Poems: 030521 - May 3rd, 2021

290421A
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These are grim days 
of the occasional 
species of habit
that covers the bones. 

Our conversations rattle
the way old trains rattle
secretly wishing 
they could go off the rails. 

We tend to avoid 
making break throughs
in our careful respect
for fences and walls. 

Secrets made of wanting 
something wild open 
and being seized by forests
encroaching field paths. 

Looking down into history
it is harder to understand 
any of the freedoms 
held by past generations. 

The modern claims 
as to progressive privilege 
and belief in moving forward 
being a prevalent myth. 

We are travellers 
routinely hijacked 
to a different destination
and convinced it is better. 

The cattle car conveyances
crowded with humanity 
are loud with the sounds
speaking in Slogan. 

Eventually they all get off
on something 
that they are supposed to
get off on. 

A few of us keep going 
to different destinations 
a long way down 
beyond the last station. 

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290421B
----------- 

They are always breaking free
and we are on missions 
that take no prisoners. 

It is going nowhere 
but they say it is headed out 
to being on the run. 

It has been cold so long
we all fear decay
if there is a sign of thaw. 

Hearts are frozen 
until they are freezer burn
and throw away. 

A drumming goes on
beating litanies
of bones and skins. 

It will be explained 
in sealed orders 
saying all goes as planned.  

Nothing opened up 
when the troops went over
the top of that rise. 

Kept out of touch 
and stripped of feelings 
coming down that other side. 

They kick at the empties 
rattling spent rounds
and being staggered by shots. 

Someone might fall 
into seas of sudden laughter 
having been slowly drowned. 


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300421A
------------ 

How do we know 
anything of what is 
shoved in between 
our collected beliefs
about before and after. 

We try to salvage 
something lasting 
by prying it free 
and trying to assure 
places of safety. 

Our wanting so much
to leave something 
somewhere behind 
that might be preserved
rather than destroyed. 

That something 
that might actually last 
longer than any traces 
left by what we were 
when passing through. 

Past all the leaving 
that time and place bring 
as if the shape of things
might banish forgetting 
for a few moments. 

The usual something 
that seemed unimportant 
in being a trinket 
bit of nearly trashed 
turned unlikely treasure. 

We wanted that 
but finding it forbidden 
tried to give it away 
to something else 
as if that might save us. 

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010521A
------------

Looking back 
is such a long way 
so full of cravings
and silent answers 
to lost questions. 

What then happens 
standing at the end 
of a long stretched line 
with no one behind you
and looking back. 

Solo performances
have become the rule
rather than the exception 
but one can pick a piece
and keep playing with it. 

There was no finding 
what one came for 
feeling what was inside
has long gone out 
into various extinctions. 

It was not wanted 
all that much 
and the mind is an ant
trying to move sand dunes
for the sake of uncovering. 

The candle wax drippings
suggestive of futures
that can never happen 
even if for no other reason 
than being foretold there. 

The social values 
of both art and food 
continually revised to being
whatever one does
while remaining alone. 

Either that or inclined
to unpleasant absolutes
and forced juxtapositions 
against what would satisfy 
the remains of the senses 
exiting brainwash stations. 

We cannot rule out 
anything that is unlikely 
being impossible 
in these heaved over lands
splattered with miracles. 

The examples of providence
being so exceptional 
in what is shown off 
by someone else chosen
to convince everyone else. 

There is the laughter
that typically greets 
any of the asking 
being something more 
that can be denied. 

So many different ways 
to becoming the same
and angry beggars 
who can never get 
what they really came for. 

It is a continual process 
emphatic of defeat 
that must keep secret 
everything that is wrong 
with how it all plays out. 

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020521A
------------

It becomes more difficult
to tease out the strands
that are our own mistakes 
from those of others 
where the past has changed
into no more 
than our own make believe. 

We believed that we knew
the various characters 
cartooned into history books
only to realize we did not
know them at all
and that they are redrawn 
to suit new audiences. 

The rough sketches 
of what passed as history 
scribbled over 
with rude comments 
being written in 
to fill up the white spaces 
in the blackening out. 

They and we are no longer
anything permissible 
and all of the processes 
as to how we were once made 
into who we seemed to be 
being made dissimilar 
to new definitions of making. 

They are no longer 
the people we thought of
as being who they were 
but have separated 
from being written up 
in old volumes
now continually revised. 

Nothing is made 
in the same way that it was
enabling the long dead 
to be reborn in long past lives
as someone different 
to how they used to be 
long talked about. 

Forget the prevailing rumours 
because they are replaced
by entirely new ones 
that need to be passed on 
in the persistent signalling 
between ivory towers
and those repainted too. 

-------------------------

020521B
-------------- 

The easiest thing 
is to sit down and cry
without knowing 
the slightest reason. 

You really know
a reason will be provided 
after the fact of knowing
the world is that way. 

There is the tiniest flower
concealed amid grasses 
and there are whole worlds
that are flowering. 

---------------------- 

020521C
------------ 

Early Spring is yellows
being various cautions
flagging down with warnings 
about heading off 
in different directions 
into new adventures. 

Imagining excitement 
into the swellings 
that burst exuberant 
somewhere in the nights 
of performing
countless routines.

Are we too only habits
that we cultivated 
and some being seasonal  
round robins 
at the same old games 
forever being played. 

A season playing out
lesser and greater urges
into common villainies 
in behind orchards
gone extreme with fragrant
colours of blossoming. 
 
Blessings of Sun kings 
upon maiden cheeks 
everything blushing 
at a portion of the year 
that mobilizes its legions
into their embarrassments. 

Time is a succession 
counting out 
lesser and greater things
sweeping shadow hands 
around shifting circuit 
chase of hedgerows. 
 
It is a time of earth 
soaking up sky
making up afflictions 
that are stray wildness 
into absent minded
and spirited imaginings. 

All that going forth 
takes the field
flooding across landscapes 
wind ripples of breaths
caressing shudders 
of every coming alive. 

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