Outside has become the new inside,
as the handhelds take the mind away.

What has me here so still,
the one word to hold so long?

Not on a road of sentences
will it will me a greater silence.

The nest is laid to final rest.
All the above was left at the rest stop.

It is a script of absences.
There is a picture in the word you hold dear.

Keep it safe.

they form an obelisk of pure desire
to be chipped away slowly
until they form something

beautiful and permanently rewarding
to the eye
and the faint of heart

it took days
seeming only

a blip on a journey
without purpose

the caterpillar & the cars
were oblivious of each other

only the warmth
mattered

the ease
of movement

fulfilled
what passed

in this world
as intent

The ticking of time is but an artifice
man created. No one alive will see it
cease as transmogrifying transition
envelopes the seer. The birds fall slowly

hypnotized by the tiny prey the breeze
in tall grass reveals. Pray that the harmony
once here returns with or without us.
Look at all there is to do, and begin.

though you are not here
I recall the strenuous togetherness
& the thick white foam running down

in all its twilight rippling calm.
If speech were in disarray & piecemeal
in its distribution, it played amongst the birds,

music & drifting thoughts devoid of all purpose
but to be in communion with summer’s end,
& the last morsel of ephemeral, plasticene joy.

The community property of this moment
will go out in the dark. Though I know
none of you, we go on separately, together.

The sounds echo as we go away hearing
seagulls, accepting handouts for the coming political
rallies that talk on & on

about the reality of this country going
in a hand basket to where we do not know.

Covered in resolve
to see all their families
whole, even the Frenchified
& that British oriented lot

that hail the Queen.
The beer is sublime,
& taxes prime the coverage
of all in medical care,

so there.  I love
the tee shirt, on the front:
“what’s the definition of a Canadian?”
on the back:  ”an unarmed American

with healthcare!”  And,
also I love you,
Alice Munro!

p.s.-if any of these “Thuglicans” win
the ’12 presidential election, I’m Canadian!

a clean, civil society not at war with anyone

confinement, searches, empty boxes,
trails, fresh fruit, the gift you riff on,

and on while something closes
way too soon, the deck tilts, missing cards.

Then coming up for air in an ancient city,
cobblestones shining in light rain refreshes
the palate.

The boombox in the sunglasses store
drove us on to the bistros & bars.

On the plastered windows a language spoke
of what I could only imagine: Rimbaud muttering
to himself.

Past tense continues to slog in the shadows
while about to arrive holds off the message.

I wait for you to grasp the gist of experience
to pull the rabbit from the hat & save us.

Everywhere we are all tourists and have aged
the land with collateral damage.

We march, sing, cry into the wilderness
carrying our sorrow before us, trashing
the remaining Caesars.

Yet quiche Lorraine in a deli on Avenue Cartier
as the rain ceases
soothes the spirit, lets much fall away if only
for a sliver of time.

with traction that grasps at
straws as the clouds race by.

The summer peppers are late
for lack of heat. The closing
shadows slow all growth.

We plant a thought to bring
forth a story nurtured by the spring
of ongoing lust. How

to take the soil as what
we have & grow in it
lasts many seasons

with you flowering all
around our garden. It’s
never done. The harvest varies

from year to year. We mature
& stay steadfast.

I continue to walk out
on the limb with you.

Parts that issue forth for the taste
buds to separate color
from sound form a whole.

All comes together, trollop,
beggar & prince in serendipity’s
party of aspirations.

Once you realize the pattern
sticks to the windshield only
as long as you don’t turn the wipers on,
you can see this moment clearly.

Mind enough to see out,
and space enough to separate
the disparate from what they are.

In sum the tastes of one
are from long striving

to understand what composes
an identity to fill out as your own.

There are paintings I “enjoy”
though I know not why.

The compatibility of vision is
perhaps unknowable.

Describe this wine without
terms of preposterous stretches

of linkage to tobacco, slate,
the smell of burnt cloves,etc.

The skiff sits in the placid bay
as the sun sets beyond the harbor:

A scene of serene meaning
possibly beyond explanation.

Nonflammable renovations hover outside.
I ponder where this goes in the stream of flings.
What to choose & when arrives.

Outside the cosmos wink at us.
Plastic cups are filled & the party
continues.  No way out it seems.

The batteries have died and pa
or ma in kerchief have fled the screams.
Help me, please, hold back your flight.

at least if life is a set of things
to do. I have walked a long way to get
to here pausing for libation
in all its variety.

2.
The farmers’ market was full of abundance.
We meandered through sights & aromas,
past the guitar & harmonica man
contented with his place

in this parking lot under a calm, blue sky.
We are receiving all that is given.
Without a list we purchase the randomness
of whatever, discover anew what sustains.

Earth Haiku

Husbandry is due
to bring our sacred earth through,
fix mistakes renew

Mothers haiku

Mothers nurture us
with a purpose plus they re-
furbish forever

Hermit haiku

Oh, look at this world
I’d rather knot my brow in
sage rage far away

Fresh nature haiku

The whispering pines
say have nice day, butter cup
to the blonde bombshell

All humdrum & piddle-paddle
we rattle, prattle on ’til dusk.

The orchard of time’s diminishing venue
has dropped its fruit at our feet.

We plaster the pictures on the wall.
Judge not until you heed the call.

Line up. You have a number.
When asked say, “present.”

In your wonder you have wandered
to a clearing of the mind,

outlasted your resistance,
to find that each and every path leads here.

They are the products of those
who control all that is around us.

When you live mentally inside a cage
it is hard to see “outside thinking.”

“What profit a man if he gains
the whole world, but loses his soul?”
—the Bible

In this our land that which is produced
requires an excess profit has to be made
by someone. That is the root of our problem.

Analysis: To see clearly that the material
interest of those that produce is in conflict
with those who control production.

Long ago, something was imagined that was
rational, human & democratic, and
other humans modified, distorted, & destroyed
that vision.

Karl Marx upon reading a contemporary
interpretation of his writing,(paraphrasing,)
“one thing is sure, I’m not a Marxist.”

Jesus, today would probably look at what
is created in his name by men & say,
“one this is sure, I’m not a Christian.”

“In the Soviet Union capitalism triumphed
over communism. In America capitalism
triumphed over democracy.”
—-Nora Ephron

It is time we seriously consider &
move toward a better economic system that
has as its goal the enrichment of all mankind,
not just the few.

who is mad at whom?

The perfectionist berates the lesser

achiever.  The clumsy at heart

seeks the suavity of the dresser

of presentations, honing his part.

Some continue to go over the past

and its hall of mirrors.  Even

now we observe as in a badly

synchronized movie, always delayed

just off the present.  The shoulder

tires from from looking over it.

Why do we remember some moments

of long ago again & again

while other years are gone?

In the public square

I watch the flare of nostrils,

the waving hair, the unguarded stare,

no care truly hidden from

the knowing eyes of strangers.

We all pass each other without

the details that fill us all out.

I see the moving lips in the crowd,

but I am somewhere else

putting the touches on my presentation,

so you will see me

as I want to be seen.

Some of our masks fall

in our private mirror.

Oh, see me

as I see you & may we

be satisfied with

the reflected truth.

an artificial breach
of forever

in which we are
contained

if only
as compost for

what is
to come.

thru the filter
of verbiage

making
mulch

of real events
not recalled

because memory
holds
only

the wisps
that do
not

blow away
from

lack of context.

which caused me to wonder
if he again walked physically
among us, would he be
wearing one? Once more both

God & man: eating, sleeping,
sweating, receiving messages
from elsewhere as we do.
How would he see our short-attention

span theatre? Would the beatitudes
be pared back, the ten commandments
be three we could remember?
We would want him to say what is essential

then get on with it. Living
in the moment we forget how we
got here. The calm look would
be disconcerting, the silences diverting

us from streaming on to
where we do not know. There
are so many daily messages to
decipher, we elude the silence

that holds place, slows the race.
Many have their place in a community
of “ghosts” with hundreds of “friends”
they never see. It is pretend reality.

In the zen koan when
you have received the small bowl
and sustenance, wash it clean
for there are others to follow.

Take what is given to you,
use it wisely. For my burden
is light & I alone will always
be with you. Here, take my hand.