Thursday, November 26, 2009

the way the parade used to be on tv

i guess what i want now, most of all, is the parade without the people
which is odd
i just want to see the balloons
but all of these talking people are in the way
their mouths
the dancing the singing
the selling, selling, selling
could we just have the balloons
spiderman and lucy and linus
and the ones i don't even know about yet?
more please

Friday, November 20, 2009

night's bounteous song

the rain falling outside in the 3 a.m. dark
is so sweet on the mind

half-dozing, half-musing fingers move over the keys,
it is the slippery moment of reckoning.

whether to break for bed before the line bobs again in the wordstream,
or to abandon sleep altogether?

day 'comes precarious behind allnight bingewriting,
but sometimes merely to write up a thought

that was not born til the letters falling together
made it so

springs the soul from it's sinewy cage
and flings it up in the sky where it belongs

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

baker's man

well then.
that done,
shall we glance about at the world
outside these silly pleasures
and take in something for
the soul's humility?

perhaps to consider
the haitians starving,
eating mud cakes
of margarine, salt and mud?

or was that so last year?

oh yeah...that and a piece of fried chicken

nothin prepares us so well for hope
than to breakfast on despair.

nothin prepares us so thoroughly for despair
than to eat bacon from high on the hog.

such relief finally to pull up a chair
to the kitchen table of heart and mind

to look at what we're serving up inside,
the soup du jour in the bowl of the soul...

then spoon and blow with delight
ah, my hat! my crow! my humble pie!

which explains so beautifully
the odd sense of well-being

to self-joust with
the right amount of cynicism

it's okay to observe these mastifications
and laugh as often as we find us sitting there

dipping snuff with such pleasure and thinking
my, my, what a nice coconut pie

Thursday, November 5, 2009

held softly in the hand

falling stars
dead birds
picked flowers
garden dirt
mother's memory
small moments
things left unsaid