Growing Hazelnuts in the Pacific Northwest
(a conversation between two coastal poets)


we periodic update each other by
email or poetry...writers choice

~~~
my turn but
not an easy poem to commence,
for its eminent domain fraught
with relative comparisons favoring one side,
emphasizing the differences that life prefers to offer
a magnetic choice,
attract or repel

a language conundrum
an iron-strong irony that the poem's ending,
its commencement, its ceremonial completion,
far easier for me to forecast before the real work initiated
<•>
commanded  by you to write of me and mine,
with detailed, careful accuracy
as if it were a poem!

So Why Not a Poem Then?**

my hasty notes emailed upon my current status
you dislike for they are both brief and oblique,
poorly scripted, yet generous
with typological confusion, writing in this genre of
self-evaluation always is concluded by me as:

devolving into either boring, pompous or delusional aggrandizement or the final infinity-indignity of
mealy mouth whining

so an updated poem will be writ,
the happenings of my life have not changed greatly,
the struggle to earn daily bread that supports a familial universe, grows more difficult as demand for buggy whips drops even more ferociously with the onset of miracle
self-driving cars

your son fights fires, commands the earned allegiance of men who fight that which threatens the survival of others life and limb, mine, fights for the his daily bread which is only equivalent in its mind numbing insidious mental exhaustion

I make no judgements or place any emphasis erroneous

the California fire, your sons volunteered absence,
leaves living holes in your family to be filled,
and the burden shifts with the Oregon wind, northward,
upon your old-er tired-er shoulders,
a somewhat similar etching on my body
carved in Eastern Standard Time worry lines

reading between the lines of your concerns,
read of all the plans in process,
feel the cares and concerns that  lself-sacrifice impose,
among them the 75 acres of hazelnuts harvest ready
that need his missing hands to do the harvesting work

which makes my daily shifting of financial instruments
seem very, very, petite bourgeoisie

I have studied in some detail the minutiae of hazelnut harvesting methodologies which makes me into another
east coast expert poet - confident in his opinions validity,
tho devoid of any hands-on experience and would not recognize a hazelnut from the ones (nuts) floating in my head

well, here must also admit into evidence that every potted plant or tree I ever purchased in the Flower District (West 30's) died. ignominiously. that a delicious word deserved of being spoken aloud for the
accuracy of its sounds

as predicted ending this poem, far, far easier than the writing

we cross pollinate each others lives; selfishly think, nay,
convinced, each, I am the possessor of the better half of the deal, for me the loving of your ordinary of soil and ash,
*** wee football, the honest labor of building things
is getting an honors degree in sharing

though,
though worrying about our children
seems to be deemed a bi-coastal commonality

perhaps the Yankees will win tonite, (nope)
perhaps the Giants will upend the Seahawks tomorrow, (nah)
items of passing interest that will soon pass,
for your real serious worries are
combulated confabulated and combusted with mine,
what is yours - now mine shared

this intersection happens when two poets from opposite ends of these united states cross pollinate via manly hugs,
75 acres of friendship that need harvesting,
and the earned respect of insight into our singular
psyche so rich-earth deserved

with manly hugs and respect

your friend the n-man
Oct 20-22, 2017

~~~

I have needs
and they are needy needs
They paw at my hands as I type
and lay upon the mouse.

The needs say your name to me while I try and spell "confabulated" and make it come out "infatuated" but I don't mind.
I don't mind anything any need any nudge any nosing the crook of my arm to pull it away from its assigned task.

The task is *******, and you are everything.

imagine

an image in the forms of art or artistry, tapping into the tapes of these tapestries, sinking into the cosmic industry, finding the osmosis in dust I try to see

Page

A pinned inch into an image telling tales of its wonder vintage
a sage in an age where the page in ink was written, the wise were smitten, was it in the crystal skull or the temples where these are hidden

And

And rage and age anger doth blow page undone, so tense the stage, intimidated the fake but for like of fame or latent shame there then thy blame on the telly and materialistic dames but lame so fade the hunger for the late...

found

in this present moment potent breathing lively accents searching during time's rumination for its succulent excellence and bustling vowels and sensual scents have one drooling in the streams of a truth confabulated in eternity. in a breath, just being and clearly seeing all of its meaning.

my derelict third year in the drone:
a way to assuage what it feels to

function. to breathe mechanical air.
the rambunctious scent of morning appears

ill, confabulated, lysergic at most.
ladies in lithe dresses pose for pressing scenes.

taken photographs held up in loose light.
pelvises unloosening, ****** on the thoroughfares

fishing for trout as men, men as flowers,
lackadaisical graffiti dropping like simian jaw

upon visions of thigh. everything signatures a suture
so precise like a repair of the lip,

or the rapture of birds in impossibly blue skies.
news was that a fortune was coming in,

and I slept within the masses; dreams deliberately
vandalized and fragged.

they said it would be
marvelous. they said it would not ****.

i see a woman
in her 20s. falling subtly, a gingham dress

sexed if not pullulated by flower-heads,
she said it would be darling

my third year in the machine.

I was once in isolation
alone in bifurcation
nobody to love and yet so pleased

but then you came in
taking my breath away
my heart beat elevated with every word you'd say

the very first time we met
I was unsure what was to come forth
the very first time we talked and our shoulders touched, I remember

on February we started singing serenades of our love
oh so absolute, so divine
it was that we amalgamated

our thoughts coincided
we met and shared our first kiss
it was so precious and the moment too

how our fingers entwined
how our bodies grooved
our eyes confabulated the truth

our love so true, so real
my heart feels so weighed and eyes so teary
how you managed to carry me along with you

its been an 8 month tenure
oh how time passes
if only we'd have a clue!

lighter, on balance or noise? I imagine
minds must be spirit first. I maximise… diffusion

or do I surmise? I promise, a maxim,
I do not know, but may
I say to my self who has the keys,
and find
qwerty guy, let us pull the thread, I said
- inner self ware SDK-ith {Writ in LISP}
- Soft-ware Deployment Kick-in-the-head
Okeh, says my eye listening to BBC 4,
from everhowlong ago,
Auden and Turing, lauded by geeks
and the per-ifery of no-repro-models, idividuating.

Laughing I hear it said, College Students
believe every thing they read, is known
you belive, for a second
all of this is true, or may, could, be maybe
to all who read things they read right.
- or do they believe the things they read? Critical point.
---------------------------
True story, on the trail to Admah, from Zeboiim,

-later, maybe

Change from good enough,
to best imaginable, actual
heaven ahead of schedule.

Let us literally agree, literally means:
since the 1530s,
"in a literal sense,
according to the exact meaning
of the word or words used,"

From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=literally>

According to knowledge,
as my granddaughter, Delaney, has noticed.
Knowledge, itself, per se,
is the ultimate authority. She was seven.

To go into the garden, we must love each other or die.
The Daisy ad, played to boomer voters, reared
in public schools
with current events mandated
tested ala spelling bees, current events champs,
all aspiring Jeopardy champs, after retiring from…

That was the grey flannel mind, reset-
Total War, the 1965 one-off comic,
Musgrove ran away and joined the army.
- scattered brains far better than none
- -----------
I was away in 1968.

And when I returned,
I hid in here,
undermining reality, souldout.
- as conjecture has it I was expected
- to go into the ministry.
- It seems a deal was made,
- for my sister Peggy's unbaptized soul.
- I was sould to the Child Buyer… 1951
------ jump cut-
I escaped the historical 1970's

but for the mind virus common to cults.
--- my world furled tritest tricolor flat real.
TV Ad… in passing 1972… ALERT… no
repair called for, idle threat redeemed
in time, though, you know,
- hell, what if, Jesus is a Sadist?
idle threat, you
better believe, I am
gonna vote for good.
JBS library, and the KJV
Meldau's The Messiah,
in Both Testaments.

Phreak me out. This is that Neal Young trip.
Journey Through the Past,
Handel's Messiah, live from the Alamo Cult.
- we elected our own Mayor.
- So, sit on your bayonet
- Mr. Cahill from Rolling Stone…

and what else might I be
gonna vote for?
You can do anything with bayonets,
it is said, Napoleon said.
better believer, raises the ***,
_ there are two kinds of knowledge
------------ jump cut from the cover
of Rolling Stone. Bet me…
Genesis. Call, I raise you M-DNA.
good and evil, who told you she was naked?
-- is this poker or Go?
I thought it was truth or consequences,
from yes,
-oh, yeh, same…
They let anybody in this spirit realm.
------------- garden of LBJ's inaugural vision
Only evil knowing, no evil doing.
You never forget that.
--- the wedom I was
Divvied up to be.
Eretz
Persona. We ache
at evil's constant threat, gonna
gitchagitchagitcha
rub you raw
itchy ear, you hear,
have you never read,
-- SYTFiction formally,
some things one learns,
there comes a state… as
minds conform to standards.
-Same Yesterday Today Forever,
wake up.
face the music, pass water and cess.
Get the act together,
put the show on the air.
-Radioman remincing
-how he helped Sisyphus try once
more,  to activate the effectual
fervent mode
on purpose, roll on,
a job, from Truth, per said.
-----------
All the gangs I ever was near,
as an eligibility tech,
in the war
on poverty,
during the crack baby scare-
scare that was viral at the time.
-- those grew from wild boys,
corralled in the system,
susceptible to spiritual advisory
boredom
resulting in, yep,
the legendary wasted mind,
-time in mind, time may be deemed.
Used, not wasted…
made idle instead of being made
an idle mind's workshop,
fabricating confabulated reasons
for war, on call, pull the trigger,
ryhmes in y'mind, you know
- whatcheworth, y'little devil?

workshop… an idled mind, kick starts.
-New reality, a first whatifier glimpse.
May, I nod, may is your word in my wedom.

Look around, all these stupid
crack babies we was warning
don't you dare be born,
boy… you'd be better off dead.

-- what are we up to, wh'sgwanon?

We were born with a sense of common,
we know, without the filters emotions use,
we see through the glass at UHD and beyond

on wifi-only cellphones unupgraded years ago,
we are the world-
on the internet from McDonald's,
Persona Eretz,
we who read this line, we are attached
in context at the time, we are aware we are
in formed
ware, words in congress with progress,
pining to say, I think, Jerry Pournelle said:

Pens with motors are more powerful
than swords with motors.

Ai say, Intelligence twisted to defend oaths,
is powerless when opposing basic ethical I
Ai Go, win, causing no shame,
win by least possible point, of course,
through human events,
living history doxology. Sign off,

Three key salute.