shock and awe, shown the light, shown the door,
by the literary muses, kings and queens,
and the royal cooks, of course,
all rouse me at 4:00 am,
to salute those who can cook,
knowing how to summer simmer a simple broth of love
with richest, tasty, succinct, succulent brevity
that
keeps this wordy would be poet,
honest

all the varied spices,
artful adjectives, verbose verbs, numbing, never-heard-of nouns
are humbled in joy, all join this poet,
to honor the
curried simplicity
of  
the Bengali cook of love
from India
who says it reverently,
all
in
one
simple sentence,
sourced locally
love is his staple,
love is rice
~


5/31/17

4:10am

you don't hear from hear from him for
years
turns out he has been living two little blocks away

a strange lawyer calls Sunday morning,
your presence, requested, suggested at the arraignment court,
as soon as possible, to get him
released from overnight lockup on his own recognizance

sure enough, the Judge asks is the father present
and I stand and he sees me and says set him free
into the custody of that old ghost in the last row

a month later
we sit in my car,
at 11:00pm
engine running,
our mobile phones, side by side
charging from the same source,
waiting for his lawyer to call

somewhere in your huge file of poems
entitled but as of yet unwritten is one called,
the words rational and children are rarely used in a single sentence
together

oh yeah, Leonard's  reminder?

some hallelujahs
come cold and broken
~
5/31/17
500am

twice by god's accidental interference,
our crash vehicles, super sized shopping carts,
connect, we are manger-penalized for unnecessary roughness
and disturbing the supermarkets peace

what better way to judge character than to examine
a single persons shopping cart  contents?

hers,
all organic, milk, heirloom tomatoes, even the Chardonnay,
grown upon the farms of the island and vineyards on
the forks that shelter the isle from the ravages of the Atlantic

mine,
Hebrew National franks, yellow mustard,
very classy brioche buns, a six pack of Corona Light,
and funny colored, funny looking, rusted russet potato chips

with a tremulous smile, and an overly loud, derisive sniff,
pronounces me dead man walking sooner than later,
to which, I respond,
then, teach me, where shall we dine tonight?

later that night,
after a thousand kisses of her fluttering eyelashes,
she props herself upon an elbow and
in a tone sincere and caring,
extracts from the poet promises of
natural exclusivity

from now on, healthy, natural only, organic and pure,
from the soul soil of our shared habitat

her suntan skin, garden-digging hand, I clasp,
softly climbing on top of her,
announce with total genuine sincerity and solemnity;

I swear it, from now on, all my loving will be sourced locally

rewarded with a laugh and a gentle but hard enough,
garden to table (with her free hand), head smacking,
I noting nod, good naturedly
that both the laugh and smack,
as well,

sourced locally,
sourced lovingly,
which then seeded
this new only love jointly authored poem,
planted in our mingling blossoming crashing
bodies


5/29/17 i
12:43pm

~
took and tucked her in my pocket



a rare Monday holiday, and whomever, undoubtedly
an impractical man-someone, (always our fault),
decided to dampen the lawn and the entire countryside with a steady, not drizzle and not rain, something in between, and a dolloping, artisanal, organic, grey creme fraiche fog that
permits hinted glimpses of sea and land, home from away

a perfect day to finish that overdue library book,
and the deletion of unanswered email notices of your ever increasing criminal status,
both a delicioso rainy day, deep dish pizza pleasuring

or
go for a "walk and talk" in the rain with oneself,
properly attired, naturally, in a yellow slicker and silly hat,
(a perfect car target)
observing how the bay gets refilled, and the elm and the oak
drink themselves tipsy on an all-day-grey goose ******,
all the while looking for side-of-road weedy, wordy poems
that will look nice in a vase day or on a colorful plate from
Saint Paul de Vence


more a "walk and compose" insists the brain,
denying the legs and feet the full advanced three credits,
for providing nothing more than cerebral transportation,
poor brain, inferiority complexion, thinking the female does all the truly heavy duty thinking stuff and of her,
nobody ever thinks or kisses!

so I took and tucked her in my pocket,
(your brain's gender contrarian to one's lower physical gifts),
and poem-picking, away we went, to wet sand beaches
looking for shells, bones, forgot plastic buckets and shovels,
i.e. articles of inspiration incorporation composting composition

just me and she for the other 'her' chose to curl,
herself upon her spot under the always shedding blanket,
watching Richard or Henry or one of the Mary's plotting,
on what we agree must be a perfectly British style
spy's rainy day, or an Agatha ****** mystery
or a visit to the Towers

a little pause between showers, the seeding clouds,
catching a breath, allows the birds to exchange trees
in what appears to man as suicide by diving musical chairs,
while the seagulls oink, "perhaps a cucumber fish sandwich with a nice hot cuppa?"

alas, alas, only flowers that must perforce remain unpicked,
here and there a solitary dorming daisy uprising,
from cracked concrete protruding, but nary a poem of somber consequence found

so to home and hearth and some telly,
me and she, where upon arrival
took and untucked her from my pocket,
my empty poem pocketed persona somewhat mocked
by she who regales splendiferously on her couch throne

our composure discomposed and discombobulated and wet,
instead wrote this trip report and submitted it to the teach
as a homework assignment

5/29/17 8:00am precisely,
upon the where shelter isle

The Prism Through Which We See Clearly

~

light saws our untrue selves with acute angles,
piercing our holistic pretenses, daily disambiguation features,
our sheltering disguises into our essence refractive elements

this is not a cute rainbow poem - run from here

it is a dissection of our true nature
why belabor, why elaborate?

through the prism
you color-coded self, tracted,
a mapping of your intersections,
what each color speaks, needs not an explication,
your hidden humanity comes to my eyes, in full revelation

at last I see you clearly

the lost and black withered limbs,
the stirring, leaping, enflamed flaring, never ceasing, breathing elements that mark your singularity

did you know your eyes are constant singers?

through prism, each note heard distinctly, as it rises uplifted,
your song, mine for observation and weeping exhalations,
your song, the production number of thy own composition,
through prism, our interior visual disinterred and released,

here I must cease, for what seen, grievous weeping deepens,
from the glory and the pain my blurred wetness overwhelms
the clarifying crystal useless when tear coated

through the prism,
before the full length mirror,
my own, unowned, never could be owned,
'mirror mirror on the wall,'
warped weave of tissues, mine,
the song sounds, mine,
from lungs disgorged
myself, diagnosed and displayed

of what I see, spitting speech
ceases and desists,
the only thought permitted, repeated,

where is my shelter now?**


5/13/17 6:49am

awaiting the diagnosis/I need/selfish motives


yours,
that should have arrived days ago

the email silence - no different than the phone unringing,
like the sad bells of Rhymney,
those bells, asking questions
instead of singing and pealing,
so
in my yeah yeah peculiar accented english which
screams robustly in a whisper

dudewhatgivescluemein*

in a single breath, rushed as if but just one word

believe me,
my motive purely selfish
needy for a celebration
hope from a crisis avoided, originating a new seed modified,
two planted for a future spirit tree available for more than
just two poets regardless of their limited coastal biases

negative that too
a selfishness for me
cause I come willing
to exercise my
heart shoulders and arms to trim our mutualized sails,
keep our mind's eyes focused aside
towards the good bad the great in life's littlest things

I need
you to reassure me
that my own mortality,
which can only thrive,
with your poetry voice alive and
keeping track of the absurdity of the
worlds tomfoolery and lighting fast trickery
so I will be stronger longer


I need
you to make me sweet smile when you regale
with dog licking face moment tales
have to cease here for reasons evidently inexplicable

so in summary
what ere the word be,
the outlook commandeering you,
I need