2.27.14 Music-inspired writing

1)

The Drops formulate, from the rotten wood, the

molting plaster, the exposed nails, formulates,

collides, grows larger, -then called from the Earth,

dives, to meet the maker.

The drops of water accumulate, puddles

upon rotten wooden floor, and cascade through

molting plaster, exposes the nails,

are called from some place deeper, to return to

embrace, leap from one height to the next

just a story lower.

The drops of water collide, create pools,

Ponds of deterioration on the rotten wood, tear

at the bonds of plasters, release rusting nails from their purpose,

greet, entangle, immerse in another, called

from the deep center, called from their everything,

jump to their depths.

3) 

Waltz, of jackals of jokers

of grinning hyenas of

death merchants

of gold coins in coarse sacks,

of pocketed intentions,

of delight in the putrid

smell of dusk on a warm

and dusty night, of

neon lights, of carnivores

on carnival rides, of

western cowboys 

4)

A jam, have you

seen the jam being made

It’s a rigorous and joyful

experience

-The kind that tuckers

you out

-The kind that sweetens

your idea of life

Wayward cousins coming

home, those strangers

with familiar looking faces

The syrupy part of your

heart, the veins and arteries,

condensed like

-grippy hugs

 

  

5)

I like your voice

the rhythm at night

talk me to sleep,

talk my heart to beat

talk my erratic breath

to cease,

talk my worries to the

breeze, let

them   …..  (go)

my heart

Oh my little heart,

You’re clever, you find ways to meander through rocks, through hard places, 

Oh but you’re tough You’ve won a thousand strong man contests, with no prizes 

The wise men say the experience is the prize, my heart you have become so wise 

Oh my heart, 

filled with vacant rooms you’ve kept the place warm and tidy. 

Some other, in their haste left the door open, the pipes have frozen, 

And you, you’ve stoically kept the furnace fuming. 

Oh my little heart,

Pushed a thousand times to heal in a moment, you make doctors believe in miracles. 

For each healing ten times that –the stretch to accommodate, you’re an olympic gymnast 

-training since you were an innocent. 

Oh my heart,

you’ve kept some, some of that pureness, despite madness, despite venom, despite betrayal,

my little heart,

you are a warrior, a magician, a sage, how have you beared it 

the branch breaking winds, the moments lost at sea, the questioning always questioning confusion. 

Oh my little heart, 

how have you clarified the madness, how calmly chose, calmly hidden away 

when poison rippled, when torrents of passion, when breathless and abandoned 

Oh my heart, 

I’ve asked you so much, every time to reach, reach just beyond infinity,

But will you, just one time more 

try

A crush in Ireland

I'm supposed to be taking advantage of 

the momentary blue sky

The sunlight through the clouds

The brightening

Of the world

Instead I'm waiting sometimes not so

Patiently to see

The flicker in your blue eyes

To have a shared glance

To be illuminated

I'm supposed to be admiring the green hills of this Emerald Isle

The variety of tones, smooth and jagged 

Imagining  a world of cow raiding clans

That speak Gaelic and wear war paint

Instead I'm looking over the folds in your green jacket

The ease with which it clings to you

The light feeling of it

And imagining holding you in my arms, as you speak German silliness,

And allow the flush to highlight your cheeks, smiling cuteness

I'm supposed to be listening to the stories or this ancient land

The politics, pride and potential,

Discerning between the intricate pattern of jokes mixed w/ mythology

But I'd rather hear the details of your delights, depths, desires

Monitoring the intonation and the pattern

So that I can recognize your joy even in your villainy 

And so I fantasize about stealing you away, 

Perhaps like the fairies here did,

And we can share the rains and the sun alike

Knowing full well that we'll never make leprechaun babies. 

A Skirmish (2012)

The sign reads “perishable”

and the arrow points toward you.

My Grandma’s mind is wandering

and maybe yours’ is too.

How far a flight you fancy?

Responsibility left at home,

instead you packed your demons

went a trampling for your throne.

Well you may have claimed new mountains

new sunsets, salty seas

but you left the townsfolk praying

for your safety, on their knees.

Fortifications surround your mountain castle

moats and ditches that you’ve dug,

but I wonder if you’re lonely up there

without a friend to give a hug.