This way

Days 21-22

Photo taken on US-59, 11/18/11
Edited with Photogene2 and Phoster Applications

Moving Pictures #1

The physics of travel
suggests relationships
often overlooked:

What blurs stays opposed,
what holds clear, in sync,
tallies the miles against loneliness.

April 13th

Out on the Limb

There is never a guarantee of flight:
unchecked gravity & weight of fright.
The push, when angry, hurts us all,
to make a child cry, then brace the fall.

April Poem # 7

Ten Reasons Not To Quit My Day Job

No night job

Townes Van Zandt

This tiny miracle breathing next to me,
his two brilliant brothers
(and their mother)

Fifty-two miles
& a westerly view

Constant friendship, close at hand

All these songs that won't change the world

April Poem # 6

Conceit

In a moment of brilliance,
I compared the gods of
Lombardo's Homer's Iliad
to television addicts
eager to interact
with the dying actors
on that reality stage,
only to find that I was
fifteen years behind
the curve of genius of
Anne Carson's well-strung bow.

Today, a friend asked me
about contemporary painters
to illustrate his theory
of music for the academy's sake.

This is not a fugue,
but time always
seems to contradict
my best ideas.

April Poem # 5

Finishing Schuyler

The wheeling seasons turn
summers burn
then fall all fallow
in ripe yellow

["Fragment" James Schuyler Other Flowers: uncollected poems]

But this is survivor's spring
there isn't anything
that winter could repeat
new grass, bare feet

April Poem # 4

And I could have whistled through life like a starling
[Osip Mandelstam, October 1930]

Around here,
robins mostly,
scouting & shouting:
what good can a song
in the background do
when what they want
is only sound of
their own voices?

April Poem # 3

"Life is storm, let storm"
[Melville, "John Marr"]

Nothing is permanent.
Not weather, nor fear.
But when normal shifts,
a degree here,
an inch there,
it does seem likely
that the center
won't hold.

Let the rain rinse
what the wind didn't steal.

April Poem #2

Empty highway, 1 a.m.,
ears still ringing
with the slight echo
of a voice lost somewhere
between addiction & resurrection:
There is so little separating
health & sickness,
but the difference means everything.
Thankfully, this quiet road leads home.

April Poem #1

The family of cardinals still
Home in the hedgerow,
The mother robin is already
Fattened with expectation.

Preparing for April (National Poetry Month)

Two small poems and a link:

AN HOUR [Czeslaw Milosz (1911-2004)]

Leaves glowing in the sun, zealous hum of bumblebees,
From afar, from somewhere beyond the river, echoes of lingering voices
And the unhurried sounds of a hammer gave joy not only to me.
They waited, ready, for all those who would call themselves mortals,
So that they might praise, as I do, life, that is, happiness.

--------
TODAY

This evening's walk to the mailbox:
listening for early Spring dusk chorus:
a card from a friend, too long gone unheard.

--------

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