john rutter plays this morning,
birds sing.

the dolls are mine, together, apart in pastel boxes,
worth a little bit. copied, light spaced.

photograph the photograph, to endear
as chinese whispers, to age and burn, to scrape,
to churn the memory, to mount on
good paper, yet delving find music, manuscript
to change my mind.

i met Reuben…………..

john rutter plays this morning.

and there…harold dreamt,
he dreamed of a boat,
one with a brown bottom,
and a rusty green rutter,
and it spun
and it spun,

the siem reap river,
of sunkissed toffee color,
he sailed on and on,
and stared at his brother,

he looked up above from the boat,
straight up at the hot steamy sun,
and his large white eyes,
stared up at a bird,

it was white and small,
with slender yellow legs,
that held a grace,
unlike any other

the crane flew in one circle above his head,
harold watched as it plummeted to the brown water below,
and at the last moment of its decent,
it shot up and across his horizon,
until it vanished

Calamity is a storm of icy rain and striking fires.
Casting you about in a boat of your own design and build.
Preparing for the approaching storm with a firm rutter.
And you will survive, only if though willed.

Calamity is a renegade goat of raging fury and slyly forte.
Hammering its way into you aiming for the throat of your own girth.
Heat and eat hearty meals to be able to retort.
And you will survive, and be of worth.

Calamity is a surprise, you cannot see it’s approach.
So be prepared and well-equipped.
Stomp it out like a fire or upon a roach.
And you will survive, through your own wit.

Mr McCormick whacked her with his stick.
His nurse that was.
Didn't want to be bothered.
He was busy reading the paper.
A political persuasion.
Frustration aggression maybe the theory.
(Michael Rutter, I believe)

Mrs Brady,
A lovely old lady.
Elderly but beautiful as she recanted tales of how she reported how she cavorted  and partied  when younger.
Such relentless hunger.
With aged joints, she still wants to dance.
Find herself a little romance.
A bit of a rumble,
Potential to tumble.
She lives in a world where all's risk assessed.

Mr Jones,
An ******* of bones.
He gave up on all of his food.
He knew what he wanted.
Family all tried to persuade him to eat.
He wanted to meet the old boy upstairs.
Greet the guy at them pearly gates.
Sipped only from an occasional caring cup.
She bade him goodbye as she walked from her shift.

Stood out on the pavement.
Window's open.
Looked close as she she walked away.
Through the open window.
She swore, she saw his spirit leave.
(C) Livvi

I remember I enjoyed drinking thinking I was a bad person. I'd share a story or two with my peeps hoping to feel find closure. Never cared to do drugs but a close friend did a line of coke right in front of me. People changed my addiction consumed me. Another friend stole so she could get her fix but it never made things right. The day she stole from me things changed. I needed to clean up. I realized alcohol made me tolerant to people because I didn't always agree or understand it would blind my judgement. I didn't like others speaking on my behalf or representing me. Once I quit drinking times got hard. My friends fall away. I changed but they think I'm that same person no longer that person anymore. Older wiser and never the same sober living has made me alone. I would question everything but I only question my actions and what I want looking for so I can achieve my goals and dreams.

they play a different tune,

yet i can still sing it. they ask

for a melody, i found

i can  sing that too.



badly.



make it up generally, is

what we do here, it is

mostly acceptable, except

when it is not, yet i  don’t

often hear about that.



they wish i write different,

yet i do not.



i listen to john rutter.



sbm.

On the occasion of my dear Robin’s 70th Birthday

When I wander with memory’s lens
Through the landscapes of our common journey
I see you everywhere and always.
I find you in my office – sorting out the chaos
Or helping Corinne or Tylka
Cut to their respective chases
With logical and designing hands.

I see us descending step by dusty step
into the pastel kaleidoscope of Grand Canyon,
eventually catching up with Dawn, the adventurer,
waiting for us at the canyon floor.
We are waiting together still at the hospital
for the emergence of Michael, Nate, Stephen and Grace
And see them anew as they approach
The portals of majority.

I see us in Vienna and Rome with Kathy and Dave.
Soaking up history and leaving a few vocal traces behind.

I hear the magic of your voice lingering in the air
Breathing life into the spells of Rutter, Poulenc, Handel, Mozart
And songs of my own conjuring.
I feel your guiding hand in my restless soul
That cannot help chase new, improbable challenges.

We have shared triumphs, trouble, elation and sorrow
As if the highs and lows were  
Equal rows woven into the tapestry
Of our common destinies.

In this beautiful high valley,
Graced by the Rockies opulent wonder,
My heart sings with love and gratitude
For all of our years together.
You are my everywhere and always
Through this Journey Beyond Compare.

Love, Robert – October 13, 2021