep 2016 W L Winter
Sjr1000
In a palapa in Yalapa
Drinking mezcal moonshine
with a local named Rudolpho
He waves his hands in circles and squares
in candle shadows

Eyes turn inward to see

becoming a mind in the present
childlike wonder
big moon rising
pulling internal tides
stretching roots
grounded in the earth

Rudolpho knows how to laugh in colors
He knows how to dance Zorba style
arms held high to the diamonds in the sky

Nothing was achieved but everything was fixed

Zooming towards a universal experience
among the universal mind

Don't know where the night went

Rudolpho knows the ritual of the sun
Told me what I needed to know
singing
"Hurray another day"
while a parrot calls my name
and a scorpion slips into my shoe.

A palapa has no walls
I didn't either
all I was
was windows

Drinking mezcal moonshine
with a local named Rudolpho
he knows all about goodbyes.
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