Wednesday, November 26, 2014

LANGSTON HUGHES

I, too, Sing, America. L.H.

When Hughes appears for the portrait in suit
Mustache, hat, and a gaze reveal something
He Becomes a mystery to himself
He watches wild turkeys in the grass

From the passenger carriage of the train
He could measures the distance to heaven
and compose a song for every scene
but not before long something ascertained

as the sound the road sings to the journey
and what most resembles a song within
and clinging to its self presented essence
speaks in memory of a courtier

Sir Langston Hughes of Joplin Missouri

later moved to Harlem New York CIty

Tuesday, November 25, 2014

BEAUTY OF LOVE

--beauty is by authority of love

No is but One in reverse and excised.
A numeral for up or down counting.
That is prior to itself in order
It merely appears at the exact time.

A sequence that starts without origin.
--just like a word game played in the abstract
that connects the loose boards of toe tack’s tick
Sticks and square tiles will not move again

If not by coercion or destruction
when it is shattered to pieces so lost
to pick them back up seems impossible
the spirit has seen and heard enough, knows

Life is a precedent of Love’s own will.
When it is not possible, it still will.

Monday, November 24, 2014

FORTIETH AND FOUR, PEACE IS BEST

Standards must be broken when they restrict freedom.
Stupidity cannot be mandated only conspired.
Superhumans won't win they doesn't exist
Every age of poetry has proven

More capable of force than Violence.
What causes Death but demoralization.
That moment when your Nation spit upon
Refuses to salute you once again.

THese eyes roll from the mind return aghast.
Dreams are not SHadows for nothing what's more
Shadows are Venom to Beauty Queen hopes
THey are recurring horrors that reprise

THey were taken Alive Alive  Return.
The 44th will not be Innocence Spurned.

Saturday, November 22, 2014

SUN FLAME

The torch flame of the sun strikes at the earth.
Consuming its fire extracts the air
a vacuum appears the clouds hold their breath
and a day made for beauty is filtered

The filament source becomes animate
discerns what it would destroy without thought
and departs from its nature to create
a world for the living a world forethought

While its destruction is delayed a time,
wind and water muting heated extremes
undergoes its temperate hastening
then disarms its potent awakening

For just one touch of the solar exhaust
would incinerate everything at once.

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

Everything Depends Upon So Much

THE SONNET IS A 14 LINE POEM
WITH TEN EQUAL SOUNDS PER LINE AND ONE RULE
THEY BE ACCENTED OR UNACCENTED
AS WITH MOST THINGS THAT EVERYTHING DEPENDS

UPON


FOR WHY ELSE WOULD THERE BE DIVISIONS IF
NOT TO DISTINGUISH WHAT COMES AND GOES: TIME?
AS IT NEVER DEPARTS YET SAYS GOODBYE
SO MUCH IT SAYS HELLO TO EACH SECOND


AND LIKE A RED WHEELBARROW or WHITE
CHICKEN, IT IS DRAINED OF COLOR THEN TURNS
INTO CRYSTALS OF ITS OWN HOURGLASS
HALTING FOR NOTHING TO BEGIN ANEW

AS THOUGH RHYMING OR NOT RHYMING HAS DEW
IT MEANS NOTHING TO A SONNET AT ALL

NOTHING CROW

I study Crow who already knows me.
I come with my  trade marks of a human
No wings.  No shining black feathers.  No beak.
While he in his majesty’s soft feathers
Muscular shoulders, mechanic talons,
Brought together in his miniature form
everything to its breaking point, giant
if not by proportion without a flaw,
My size I can’t measure with his though large
For though I am large I’m a Know Nothing

Crow see I am a threat of perception
and won’t let me get closer than closer.

Friday, November 14, 2014

AVERAGED OUT

You don’t watch that end it will fall back in.

Got some reason to be talking to me?

I say  leave it loose and it will fly free.

Like I already asked -- who you kidding?

If it were up to me

-- it isn’t, sh!

Now there you go, dragging me in the mud

I never mentioned you to anyone.

Because I have my senses, Destroyer,

You who loves to Correct for averages.

And you, Enemy, your heart ravaged glare

That’s good. Turn Away. And, Never Look back

I wouldn’t bother to Care about Nothing.

When you who took everything that mattered

and turned it all toward your advantage

BEAUTY FRUIT

 The watch of wakeful hours counts again
the loss and removal of essential things
measured by distance to disappearance
then as truth purchased its survival
shred over centuries another fount
from mantra of ongoing turmoil
and lasting are pains to be endured still
Paramount as peacemakers to be blessed

Beauty is fecund, beauty is artful
But beauty is not a variable
Beauty is a Fulcrum Exponential.
Beauty is Faith Faith is a Principle

But as darkness falls it grows amorphous
Its branches bear its fruits for the purpose


Tuesday, November 4, 2014

WALES BIRD AND ARTHUR

Wales Wales, Land of my GrandMothers.
My soul must be partly an Island Shore
Where time over epochs anoint Feathers
My heart  which has been spent in a Tower
Yearns for an Ancient Home where there are Droves
Endless and Elegant Moss of Ages
Triumphal Origin, GLory to all Kin.
Answer me, Answer me, ANswer me, Bird?
Why do you Pity me if not for Love?
Yet, what good can you do with your Feathers?
Do you write Verses as I do you Now?
Or are you enslaved by Beauty tol Art?
Birdsong is what to Legends of Arthur?
The Noble, the Epic, the Courteous.

CROW LOVE

Crow caws and to distract and confuse me
Crow plays games with my head and my feelings.
Each time that he does I grow from within
Though he is wiser, kinder, and free
he doesn’t diminish my experience
I am only a destitute human
Yet for Crow I show potential he sings
to demonstrate his knowledge and nature
nothing he does is unnecessary!
Crow only counts what makes sense for saying
his ingredients on voice and wing
beak, talon, feathers, thinking and vision!
Oh crow are you to break me so gentle
and perch closer to me than you would’ve

BROTHER CROW

Crow strikes a pose on the telephone pole.
He straightens his wings sleek as a shadow

exchanges notes with a Crow out of view
Acting as Watch for his brothers below.

when I approach Crow descends on a fence
from where he watches his brothers at work

Three are in formation next to the curb.
Two stand at guard as one raises a fern

From it falls the seed of a palm flower
Rolled from its husk sack of fan-like foliage

Crow beats its beak on it, small, hard, yellow
With all of his brothers watching over

Each bird a Talon and a Talon a bird
One step inside of each Other bird.