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#love #life
#sad #pain
#depression
#death #you
#sadness #heart
#hurt
this is my concession speech
having dabbled in the above black arts,
what needs saying, been said
and pun pardon,
not too alive,
like fav jeans,
pretty much worn to holey death,
put aside for a well needed rest
I am losing,
a real loss,
not candor, not inspiration,
but finding new ways to say new things,
well aware that Balanchine said
"there are only new combinations"
nature, I have dabbled,
but ready, easy to concede
this is Harlon's
River, his wilderness territory
he without peer,
unequaled in essaying on
this planet's essentials
as for the magic of daily grinding,
nothing could be finer,
than to see the family and the daily bread
made, fed, and put to bed,
than by the hands of
betterdays,
while
Pradip
makes me laugh,
with his wifely wisdom and jokes
and the humanity of his insights
and prods deeper,
make me a
weeper-profusely,
keeping us all
real and unplugged,
and
Bala's
journal's mysteries illuminate and spice
the places hidden,
by me, from myself
the
r
man who has got his shoes impudently railing,
cap'n never complains or whines,
but in precious few,
he rivets you to the earth,
fixing rooting you to a rooted place,
he intoxicates with
southern simple and pithy,
and makes the title poet,
a worthy one
could I go on naming names?
sure,
Mother
Maria
said, "chile, it ain't necessarily so,"
Kelly
adds beautiful,
and I agree with her rose
that grows even in her rugged soul's clime,
Simrik,
a child who writes
old wisdom from where acquired unknown,
and
Oliviaputs the
O
on my mouth smiling
anyway can't,
write so good no more (see),
finding
SJR's
voices now
in my head,
saying
careful boy,
you already wrote that
in a single consorting chorus voice
been authorized to dribble drivel,
but that don't cut for prideful fools
like yours true and truly,
tho looking at this,
what lies above,
would be doing
an inaccurate accurate,
calling this worthwhile,
feels like
a phony smile
so what to pursue?
silence not an option,
for the brain inferno'd
and the devils pitchfork
pinpricking with stabs of
visionary guilty judgements
so of what to write?
the answering simple uncomplexity,
Shauuna,
so here are the things I tell myself
forget the me in we and write
of thee, let that be my solitary
tag,
pray god don't make a hash of it,
write of new poets uncovered,
play thru ego and play hard to
recover thyself
by focusing on
uncovering
thee,
the new poets who
will lead the way,
bring this old dog~man,
way back from astray
A quiet Saturday and the poems are shedding themselves, right and left,
for I am feeling so/do much love, from across the world from so many of my crew
