The Far Horizon, or the Photogenic Generation

Here's one I worked on and am still at. No guarantees.

The Far Horizon, or a Photogenic Defenestration

When was the building raised?

Who taught us the lie and promise of a profit?

I only remember the gracious living of a yesterday on the sea,

The 38^th parallel at a sweeping fifty-foot height above O…

Ours was the salmon pink, squat home, with a small

herb garden to the side, a patio out back looking to the mountains,

and on the porch, a lemon tree and table.

The Sea stretching to the southwest-

No sun or stars; only the waves, the wind and the forgotten beginnings

and pits from rotten fruit.

The smell, heavy and grating

as only industrial sound in recent memory

is dropped like a piano from above.

The rocket is my only inheritance,

my only table on which to create any broad stroke and lasting impression-

this fear is Olympic-sized and as deep as a well-

an extended stay, a frequent flyer,

posi-traction for the paralytic soul.

So now, as you’ve already disposed of the label and wrapper and receipt,

we wait for the darkened show to begin.

It's sort of an perturbed feeling;
low-down and resonant, like the rumble of low-flying B-52s.
...Only much deeper.
An emotion raised in water and brought down from high snow-
it's still good, walks long and far and remains deeply aligned toward the future, 
but perhaps not-
because food for thought isn't always food for the soul, 
and vice versa.

A Deep Cup- it's a poem...

A Deep Cup

Every breath is an act of defiance,

and each thought an undertaking of reclamation

because your words weave through,

like Kevlar and super-strength cordura strands

bolstering moth-eaten wool and well worn, faded

canvas duck to itself anew,

keeping life and body from a brink too often

imagined in this twilight between day and night…

When sawdust comes off as dust, it’s not good

and each wee blade needs be sharpened

so that formerly diaphanous and gravity-defiant comes off as

shavings, chips, and leaves lungs and eyes

to their normal business

and logs cut like butter, or at least like thick crusted bread-

then work goes well, back don’t twist and strain,

and I think, “Is that all it takes?”

So your voice remains through it all,

with offered thanks, praise, science, and laughter,

Like divine hope or stew or some blended dessert wine

from a deep cup of your own make

and under a sky of violet blue, yellows, and cherry blossom pinks

I know well and good from these twilight skies

as portent and joy or, sometimes,

the loss of will in the face of inevitable darkness

and the eternal views away from our sun-

but really, you always make it good again, so we’ll sleep well tonight.

Unlatched

Unlatched

Beneath every street and road in this town

lies the memory of a multitude of dead rivers and streams-

So that when it shuts down at night, I hope there will be eyes and minds

to see fireflies in and amongst the lights and little lights.

Bright sagas and short stories, hunting trips and brawls, 

kisses and forgotten recipes from grandmothers’ lost, secret ways?

Trouble is, latches no longer work

so that each door and window opens to every breeze 

and curious nudge from passersby;

while those with high scruples and religiosity

pass by without a clue to what lies within

this crumpled, immensely foreign threshold

on the future and other untouched childhood dreams.

Gravity becomes only a theory when applied liberally;

like relaxation on a summer’s day,

it waxes cold and wan with the evening

and overpowers the dawn like a rancid walnut,

bitterly hidden in a hard shell-

We are pulled toward earth’s center only as far as rock and soil

will allow, and only as far as imagination

accelerates the the diamond drill.

Choose well theses convictions, like children and DNA.

All a feast spread upon a hollow log in a a glade

beset by mosquitos and bears and a big wind from the east;

so we are given much, and as it is to be expected,

each dish lasts only a few seconds before

dissolving into a dust, a thick gravy or disappearing completely-

so choose your seat and course as you might

an instrument of your undoing

and remember that every road was once a river, or every street some sort of stream

so that your eyes only will see the light made

toward the end, and yours will become the recipe’s secret

as unlatched doors swing wide.

Skeletons and Wildfire

 That just about puts a fine point on life, right there.
Fire and the end.
Life is the great mystery and well, the other end of it, not much to say but it's fair obvious how that goes, to our limited perspective...

Hope will Serve

Hope will Serve

A slow start with other intentions,
it’s much like a walk on the banks of the Madison or the Green.
But still, if memory serves, this has been done before
and if rock serves as the best foundation,
then our hope will serve much as silt builds at the lee of the bend, miles away.
Meanwhile,
this small house rests here, in the desert, with an abundance of soft stone.

At night, the rats in this house shiver
looking to the subfloors for deliverance from the cold surrounding.
Right now, though, this peach dawn turns to pale silver
and tufts of tall grass rise from new snow, brown and frosted.
Tiny eyes roll back, faint, and the long wait begins again
for all in this house resting on cold, dry stone.

It’s said that dry sand is poor mortar for joining rough stone-but work we will for very little pay in our absentee father’s broken house.Having paid for honey, bleached sugar-Having bought meat, irradiated soy-Having purchased wine, Diet Coke-for now, though, baking sands and sandstone mesas shelter a few bottle flieson far-off, long summer days while our little house falls in.

Late Summer

Kids spending time together by the sultry glow of the iPad and hops ripening under the late summer sun.
It's still good, and that's how it goes sometimes when I can pool the resources to notice.

Wedding twenty six years before today...

Anniversary number twenty-six.
Geeze, but this is the best thing to every happen to me. And that's the rock-bottom truth of the matter.
Went up and east, first plans didn't pan out, but good times and talks were had the whole damn time, I'll tell ya. Nothing out of the ordinary there, with this pretty grrl.

Kids sure made a dessert reward to die for, as well. Good, good kids, ours.