late May, “sheltering in place,”
the perfection of the day, a descendant
of thousands of years of predecessors,
the elements in concert, expert-wise in the ways
of coordination of sky, wind and ocean caressing
to make poems come so easy, just breeze pluck ‘em

but this heart lies heavy in the noisy stillness,
for one intercept repeats itself,
all ready already, wrote of that, many times prior,
all the parimutuel betting/writing combinations
user exhausted, each one shouting, too late,
you wrote that in such and such a place, in a time,
vague recalled under a name since forgotten

eyes are the poem title generator random,
but all asterisked, seen that, done that,
wrote that, passages that are passengers
trying to hop aboard without paying,
the fare is no fair, and the style gone quaint,
no one wants to read the regurgitated,
my rapacious pen^^^ has stolen them back anyway

my pen now, flat on desk, good only for grocery & scratching off
my countless to-write, to-do lists,
but poem writing conspicuously absent,
this my last until, my corneas transplanted, my heart-ticking
to the beat of someone else’s drumming, but, no wisdom confession,
not what I expected from my retiring “freedom days”

did my share, and periodically one of you reminds me,
of the oldies, and the semi-smile that whispers across my drying lips
says did I write that, see the place + time denoted,
saying yes, here is proof of the when and where, and hints even
of the why, but the whys and wherefores, all crossed off,
the run is over, was a good one, but this time pride will not go
before the fall, for here it is springtime and the spring in the step,
does not launch more than an inch, ground bound, and when,
you no longer can soar, it’s time to say no more

and my old friends come to sing me to rest,
Joni reminds me I have no river to skate away on,^
my feet can no longer fly, lyrics like old honey, stuck no pouring,
Bobby closes my shop, with a young man’s prophecy,
knowing it is the hour that my ship has come in...
and though my moment is in this second, perfection, thinking,
peace to you all, remembering that peace is an unceasing changeling,
my piece is spoken, been trying to leave but this is it,
“it’s all over now baby blue”^^



“Oh, the time will come up
When the winds will stop
And the breeze will cease to be breathin'
Like the stillness in the wind
Before the hurricane begins
The hour that the ship comes in”^^

Shelter Island
Memorial Day Weekend 2019

she was skilled.
a super heroine.

WWW long before there was the internet competitor,
defender of the Weaker ***,
from when that was still an
acceptable insult,
that she crushed, when found the pronouncers,
and the foundering it was of causal, her rescued army,
oblivious to the injury she risked and
completely aware,
injury she was hoping to cause.

woman. wonder, women.
and my mother,
my shelter unquestionably,
between her legs, me standing,
little boy bravery infusing,
she was his blood, his tea, his exemplar,
his teacher

drank so deep that when he was at last man-dated,
her honoring was in the reciprocal,
when he was anointed
Wonder Man.

~for the one who will know it was written for her~

muddy verb and adjective,
muddling and muddled

have you ever seen a pas de deux/deluxe,
one dancer, proscriptive,
and her partner, prescriptive?

the stage, of course,
exactly the width of your head,
from ear to shining ear

this couple o’muses dance en concert,
though their very natures are anti-logarithmic,
the value of their exponential activity is a
descriptive nomenclature

I am overly abstruse this Saturday morn,
mushing mathematics and ballet, verbal word games
as is my wont wanted,
everyone sleeping while I rise at 6am,
doing ablutions, seeking absolution,
pulling weeds from our respective gardens,
answering old friends I have yet to meet,
to whom I answer,
“still here, though long time no see,”
which is of course hysterical funny, inherently contradictory,
as the brain grasps well my
Red and Dead Sea brain cells, a splitting motif

muddling and muddled,
proscribed from getting on transport,
to deliver to you the proper healing prescriptive,
as if I had in my possess to diagnosis and correctly assess

even though one of my many passport names,
a requirement, to visit,
this inter-netting ether, that both combines and separates,
permits me safe passage,
over the historical lineage of borderlines of land and sea,
to deliver this message,
to you
woman

I am here, waiting patiently, though long time no see like ever,
absentia, dementia, both self-censure,
here, then, my cadenza,
dedicated solely soulfully for you,
as the sabbath sun rises over the East River,
saying, laughing unto me,
“still here, though long time no see,”
for though I cannot look upon her, my sun, my sun,
yet she, as well, is everywhere-inside of me,
warmly illuminating my muddled mind

~for Allison~

she loves your poetry,
ok you think,
cause you just love her his-stories of her/here life,
the children, the musician, nominate her as daughter,
her poetry and her yay’s spontane-us,
we are fan fanatical
of each other

and she describes us perfectly -

“So I am an idiot standing in a sad storm of letters that are unrelenting”

ok you think,
not bad, for surely
only the most precious things in life are
unrelenting

2/20/19