A Pesky Pensee Of Two Leaders
  
I knew
Gerald and James
One took the world by storm
One took a nation gone wrong
Both on other side now
  
Tanstaaft 1
  
Godfather Brown
President Ford
Closer to Lord
  
  
Tanstaaft 2
  
President Ford
Godfather Brown
Now in the ground
  
  
  
Quinzaine
  
Gerald Ford and Ol' James Brown
Who has more guests
At their rests

They gathered by Williamson Road at sun-up
      from neighboring spreads across the Tioga valley.
They came with carts laden with lumber stacks -
      with saws, adzes, hammers and sundry tools.

They gathered with the homesteaders bond.
      to co-build their neighbor's' dreams.

Sweet music of community echoed off the hills.
     Chisels clanged into rock, shaping the foundation,
saws sang into boards to frame a timbered skeleton.
     The staccato syncopation of hammers fastened walls
that soon would shelter plowshares, stock and grain.
      A smithy leaned over his fire and forge -
chiming iron into sturdy latches and hinges.

     Children scurried about mixing squeals and laughter
with exuberant fetching and lifting whenever called.
    
In two short passings of the sun the deed was done
      and a handsome new barn, decked out in a wash of red
was silhouetted tall and proud against the fading light.

Homesteaders gathered at a celebration table
      to share a hearty meal adorned by the music
of fiddles, grateful smiles and easy laughter.
  
Then one by one they steered their wagons home
      gazing back at what their labors had wrought -
knowing to the depth of their communal souls
      that we are more together than we are apart

Listen up, America!  This is the music of community.
      We are more together than we are apart.

*© 2016 by Robert Charles Howard

Addiction's innocent cousin ***** needling into my veins
infected me seasons ago
the ache I once felt still strong as mast's girth

From wind to wind sea to sea we internally roamed
in my mind the map was a treasure trove for exploration
i never was bound to lake shore
wind whipping tide tussling rousing mornings and dusky
nights

My mistresses my pleasure gliding goddess
drift lazily and let me sing praise with shouts "Boom"
but coy or not I coil spry
aged not with time
but lessons learned

The youngest have yet to grow
knowledge of the mystery fables tell
of beautiful passings

Land's unreachable without proper direction
rudderless a hair's breadth magnified out of reach
cool autumn leaves fall on my skiff

She tugs at my heart and at your golden hemp locks
they have all my love stolen from your deck your bow
your stern your timber your core
but let us sail evermore

You should hear Her speak of the time
When love had struck Her, left Her blind;
The intuition in Her breast
Was left ignored with just one request:
“Please, love with care (with no hate);
This may prepare you for your fate.”

Then, a One-Eyed-Monster dared to peep
At this starry-eyed Girl with a soul still asleep.
The Monster's nature, as it strove with pleasure,
Pleased Its infinite fervor, which nothing could measure,
As It Schemed, and found, and mostly destroyed
Her love-struck spirit that It yearned to employ.
These reckless hits made by this Daring Dart,
Un-mended the Girl from Rosebud to Heart.

Not believing all the Monster said,
The Girl sought the truth, but found it with dread.
Upon seeing this Monster's very bright colors,
She drowned in sorrow, but refused another
Hit by this Dart, as It still carelessly slaughters
Other Hearts, like Its future Daughter’s.  

And then came a time, much later in life,
When the Girl understood love’s unending strife.
Many One-Eyed-Monsters, She now bears in mind,
Aspire to love, but still cannot find
The passion They hunt for and ache to sway,
Because they zip Themselves up when love comes Their way.
Confusion They feel, and this does not die;
But, what can They see with only one eye?

These perilous passings on love’s sojourn
The Girl does not dwell on, nor does She mourn.
Instead, She has found new ways to see
Love’s ultimate beauty, unexpectedly:
A journey enGENDERED with Ladies of taste,
Where only Her own *** can love back without hate.

Caldies Park. Wet & Grey
A just-want-it-over kind of day
Retirees with dogs blather & jabber
For little we know when a week turns sadder

Long time ago, little girls laughter
A life of plenty, much sought after
Sands of time count down the years
What once was joy, turns now to tears

Doggy Church Warden smiles & chats
Talking inanely of old womens' hats
When valued souls lie close by
And loved ones ask a lonely 'why'

Always be cheery, always be kind
You know not of that man's mind
Sat over there with coffee, words amassing
Mulling forlorn on friends a-passing.

Go swiftly out into the damp garden
Bump an elf & utter a 'Pardon!"
For we never know when this race is run
So strive only for justice, love & fun
And then, then you can say you're done.

joey
left today

the radiance of a
summer sunshine
gone dark

an icon
of jersey shore
memories

lost to the
rumbling
breakers

a joie de vivre
crested

ebbing waves
flow out

ushered off
by friendly
on-shore winds

the day bespeaks
a perfect symmetry
departing life's shores
on Sandy’s anniversary
marking momentous days
of passings and arrivals

may you safely arrive
on the seaside shores
in the place of eternal
summer sunshine

vaya con dios
mi hermano




for joey

Fleet Foxes:
Grown Ocean

10/29/30
oakland
jbm

Po-hymn


To whomever you pray to,
And if there is no such icon,
Then I hymn-hum to you, this tribute


Let all my mistakes, my typographical errors,
Like writing poem and getting back po-hymn,
Bring delights to keep, to grow ancient on my face,
For from every accident, we grow and bend,
New tree leaning towards our collective inner
Sun Ra.

I am no David, psalms and hymns,
Unreadily exist, so dug deep Lord,
To write this prayer, for my brethren.
Just one day, someday, let heaven
Grant only poets births, no passings took.

Give us goodness and grace
All the poems of our day.
Shed special light all about our faces,
From our shoulders, rise up insight inside our heads,
Brighten, enlighten, give us eloquence and sanity.

Let our missives dismiss the gloom,
Polish, remove the tarnish, we cannot secret
From the all seeing confessions taker,
Honesties writ daily but never published.

Give us meter, yes, give us rhyme,
To make sense of the grey days,
The black hole invaders,
Given iris-shine be our responsibility,
But a sweet nudge, prithee,
Enhance our impoverished ability.

This Sabbath day your fog-hide
Your gift of bay and beach
So quiet implore, beseech,
Keep the sailors safe,
And your poets saved.

I ask much.
But I ask for all of us,
There are so many such
That are booster-chair needy
That I am succumbed, overwhelmed,
Enormity fearsome needs help even from a deity.

Small words, big hopes.

If you cannot grant it,
Won't wait for intervention,
Do it myself, answer prayers one and all,
Best I can, starting now with this
Po-hymn.

July 13th for always

If I were to paint my words
Long strokes of

                           Purple

Harsh indent where pen meets paper
And

        Dark Blue

Jagged lines, interrupt the pretty pattern
Beautiful flowering blooms of

                                     Magenta

Signify that through times of

               Indigo

Passings, hope shines through.

you do not know art, like i know Art.
though you paraded your passings in public
it was i who, Art, trusted with his secrets
it was my window, that Art, tapped when the arguing began
yes, you may have enjoyed a dinner or engaged in conversation with him
but he never trusted you with paintings of the english language
or pictures worth a thousand songs
you didnt get 6 stitches, with Art, when you tried to climb the tallest tree
to reach out and touch heaven but still fear the fall
you didnt find Art trembling in a bathroom from what he saw
that day. You didnt find Art in broad daylight dancing
to some invisible meter, some transparent beat
you didnt see the patterns left in the steps of his feet
and while you may have gone to the cinema with Art
it was i he forwarded the scripts
to reenact a lifetime of moments
because we, Art and i, wanted a silver lining
something vague, something inspiring
to keep this momentum going
and while you claim to know this being, Art
you have not participated in a drunken brawl
with Art, involving a few rotten Connecticut men
and things not in our control
you haven't discussed eternity and death
with Art, or any of his close friends
and though, i'm sure you may have wish you did
you do not know art, like i do.

You are alive
Yet not at all, it seems
As though you are of living dead
A skull with a beating heart

Dreams of death, despair, decay
Surround you in your passings
I feel them as you go on your way
And look on with helpless wonder

How did you create yourself
The way you are
Born from golden promise.
Now known as the ruiner of tradition,
An iconoclast of her own
In the negative connotation.

You are elusive
Futile
Miserable.
Each breath you take should be
A nicotine filled dream
For why breath free if you're already dead.

I encourage you no more to live,
I ask you to relent
You're strangled by the joy of life
And happiness is your cancer.

Goodbye, once friend I knew so well
I know you no more and
For that I say
Goodbye to the living dead.

It took effervescent,
Everlasting,
Highway road sign passings
To get to Colorado
Now I walk
Brooding in the surreptitious snow,
Its gleaming,
Giving meaning,
Trying to reflect back the fact of why were here
The stars are screaming the purpose of life
But we can't hear what isn't near
Light years away is how I spend my day
Reminiscing over you
Under a sky of blue
Durango dreaming of brunette nights,
My final destination's with you in my sights

I see patterns heavy,
I see patterns light.
I see the circumference
Of warm, summer nights.

Of dialogues listened.
And shows, all but seen.
I see such collections,
Of coincidenced things.

I feel all the passings.
The futures of taste.
We'll dance in full patterns.
My hands on your waist.

We circle the knowing
And outskirt the norm.
We cling to an Earthwhile,
In gravity warms.

I know I must forget you
Our spicy little passings
The hope, dancing on the surface with nervous energy
ripples across the water

It must end
A trail that leads nowhere
Off a cliff or into a pile of rocks
It only looks like it will lead you to your destination

The destination, a mirage
you see it, but your hand passes through
Again and again
Excitement leads to dissapointment
an endless circle, rolling across the hot pavement

Grief on top of grief... Ill never forget these passings. You gave up on me, he never did. He showed me unconditional love, you showed me what isn't. Every morning I hurt because things will never be the same. Both of you are gone. He will never return. If you do, you will be dead in my eyes as he is, which is maybe what you wanted. Selflessness and selfishness hit me hard each day that passes. Forgive, but I'll never forget.

The most fascinating desires and activities
are often times prohibited,
they demand us to love, to procreate and
then, detach us from this thought,
a need which we occult bellow a
tender, gruesome shade of indignity.
They demand us to work, and gladly we do it,
we are unsatisfied, yet no effort so far has succeeded
and not submitting to the voice is appropriate so long as
you remain unnoticed.
For then you'll be dragged into their cages of insolence,
Are not all but one single being?
How many degrees and efforts are required to rule over
another one's heart?
The heart is its own,
it knows better than anyone else
the solemn, perpetual voice,
amongst the others, escaping breathlessly,
uttering madness.
Yet, after the world has sunken into
a frigid state,
it is there - beating;
even if you try to silence it,
its presence prolongs.
No one is capable of ruling over a mind or heart,
or whatever terminology pleases you,
so long as it is that pure grasp of
eternity's profound breath under your caved chest,
that feeling, that very one,
the one that holds the truths and passings
of existence, yet it remains silent.
Though undecipherable, it is understood,
It is felt.
It does not follow the reproaches of
the mind, for rather,
it governs it,
and entices it in such way,
that it allows it to be free,
the latter speaks a language of its own.

(happy  belated first birthday, po-hymn)*


To whomever you pray to,
And if there is no such icon,
Then I hymn-hum to you, this tribute


Let all my mistakes, my typographical errors,
Like writing poem and getting back po-hymn,
Bring delights to keep, to grow ancient on my face,
For from every accident, we grow and bend,
New tree leaning towards our collective inner
Sun Ra.

I am no David, psalms and hymns,
Unreadily exist, so dug deep Lord,
To write this prayer, for my brethren.
Just one day, someday, let heaven
Grant only poets births, no passings took.

Give us goodness and grace
All the poems of our day.
Shed special light all about our faces,
From our shoulders, rise up insight inside our heads,
Brighten, enlighten, give us eloquence and sanity.

Let our missives dismiss the gloom,
Polish, remove the tarnish, we cannot secret
From the all seeing confessions taker,
Honesties writ daily but never published.

Give us meter, yes, give us rhyme,
To make sense of the grey days,
The black hole invaders,
Given iris-shine be our responsibility,
But a sweet nudge, prithee,
Enhance our impoverished ability.

This Sabbath day your fog-hide
Your gift of bay and beach
So quiet implore, beseech,
Keep the sailors safe,
And your poets saved.

I ask much.
But I ask for all of us,
There are so many such
That are booster-chair needy
That I am succumbed, overwhelmed,
Enormity fearsome needs help even from a deity.

Small words, big hopes.

If you cannot grant it,
Won't wait for intervention,
Do it myself, answer prayers one and all,
Best I can, starting now with this
Po-hymn.

July 13th for always
Pohymn.    Such are prayers born

Stop making my nose water
I am already feeble
I talk to you expecting response
O great life nothing
You overlook me without realization
selfishly expecting me to cut you slack that
others oblige literally as I once did
I flee half-heartedly
my scythe too dull
A lively current has entered me
A bramble sided stream
teaching me fluidity and unworthiness
and that reaching to the thorny stems
may be a test of my strength
All the drawn blood
markers to restep my past
All the fresh wounds
trials to test O great life nothing's silent passings

How many warnings taken as possible lies

shall we dare, if
first time, we were right?

Feel it? You know?

Not dying when, you know,

you could have, you know what dying is,
and
this
feeling,
that's life. Wanna risk it? What if we agree,

whatever we imagine is possible,
together, nothing can defeat us. In the most

straight-forward intuitive way you comprehend:
whatever we imagine is possible,
together, nothing can defeat us.

Virtually impossible to let such an idea free,
safely.

I'm good, three score and ten plus a few extended
journeys through
history and myth at the speed of thought

brings us here, just short of where we'd have met
in the final analysis
which
takes ever and a day

during which passings of times we breathe,
peacefully.
we troublers of our own house,
heirs of the wind and all its
princely powers,
subject

to right use, our
bhering
clear answers, affirming ever
oboroborobo oboe riffs on electric bass\
backed by Feynman pounding Djembe
drums through NAND
gates tittling jots of
rythmic swirls
in
backward 720s, time
and again,
as Sisyphus
ever rolls, happishly,
random
rocks,
laughing at jour yoke of yesteryears job titles.

Our final task, in every mortal moment,
breathe peace, and pass on.

Or that's my plan. Y'think it'll fly?

Her curiosity slipped in,
in silence, viewing
the clear, clean canal, exploring
the slow passings of time,
the wear and tears of years
of rough passage, ready to excise
any hint of a foreign body.

And his body lay, foetal,
while the nurse stroked his hand
assuring him the end was in sight,
but he kept still, his eyes tight shut
until she re-emerged,
and he could blink back into the light.

Under the shine of the moon,
Hand in hand on the strand,
Listening to the subtlest of sounds,
Of hearts and minds entwined,
And lives tangled together,
With the moon's passings.

A glance, a wink, a blown kiss,
A mist, a vapor,
Disappearing time traces.
Brief fleeting things,
Brought to memory,
In times as this!

A touch, a rub, an embrace,
Whispered words loudly heard.
A sweet mash of lips,
Leading to luscious heights,
With throes of ecstasy,
While standing in dreamy repose.

A fresh love grown old,
Tempered like finest steel,
Against life's arrows and flames,
A love to press on,
Till breath is gone,
And the shine is no more.

© 2016 Jim Davis

My life is my behind me
And I'm looking in a mirror
A year passed by
But did I do enough?

Circumstantially, my life became hell
Death and tragedy were glaring me in the face
And yet, my response was
"Bring it on, *******."

They did
And for a short time
It seemed they were winning.
I was assaulted and lost friends
Due to events surrounding it.
I lost loved ones
To death's spearhead.

I was sad
I was lonely
I was anxious
And I had every right to be.

An eating disorder had drawn me in
And lured me with his lies.
The end seemed to be approaching
As my abuser came back to work
And I could not even speak of
What he did to me.

However,
The fact that I could choose
Whether or not to care empowered me.
I stopped giving him what he wanted:
Control.
I took that back
And it feels spectacular.

My bulimia is almost gone
One more month until I reach remission.
This was done because I made a choice
A choice to stop the madness
That controlled my life
I took that back
And it feels delightful.

As for the tragic passings
They linger with me still.
They remain like a bad taste in my mouth
But I don't want to spit them out.
I remember each individual
As more than a tragedy, but a person
I remember them in life
Rather than in death.
I finally can control my memories that I replay.
I took that back
And it feels incredible.

So, in reflection
I took my life back
And it couldn't feel better.

Deep passions and divine passings
You will never speak from your inside, out.
Mistakes linger here and there
But you think it's fine, you have it made.
Take it from the worst of them all
This is not the decision, it's not okay.
When you trip and fall
Into strawberry poison
Don't scrub off the deep stains.
Someday you will understand
But I hope you learn from my messes
That this is the time for an outburst of your most prized oragan
Precious ,though you were, I let you sift through my fingers
And once you loose that precious sand
It's hard to gain it back COMPlETELY
By picking it up
Grain by grain

here
in between the day-dream filaments
and textured passings of seconds
the immovable you, shining  
a rendezvous for blinking thoughts
and shadow-bubbles of sensation
slow-floating filters
shifting by

a curtained room
the weaving of sheets
a meeting unattended
and waiting
you were there all along

when light is bended
it changes color,
when it breaks it becomes them all.
it's all right to stay unmended,
embrace your weight
than let it fall.

clown car
too much
for ghost

I climbed a tree today to wish you happy new year
You were nowhere I looked around and you were not here
I hear the sound of old guitars
Remember passings
I think of you. you're not around and I am still here
Why I remember in your bed we had it all dear, all the laughter
I hope the listener can figure out you are not here
And how all the laughter disappeared
'cause you are not here

Sometimes I want to throw myself off taller buildings
I could just let them out
Burst into tears or something
How could I let you out of
what was best for me
Las Vegas nights are brighter
Its night sky now too cloudy
I can not see the shooting stars or hear pal call out "howdy"
Remember 60's acts, the crowd would roar in laughter
How all that laughter disappeared
When you were not here

I spin around, I lose my mind then I fall down
Because my mem'ry is so unkind to me
Keep thinking of you constantly

I know I died when I was three but, that was diff'rent
Before I met you, saw you smile and heard you giggle
I know it's crazy in my mind you're in that blue dress
The one that had that white bow tied
The one that made you gift-wrapped
Now all I do is suffer from gyromancy
I spin around, so dizzy
But, I can't spell anything

And all the people, might be just there laughing at me
But, diddint you hear
That all the laughter disappeared
When you were not here

Winter is stirring beneath my skin
Clutches my bones, tells me I'm cold
Head sinking down, down it goes below
Growing up, growing old
I iron out my creases but I can't stop the fold

And each year I get better at it
This thing called living, carrying my own skin
But each year still feels like drifting
The clock strikes and I am somewhere
All things new, all things, they just go

Holding life by the frays, unraveled threads
Weave and follow
I follow
And find
Other knots to untie

And somewhere, someone says hello
Greetings, passings, goodbyes and we go
Dreaming of infinite versions, you again
Unshaped entity that flickers like a flame in the darkness
Lighting my way, on and off and on and on
As one we grow

A perplexing trust for trial ends this endeavor, a blending blasphemy, of me this court does suggest.

As preening voids, the zygotes, blyme, they be gouging the eyes of the word; not hither then upon the afore, tenure observed as a state, which exiled is you.

Now begin in amorous help. Fiend, friend, to begin hath thou the gaul? To annex this; thus we will begin.

"Player, composite, Sauls of my own form... You can't believe how beautifully, grievingly misunderstood is all that a mutual sanctuary stands for...truly is... or unwittingly shall...and is not!"

Priests, clubbers, Demons, usurpers, lovers all envied of miscue(the default form). Their lives of shores of the Sea of Calamities, stern amuck the floam... temerity to continue their negations play.

"Therein thinking a theory of thought. The theory is Daemon of poverty, the emersion of hope, empathetically ill 'con'.. 'truaght'. As
I had thought. Now be seated, all and sovereign thimbles on tinders of papyrus, tinders on kindling, fires of the vanities...so.."

The Judge said, "We begin again."

I warn thee now, Saints of lore didn't enjoy the mentioned or the heretofore.

"Neither Satan nor God, Fairy nor Preacher could'st so understand that I said, ' I couldn't take it anymore, I cast my very last spell and found myself in bed'"

The chamber abruptly decried of calamity and doom. The sanguine despot of evil's charm pleading for mercy. This tale did not end...

"Of majority I inform 'The persecution had formed a **** and shales of deviance of Heaven's abrupt roofs, feln at no mercy...a request.'"

"A mentor is nor promiscuous and the dabbled in victory is ours in study and form!"
So reckoning for further remorse, no time off, no deliberations for jury's recourse.
Cont'd
"Settlers with lanterns, the mocking Tern with letter did bring'st. A written confession entered this forth for duly appropriated evidence..."
Should mercy do require of
my plea, then bickering, is
of how many, of killed. Which
Jury member, flauntingly, tauntingly
it should be!

Another fluster. Time consumed. Wits prancing on Hate's Gate made deference of the decree, but not for the court, of whom, we entrust all our wit!

"Now, now. Simple folks we've all had our drinking sessions and fancy empaths, who lie on erudite chagrin, not the actual words for which a Daemon does hold within." The defense tried falseness, perjury in the evening debate; as cautering of word with unholy terror should be met with.
"If no further evidence is to be beheld, the deliberations can pass into the hasty congress which we hold honored and true. Be returned by the midnight hour, for it's then with this Daemon, dear folks," the Judge complained, "we'll know what to do."

Valkyries, Cavaliers, Angels, innocents wept as time upon the throne, the jury, until churning of clocks, the jury was kept.
Gathered were children, vixens, nobles and common citizens, as abrupt, did begin this midnight hush.

"Have you found a contempt, a fortune 6 for 6 plea 6? A jurisdictional deliverance of which light can not alone ***** the passings allotted by thee?"

"We have your honor"

And so the final waves, as durational salient crying vows, were set to broken upon virgins, churches, and broken tree boughs.

"Not...entirely...perpetually...free.. Guilty is the Daemon, no mercy to be shown. The sentence is passed, a proclamation which we defend as appropriate, all noting to the taken of, spoken of in the heretofore."

All were quieted of vices with meals made for axes and guillotine, as somber looks denied those unfortunate to find; Skink a friend not a fink. Then the words resounded, a damnation did sound...

"Implored of a vice that shant be similar in any such derivation of a humanity which we call binding, the voracious need to be freed under the conviction of the guilty Daemon's bidding."

And so we awaited kilter to the proud. A slurry of legions both curious and in an ironic way evily proud.

"To scour the Earth in no other form than that of the distraught and unwanten, and begin again the vicious cycle of death with no life till thee's crime is forgiven."

Ordinance and plethora's of charm shall never question the Daemon of said name and claim.

They did'st disarm.

As surely as to the very day until in the future no other sentence could take the place of understood powers of the court whom you have been advised of and; if adversary crosses your path you must invoke with no alarm.

Beyond the quarter moon's melody,
Reminiscent of ****** passings
               The Edge deflecting certain ends,
A Look into the Child's goddess,
And the warmth from beginnings
               Like eternal lamentation of nocturnal
Dreams into sudden arms,
A cry for that crystalline
              Where time has no rapture
And The Edge seems a return,
I dive deeply and willfully

             A certain fate after interwoven years
Life I bid you.....
             A fall to be reborn.

Finally I am awake,
No more passings-by.
Finally I remember,
No more faded shapes.
Finally I can feel,
No more shallow blinks.
Finally I am here,
No more losing grips.
There is no closure to these lines,
Today it started, the existence of mine.

he said closing his eyes,
         i feel like a tree clutching the rocks on some high place,
        weary of wind and winter
        and grey of wood.
        my tired fingers in the tired ground.
        heavy of lid and brow,
        remembering too many passings and partings in the dim of
        mornings.  
        and you will think if foolish but for the shrubbery fading
        and the bees not returning in the summer

There is no more alluring scene to attend to, than to make love with
who you love. Passings of the heart in actions. Exchanging parts of
the soul. Denying loneliness in this existence. Forgetting Death’s own
landscape. **** holiness, smoking ancient dogma, saturating poetry
with poetic images. Obscure now. On purpose, turned away from
everyday life. Orbiting words, to begin the process of expressing love.
It’s only done in actions, muted silence, or speaking in passionate
words. Life without thee, a life like everybody else. Dull, local, boring
and aimless, as insecurity to fit in heightens. Lover, as we continue to
live, we are, a paradox to this haunting world, muscling up to mocking
time. As peace drops and stays within us, I’m not longer afraid to live,
because of you, I am no longer afraid to die. I belong to you.
https://www.amazon.com.au/Killing-Philosophy-Reflection-Darcy-Prince-ebook/dp/B07F9QVCW4/ref=sr12?ie=UTF8&qid=1531092503&sr=8-2&keywords=darcy+prince