This Rising

Each day further seeking elusive meaning truth compelled arise first light remind affirm obligatory action plan nothing more or less dedicated memory filters clean obscurities brushing bodies together generate feeling warmth too much long embrace minds rushing disengagement furthers quest appeal createdness this turning this rising this exact sensation finding its expression

Lost Real

monetized food everything smokescreen lost real birds weather human aspiration survival mocked perilous passage natural beauties keen Siberiade Living biz art song bliss emails from sleepyhead pulsing static irritates new tree completing pair full day feels void accomplishments of no price

Invisible Engine

thinking of you memo subject line corpthink militerrible creeps out disguised as convenience another character enters says something banal obviously means something else why else write rains anyway up two hours later two earlier too words adding up thanks immune response cold short shallow not pneumonia yet still plenty sleep dream wakes nap bed vibrating invisible engine what's that me

Deep Focus

Never silence again. Never tulips safe above and below the surface. Always light, sooner or later, wet or dry. Observe the green pen forming letters. Correct dosage becomes transparent, like words. The moral is repetition, another day inviting redemption. Deep focus.

Booby Trap

nothing do say why be gallery sitting nobody six in three hours does that count dreams a booby trap twang heart strings but no one is there to answer more people all over does each count less easy write hard read if ever matter matches swatches badly dyed if anyone cares

Hanging In

Hanon stricken, war drags on, another cold vile in my throat. Dreams wake me and aching hips. I'd rather be sleeping—it's only four— but this is not so bad, Vitamin C in orange juice, organic, English breakfast tea in my Powell's mug. Trivial comforts do not comfort but one goes on honoring workable loving, working mind while the moment lasts. This is a tribute to another poem and my heroes, hanging in.

Daily Weather

nothing untoward inside I can eat again looking forward kept me going throat sore though & still cold wet not complaining just mentioning daily weather colors mood action narrative style more than war politics other news luckily not here

What Works

routine underpins freedom choose what works persist change easily circumstance better ideas naturally arise nothing permanent anyway sticky as it feels right now one little thought enough all-day wind no solid food

Sun Days

international scheming to sell Vere's book almost here focus energy think how much everybody will enjoy it I do whooda thunk abyss of dismay disorienting dreams black cow lies down heavy loose touch black face waves of dissolution think chases in brain hollow gaping permanent winter only mid- April only six months cold soil saturated slowly spring unfolds sun days will come

Terrible Things

you don't expect terrible things to happen but you're not exactly surprised when they do 149 movies on my Netflix queue dojo dissolving no tai chi next week up at 5 again writing before breakfast type old poems planning chapbook 22 books read so far this year 44 films mostly forgotten New Yorkers piling up my own fate sealed only when unpredictable worry more about precious beloved world

More Silence

Seize more silence. Thanks for being make no sense. If not you who? Absent resistance, I sink like a stone Buddha, eager for mud, indifferent to meaning. Is that what love is? No escaping rhythm. Shelves of books now gone became a faith in writing. What could not be said could be written down. Someone will scrutinize the words arising, before fleeing—but there is no place to go. We are here or not.

Dreaming Peace

if animals have personalities so should we contact lenses make a person feel normal slowly fighting back weeds is sweet work for limited understanding sadly deaf too many of us are never thinking clearly or acting on our thoughts what can be done another power grab another sick empire still dreaming peace and universal love

Good Stuff

nothing or freedom empty or ready for anything chilly or surprisingly mild depends on how you look at it good stuff here used up or published for all time seizing is action career moves or what thinking new thoughts seeing clearly again for the first time

Real Change

discipline emptiness real change reveals the real napping mow channel surfing sexy

Flow State

tulips killed moles eat bulbs grrrr two hours writing before morning satisfyingly lengthens usable day post-festival nothing presses do I or trust naturally occurring flow state sweetest pleasure so elusive plot includes car repair Schumann songs poetry party literary tasks "Andrei Rublev" appalling glimpse other realities I can't comprehend tame limits only threat body fails accident nuclear karma overdue

It All

thoughts pouring images of action being someone who does something besides just living leaving record fugue spontaneous books files boxes of pages neatly labeled bourgeois refinements no one reads will ever read ponder here a fragment there a spark is that enough what an idea madly scribble till I drop actual letters carefully formed every word legible insertion try to say it all

Black Mold

normally things happen pretty much the way you expect and when they don't it can be refreshingly easy to adapt tai chi floor torn up black mold in the corner under leak interview shoot postponed cameraman missed his flight surprise me said Diaghilev to Cocteau historic paradigm spring clean my studio in preparation planning costume stay home watch "Wedding Crashers" do something else

New Noise

when Mozart stops (when I stop playing Mozart) a new noise low rumbling like a distant waterfall plus a deep resonance plus the usual foreground sizzle heard through it snores fan filter clock clicks as if preparing to strike the latest hour word care week extended ended with a feast five poets food wine cello venue vineyard all arrangements proved ideal do what it takes not that long although I'm missing Alfred as Xerxes a lighting gig Mozart thinking what else happens

Further Fun

I have to stay up two more hours maybe I should get up two hours earlier like William Stafford now spring is here it's warm enough I invented this routine it works not well enough works languish unrealized stagnation setting in one thought losing momentum still spirit rises like an erection seeking occasion or further fun the form is repetition ever new findings bear surprise results

Take That

more arrogant than serious wham take that I know it's true I'm bad I can change ha ha too late for that Rutsala Scates read talk wonderful writers listen learn be inspired not emulate send books practice blog meanwhile they're terrific poetry grand humane tradition deepest inquiry discovery facing of facts make things of beauty even now a handful gathering understand right about what matters most

More Zen

what am I doing wrong not too many poets surely more speaking better each purely giving diving rich impressions pell mell logistics only trouble distracted phone call choosing that we can do in feathers be more zen

Country Ways

writer isolation necessary price painful frustrating die yearning Schumann expresses perfectly surely our common experience or am I lost here on the farm fond country ways fading gone irrational politics development when all I value is sensibility writing happens where I am life the subject and the frame inevitable struggle purely play one destiny wrangled into art

Puff Guard

small town living at its best my glasses recovered put into my hand in the middle of the street poets baring their souls in the crowded bakery John's photos of Portugal and Italy on the walls new puff guard improving the sound beneath the bonhomie who knows what darker passions seethe ropes end hearing insult in an offhand joke no one is helping indeed it's too much if you think it is I did last year now I'm rolling don't really care glad of any success

Real Thing

actual thoughts arise thanks Coetzee but you'll have to wait till I write the essay as I was on my way to the pool sometimes I pull off the road and write in the notepad ever ready almost full smooth turns of phrase memorized scratch thought words at a red light try not to write till I am writing save it for the real thing watch this space

Better Fantasy

people reappear proving other places exist Arthurian midsummer at the Dragon's Egg appeals more than Guatemala myself king better fantasy than act I only trust words vide Bacon they are world enough poetic equivalents inspired by our wildest visions

Too Much

1990 Living Theatre tour reviews remind me that I never understood "The Tablets" in spite of running lights for it many times. I wrote myself a little speech to introduce today's poets; I do know how to write a speech. Kim Stafford tells me not sending out my books is not humility but arrogance. Too much to think about.

Other Speaking

poets win my respect though I never wanted to be one my blogposts may look like poems but are not they are something else nor poetry nor prose blog lives in cyberland immediately published freely accessible something new poets do other speaking Ger Killeen Kate Gray Tom Blood lovable being

Lost Youth

when I was young and beautiful you said eight years ago you were twenty I thought but eight years ago you were twenty-eight whole decades lost youth beauty forever reimagined betrayal irresistible happiness justifies cruel disregard only understand

Fat Books

which poem is my favorite each seems vague exacting unintimidated less obscure di Prima O'Hara Merrill take all fat books poets no one makes time enough to read like music doing assumed form hide rhyming artifice distracts from what to say

Leafing Out

the highway turned into a Wayne Thiebaud bright cars nosing straight up picture plane following each other's scent striped road lined with orange cones construction stuff curbs people cherries blossoming hemlocks winter sketches just thinking about leafing out

You Too

yes I can will you let me can we meet will this be satisfactory not the first time someplace new what do you think again and again are you all right do you doubt me I beg your pardon you too what are we waiting for