Revelation | ||
| The world of the windo washer Far above, self contained Scaffold, squeegee and rope, Bucket, rag, sandwich -- maybe a thermos -- Though nowhere to hold it secure from The tumbling trip, the unwelcome Awakening below. The world of the windo washer In a space where conscience dwells -- Over the shoulder license of the eavesdropper -- Always overhearing the invisible wind Of the upper stories. Occasionally When a shade may fall on the page Or the square of sunlight bright on the Carpet grows the shadow of a skull -- His presence is felt, observing. The scenes he must see -- each Separate cameo presenting itself -- Disembodied, detached from its Neighbor, a nickelodeon naturale. The windo washer lives in his world Of surprise; witness to private Suffering in hidden eyes. Such Punishment and penance -- his Peanut butter sticks to the roof of His palate. His inclination to intervene Unacknowledged, superfluous: as He takes care not to lose his balance. He is a fakir, performing the Rope trick constantly; hoisting Himself by his scrawny scaffold -- Scraping and scouring the guano Of pidgeons, hardened dung Cemented to window frame. Was he once that curious small Boy standing and staring absorbed In places unexpected -- Folding himself among hangers In the coat closet, crouching Under railings of the baluster Peering from the dim pantry. He was not a child who Prattled, blubbering mouthfuls of syllables Streaming spittle. He read his daily reader: "This is a watchbird watching you!" The world of the windo washer is a Tight-lipped place preoccupied with pieces Of a limited perspective. Solely for The observer uninvolved. One who Does not pass judgment. |
Peddlar | ||
| Ziplock is strong for what life has in store." "No leak is a good leak" -- from "Huggies"! Lemon flavored detergent and room deodorizer That smells like a rain forest! For you we have an assymetrical soul, Cut on the bias for a full flare -- We have windshield wipers, click-clock Clearing the dust with a self-spray! There's a way to fake everything and still Appear to be sincere -- or with a modicum Of something similar. Take this box of backup biscuits To alleviate starvation ... for the word That got away when you failed to write it down. That stick -- pinpricks when rummaging thru memories. Better -- take this walnut box, lined with Velour -- but avoid opening it. No image damaged by pixels eliminated or condensed. Here is a photo album with spaces for discarded Polaroids -- Those portraits you can't stand to scan! Perhaps we don't carry the things you want? -- A shiny gold star pasted in the upper right-hand corner Of your spelling test? 100 percent scrawled large in the top Space with blue ink! But a 'D" comes in scarlet, With correx in the margins ... and a snapshot of asinine Laughter over a puddle when Sunday school prayers Took too long! To grow your prehensile tail -- when you feel you just can't care! If you're poisoned and you don't know what to do: Call 1-800-222-1-222! |
Opening | ||
| Opening anything is just not happening -- Everything is sticking everytime Nothing complying, I am trying Jars of jam, mayonnaise and jelly, herring in cream You can bang a lid on the counter or risk a tap with a hammer, Beg a twist from any hand and wrist or fist that's handy. Then packages arrive, armored in layers of 10-ply duct tape Or gaffers' gun-metal grey. Corrugated cardboard, resistant to scissors, Boxcutter slips -- (off to emergency!) While the inside book swathed in bubble wrap Pops when I try to peel it! Larger cartons are anathema; what's more Annoying than foam peanuts spilling! Dreaded most of all is opening a show, A reading or performance: I refuse To be the first to go! I sense quivering, chest fluttering -- I must protest and I confess -- I can't warm up an audience For laughs or money -- I'm not that bold, & not that funny! Give them music delightful or spiteful To start their laugher -- O.K.? Then I'll go after!!! |
on cloning | ||
| Let's Not outlaw cloning nor make making a clone a crime we do fear late night images in movies: horror genre when the cloned cells grow into babies! They will start a new religion "Modern Souls": souls without restriction! "We are our own Temple" "Our souls are better than yours! cleaner, newer, singular, and sharper! YOU have the Old Souls' Stock in superstition . . . retribution New Testament Style: No longer eye for an eye nor turn the other cheek either -- ! Would such babies be invincible!!?! Not subject to terror, worry, or prejudice -- An AMAZON is going to become THE FIRST NEW MOTHER OF THE FIRST NEW SOULS!!!!" "NO -- We will make it all illegal -- give false doctors with false clinics another chance -- has this ll happened before??????" "Buy a better HEART -- guaranteed not to modify its frequency! insurance may cover it pay us half of all your income earned: whether by skill or through gambling -- for the rest of your working life and all of your retirement -- even after you die -- SIGN HERE!" SO -- LET'S DON'T make cloning illegal -- if one clandestine birth could create the Antichrist! . . . let's just see what she looks like!!! I like the thought of buying a new leg -- Never for Vanity!!! at least not at first!
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Columbia | ||
That spindrift of snow |
Gorditas de questo! | ||
| If I had a terra cotta God To keep in a niche on a shelf -- I'd be tempted to pray For recognition I might ask For some fool proof chance to Feel appreciation -- Viva la viva la viva l'amour Viva la Compiegne! -- -- So! -- It's good to remind myself, what a miracle I am -- Having survived the microscopic maelstrom of conception, its rush and flood -- that crush of crowding hopefuls -- that first of life for which this last survives. It's good to remember -- (recuerdo) Blind I survived -- sightless Retaining a vision -- so: Here at 4 in the morning Seated on a cold throne awake In that hour -- I hear (pregundo) When most succumb -- I stretch and anchor The first strand (responde) of another web. Starcrest
Monument Cleaner: |
Observation | ||
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Inexpressibly satisfying -- the joyous face, the energy of compassion. Pain is there -- always competition, always pain. Refuse to suffer -- Je refuse: as Marie Antoinette on her way to public death had to go to the toilet. The only place, the street on which she walked -- before meeting the rope or the hatchet. Do we need drama? Damn straight. Damn right -- we hate good and loud and lean in full trauma. I score low, slow, no show -- can use this too though! Marie was thinking ahead about pissing her gown -- after she was dead -- indignity! Maintaining her honor -- whatever that may mean -- those last moments make the meaning of queen. In the street, she stoops down scoops her velvet gown to the side and simply peed. She was freed of looking unaesthetic, stained with urine, and pathetic! I'd be nasty I'd be hasty, crusty, ghastly: goddam happiness is real -- boring but that's what I feel!!!! |
On Ending | ||
I need to get a really good pen |
Poetic Forms | ||
Sestina -- Untervasser | ||
| What is suspended underwater Only remains, remaining as bones Dimly seen thru murky light Seaweed waves as if a field of grain Moved by tides ebbing or surging In fog. The vision is haunting. The voices of foghorns are haunting Those lost long in these waters, Stilled now where once waves were surging That carried the weight of their bones. Less and still less than a grain Of wheat, the toll is not light. This mist won't permit a piercing of light, All its shapes are configured for haunting; Waterlogged wood shows no grain All patterns dissolved by the water, Even the texture of bone Is washed away in the surging. Undergrowth, debris, all is surging In quiet tide without light To penetrate. The bones Stir faintly, all their length is haunting In the lapping sounds of water As it flows against the grain. For bread enough, for beer they once had grain Against the fullness, hungers, girth was surging So heavy all sank in the water Wishng the weight were still as light As a wraith, for this haunting Will come with their bones. So slowly rest drifting, these bones Mark the last of their grain, At bottom the haunting Traces a hope in its surging Patterns filtered by light Reflected in water. As bones, there flows surging As grain grows in light Goes the haunting of water. |
Sonnet 1--December Sonnet (Petrarchian) | ||
| No thing can last that nothing may dare change -- The seed must turn to bud, the bud to flower Each in its turn is touched by sun. The hour Static in solemn movement seeming strange Yet repetitions' charm would so arrange This winter Death himself bows off the stage Until the newborn spring will come of age -- Belated then he executes revenge. But ice will melt to quench the thirsting green While flowers appear the same yet not the same -- Yet so deny the hope in life is death. Again the leaves and blossoms will be seen In Nature's diverse order rests the blame -- Inhale, exhale are both the single breath. |
Sonnet 2--N.Y. Harbor (Shakespearian) | ||
| Allow the city lights and lights of planes To draw the shapes of buildings or define The life that wakes within when windows shine In pricked out squares and dots of windowpanes. The red, the blue, the green from seaward gleams On ships that signal other ships, or fly Predicting storms or traffic in the sky And cut the night in half with searchlite beams. Over the harbor came the planes to fill Predictions made by prophet long ago, That earth would shudder, buildings crumble so That only rubble lingers after kill. The skyline's shrunken bite seems dull today That front incisors now are torn away. |
Sonnet 3--For the Missing (Spencerian) | ||
| Beyond a place where none can hear their cry In quiet grace. Beneath some alien star That one they follow still it leads them far With breath arrested breathless now they lie With breath arrested breathless now they lie In finding safety failed, still hopeful are In knowing wounds don't heal without some scar To help them breathe again or let them try. To help them breathe again or let them try Our persevering search. All comes to naught Knowing when life is lost, the game is fraught With dust, this twisted evil grows awry. That day the world once known came to its stop This day waits for the other shoe to drop. |
Villanelle--Skyline | ||
As long as I can I must stare |
Terza Rima-- Nightmare | ||
| Often and often of late I wake of a sudden at night With fear, in an unholy state. Of panic, and freezing in fright At something that hovers unseen With weapons and troops for the fight. While ever and always this dream Traffics bacteria's germs, Sour and curdled like cream Gone bad. All thought turns to worms -- I'm feeling the skin of my face For smallpox or chemical burns. Heart catches, the breath starts to race, Waiting yet hearing the sound Pulsing and pounding a pace. A pound, a pound, a pound, a pound, a pound -- Another, abeating; another, abeating, a DOOM. |