On the surface
Where we live,
Looking mostly
Forward,
and straight ahead,
Rarely up or down
Or left or right,
Behind us,
Or within
From a Different View
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Big Sky
Big Sky
Big sky, oxygen to grey matter
Of the soul
Expanse of heart
And mind
From the atomic
Marvels of the eye
The spinning photon
Marbles
Hot
in a cosmic
click clack
Game
of an endless mirror
In a reflection of itself
The Journeys Of Peter
The Journeys Of Peter
These
are the journeys
of Peter
through the darkness
and the night.
Living off the
the fat of his dreams,
and who by imperfect light
sits purifying
himself alone
late at night.
from the black ,
by reading Cavafy
and Layton,
considering Merciful books
of Cohen
surfing the lines
of Seferis,
empathizing with
the plight of Plath,
and considering
the weight
of Pound .
Oh how they made
him suffer
carefully not making him
a Martyr
and ensuring
he couldn’t keep up
or current
with the fight,
while old age,
and decay
did the rest and
put the final stop
on his pipes
and his kindness.
The thought
strikes fear
in his heart .
In the night.
These are the
Journeys of Peter
blind as a bat
he still sees
in the dark
The voice tells him,
just where to go,
exploring emotions
and the general…
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Abyss or Bliss
Abyss or Bliss
Who can
say where the path
Will lead ?
Can’t know the
appointed time
Or place;
only that
the inexorable
Travel of heart
Will be the final end.
Petunias
Petunias
The bright petunias
refuse to admit
they fade
In the course of the
Travelling sun,
Especially
in the company
Of striped green
soldiers.
Flowers really know nothing of economics,
Only how to bloom,
cross pollinate,
and look good,
But we all know
About inevitable Keynesian home runs,
About gallows
with
Good books.
Light
In the mist
of the evening
Above the rooftops
Hanging,
In grey of night ,
The stars concealed
From the naked eye
All except
For the high sweet
Light of heaven,
In the dark of a latent sky,
And a distant sound of
Gentle wings In flight,
Is heard
from above,
light as the air,
Falling
Man in a Leather Shop
Man in a Leather Shop
He looked at me
He was 73
He had had open heart surgery,
And colon cancer,
He took 16 pills a day,
And yet somehow
He was younger
Than most people
That I know.
The Moments Notice
The Moments Notice
The water casts
Its waving
chain link net,
Moving up and down
fluorescent,
a shimmering
ultra blue and rose.
It glides,
A haunting melody
of the Dream boat queen
That only a single listener
Rider
Truly knows.
Single song, familiar ode for two
Your wistful staining of
The night paths,
Is soaking though
All the evening pavement
And into pedestrian clothes,
As the children sing in
Unison,
In a single chorus voice, while
Playing all the games that children play A.D.
The chefs in their
Whites,
morose, are wondering,
Behind their tall black bars, pondering their Woes, taking off tall hats,
Wondering,
just what they did,
To have to serve their time.
Who knows ?
Botero’s ladies sit in twos, talking, fast food fed and airing folds by laundromats.
The mounds of load, low lying,
suffering road;
Seated, their half brick walls
Are fed with stress.
And the flaneur’s eyes,
are eyeing
All the spaces
now presenting selves
between the buildings
as he goes.
Spaces that become the upward arrows
of rose bud, blue and mauve,
the odd one
Crowned with arches or a pale leaf gold
And all this time, not knowIng
just what and
How close death
may really be;
hanging on
The certitude of
thread
and flower,
Low lying fruit
waiting
for the unexpected
moments
notice to arrive at the appointed hour.
Afternoon Interlude
Afternoon Interlude
1
Lapping of waves
Against the shore,
The blanched
felled tree trunk
white with sunlight,
Stones, pebbled,
and worn,
elemental
formerly of
balustrades and curbs.
2
The pillared courtyards
Of existence
Nascent
Olive skinned
With dark long
Hair
The saunter of bones
Across the road
Svelte
With eyes dark, deep
Believing
The flesh bound
Masquerade,
Over the eternity;
Existence beyond
The curves.
3
Beloved curves
With your hidden
Revelations,
Opening up
To absolve
The will.
Certainty engulfed,
lost in waters,
that the winds caress
and skim,
As if one holding,
waving with ease,
Three black feathers,
While sandals
Dangle in another hand,
A demiurge’s
companion
Moving the poplar leaves of trees
That dance and flicker
in the sun,
That are casting midday
shadows
In the sand.
Something to Consider on Father’ s Day
To many who will be celebrating Father’s Day this way tomorrow. I still miss my Dad after over 41years. A father & mother are 
meant to be cherished. I have always thought our purpose here in this world is to hopefully learn and progress, not to regress, if we have the courage to profess what we’ve learned, our faults. I’ve learned a few lessons as a result of this early event of loss in my life but I’m still earnestly trying to figure it all out to the best of my ability. The main takeaway I see is that all things in this world are temporary except for authentic love; the kind that includes forgiveness.
” As much as you wish for, as you hope for, a remembrance of your childhood, for those who left, those that were lost in their sleep…that ever, ever, endless expanse of tombs, as much as you ask for the bodies, the forms that you once loved, to bow down before the harsh boughs of the plane trees….”
-George Seferis “Epiphany”
PWChaltas 