on december

on the path

to the pile

the goldenrods reach

into in the way

dried and rigid

they rattle the wind

the seeds take off

agree with the breeze

autum

the leafs are off 

the wind has toys

the trees feel free

the sun finds shade

zeniths

lost in the pavement are stones

immobilized records of moments

transition metals and elements rarer

feet stepping hither and thither

frieze_v221

on hard ground again a fine

edge on every green blade

a mirror held up to the sun

this morning I walk at a run

carolinas

the title of the sun is written

across the vision

just minutes 

the waves go

some stole the show

the sand should sparkle

here the teeth are black

to reach down brown eyes

yes that is one that is some

apples

slowly the near round reduces

when in wet contract into ground

time and july worms consume

foot and step and frost and tooth too

on newton

as far as an apple falls

the tree at an extreme sense

in the future and past tenses

that release some understand

especially those standing

underneath the orchards reach

so a salamandar

there lives the salamandar

down at the bottom

where two ravines defile

a mountain and define

a gully where water

and junk collect

or if not that then

low lower from where

here is a gneiss and feldspar

home away from what

is nice and normal according

to regular people

and the tax collector

a beach

when the ocean broke open

a tern submerged

while the pelicans booked hours

 

the porpoise is the mammal

to observe the art

another one becomes

without purpose overt

a beach without end nor start

warming up

the house is and was cold

 

foot steps from the silver cloud

the earth touched and then undone

a stagnant froth grown rough

deep and silent enough to stress bones

the elbow into the side to steady

the ashes the ready bucket

a tree had died

these are those

into the stove

 

striking the match

the embers now glow

swallow v dragon

said the swallow to the fly

who has that eye

which is multiply 

can you turn and wheel like i?

can you bank and dip?

can you tie day to night?

said the fly to the bird

who has archaic words

which do mortify

can you swim and skim like i?

can you zip or just flap?

can you metamorphasize?

visions_v_dinner_d1

lets set the table straight

lets let the lights be right

say what you will

say that you still

pass some of that stuff

pass some of that loaf

a spring vision

the sun might find us inclined

to speak of the newest leafs

nothing strikes the mind

so much is a timid green finery

soon to close all gaps

and make the lines blind

moves

sticking steps across on the floor

the wood bows and the lights they

light up the shadows with a dance

from heel to toe sweat in tow

a droit a gauche azucar get low

types of words our hips know

cold spring

at the ends of each and every flower

a lament in full quality colour

the temperatures dip and the edges wilt

will they open again having their five minutes

expended and exhausted them and we wait

famous but barely having shown face

on comet on cupid on skunk

Under the shed a peculiar and particular scent wafts

Out and up with the blossoming winds in fits

Watch each nose in turn take a solid grasp

Synapse band gaps flash 

How does the involuntary face twitch

Invigorated at the skunks offense

emminent itches

waiting on a warm sky

when night bugs that bite will fly 

faster and farther

 

Robin Reads

yes in pretense

carrying an arm

full in both arms

the combustables

and structures

stratifiable by temperature

to the big bin

when in actuallity

all that was just

to hear the robin sing

The Robin King

this block talks back

to those bozos

they fret and fraw

from our pine tree

we can tell them

all and what for

oh oppossums

The will be in two

weeks read to go

go where?

The wild.

Two into 

The wild.

Too into

The wild.

they wont go

after a visit too

to the Ritz

two and two

too

no

them two too

will be your new

roommates they will be

there

waiting

two and two

for you

waiting

for you

to return home

with lux

groceries

just the same

as all

us

 

 

Seagull as Number

on the coldest day a big blow

a january of frozen despair

tossing ice and slush 

what else

not much

except a seagull incredible

rising and falling riding the waves

a cosine lines the coast

and retreats broken in sines

 

 

Seagull as Hunger

Would You think otherwise?

A fish? What won't you finish?

On the ground? Is it mine?

Yet I won't bide time, I find.

A sandwich your hands clutch.

I see, I want, what You want, just as much.

And I grasp, You cannot match;

My greedy and wheeling touch.

the seagull as thought

at least two eyes on either side

find ways and means 

forming a committee

out of one solitary

sentence struck

the seagull as time

careening in lines clean

all across the clear 

sky and a blur of high

clouds into white feather

edges of grey and nothing

the seagull as an american

the seagull is pertinent

the seagull has a status symbol

the seagull makes wake

 

in certain circles

everyone says 

 

the seagull the seagull the seagull

 

that seagull is today 

a role model

a representation 

an idealization

tomorrow also possible

for them for you and me to see

only one of us can be

who is left last?

inspired : expired?

the poets

believed

the people

bereaved

 

all that we have is all they want

lobsters and hotdogs

all that they have is all we want

courage and freedom

 

on seagulls

the seagulls lull up there

turning their backs on us

in loops through inside out

 

the seagull is like this and that

maybe

the seagull likes this and that

 

the seagull equivocates

the seagull emminates

the seagull is up to date

the seagull says see you late

lopi

see them flames lick

the glass heavy thick

corners opaqued a bit

eyes dry and transfixed

first day

purple crops the crocus stops

me from inside now outside

from stepping further on

count one amongst the yellow sum

one part earth and one part sun

THAT is a good question

oh why? 

I don't know. .

Maybe its because?

No. . . ..

Is it .?

welllllllllllllllllllllllllllll

isnt it?

 

What isn't it ?

 

Idunno

s'march

 a little dose of march

to start

to balk at

to bray at the moon who

hovers over the snow shovel

objects impossible

lets let these be here

the cheerios fell there

fingers aiming and missing

dropping from a fist rolling

 

Open Water

Following on the Goose vortices

One well worn Golden Eagle

A trembling scythe wheeling

An uncertain approach broken off

Mallards not concerned Swans sleeping

The Goose make room but soon too

The wind brings wet snow down the sound

Crows surround the Eagle sitting soaking

Tail immersed watching looking

A riled and dirty Swan approaches

An impending rumble

Or Eagle remains nonplussed

The Swans mute can't call a bluff

The February Day

Each foot step is filled in

Snow pretending to be a flow

Fingers and toes

Frozen drifts accumulate interest

A rabbit and a cardinal know

on making ice

the air trapped between layers

oval and lenticular below jagged

crystalline minutes timing

a slow drain a liquid pulling

the glacier here is erratic

as the meter is wild

so too is the hand

on making ice

the ice is forming nicely

feet all a glide arms held up

high and wide and all smiles

right now a pebbled surface

sufficient for say curling

what is needed is a zambeaver

with a little hat and a big cigar

plying a smooth flat trail

in the cold one is prone to dream

out of the periphery of thorn trees 

floats down the overture 

pyoter ilyich tchaikovksy

what a name but then i remember

how he just ripped off that other

little lion wolfgang amadeus  mozart

who wrote the ball first 

divertimento nr ten f-dur 

kv two hundred fourty seven

and then I slip and slide 

and go back inside

find my seat by the fire

beans

Me?  Oh I'm just cooking beans.

Beans. Beans. Beans.

Isn't that what Plato said?  

Plato said Beans are the Key

To a Wonderful Life? 

No. Plato said I'm Just 

Cooking Beans

The scholars misinterpret

everything but the beans

 

cold starts

a peak festooned berm miniature cascades

and then the yard silent and bright

hard at first then into crumbles

spilling into shoes filling wetting socks

frigid feet fuss before the stove

holding the door for the fire

light needs to breathe to live

warmth doesn't have to wait 

before the glass seated heated

radiant beams feeling knees

on the back of south bay

the edges of the river recede in this wind

rocks bared like teeth the bite of an island

breathing in the aching cold

we lace up and take a face off

obscene and dirty mitts

the ice is cloud colooured

tapping sticks for somewhere to drown

eyes blind to the inevitable

skating til my lungs taste of blood

the flight

the disturbed vision of the owl searching for

a one branch among the pine trunks 

blue leaking sap stark black

the snow white the brown turned head

who sees me here all on my own

taking careful steps to the ice ledge

feeling the cold boiling each breath

one of us is mostly vapour

one of us neatly coalesced 

taking off taking time to find certainty