Poems: 050224 - February 5th, 2024

070124
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Dreading to think
about 
dreading 
and dreading thinking
in both more generalized
and specific terms
as to dreading to think
about what is 
and what is to happen
or what it is 
that will not happen
standing in relation 
to variously wanted
and unwanted 
bits and pieces of life
imagined being lived
based on remembering
selective portions 
imagined as the experience
that is then believed 
a true facsimile of lived 
along with those others 
that are anticipated being 
and those not being 
a part of what is lived out
as what is and is not yet
but only imagined 
might become and be 
deemed to be desirable
in that wishful imagining
that lurks so darkly 
between what is desired
and what is dreaded
whether only imagined
or believed to be real.
There is new discomfort
in sparse thin strands 
hanging as would streamers
from distant events 
indicating obscure presence
stretched out as a horizon
vaguely in mere outline
forming dangling tangles
of obscurant verbosity 
that mostly hides the truth
behind political chimera
translated too politely
for sensitive audiences 
warned in advance 
as to disturbing images 
juxtaposed with travel adverts
providing a nexus 
as to where to go 
and where to avoid 
in terms of personal dangers
from plagues 
nature's furies 
and violent acts 
all being explained
in terms of the gods 
residing on other channels
that one can subscribe to
in moments of frailty
and interludes of boredom
that then stimulates craving 
for what pass as answers 
as to why some are able
and some are not able
inclusive of chasing 
the blue of their blues
somewhere far away
but always connected
to planet Radio
headed out into the blue
of blue waves 
under those blue skies 
over blue seas. 
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170124A
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The places we have not 
and cannot
that we have not been 
and cannot be
that we have not seen
and cannot see. 
We want to be going 
somewhere 
to look at something 
that is not yet or long gone 
so we can celebrate 
another coming and going.
We search through 
rock piles and monuments
as if we can find ourselves
reading our own names
on uncertain pebbles 
gathered from beaches. 
We are adrift on various seas 
with our tangles of moorings 
holding here and there 
but never taking us 
to where we want to be
which is not any place known. 
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170124B
----------- 
It is never good
and it never will be 
but we follow the details
in those vague hopes
as to something to say
about whatever 
makes no real difference
to any actual relations.
We are caught up 
into the disconnects 
that serve to connect us
in those odd ways
connections are made
or not made at all 
leaving us to contemplate
stories of puppet masters.
The horses of our dreams
carry us
away from the realities
of our fragile flesh.
The horses of our dreams
carry us
away from the realities
of whatever and when. 
Dreams not ever our own
because they are never
and not what we wanted
as we are carried along
unimaginable conflations
of different tragi-comedic acts 
that we then have to watch
sometimes watching ourselves. 
At least it is different 
from a routine day 
and a little more real 
than a day dream 
made up of improbable 
scenes invented 
purely out of boredom 
as morsels of distraction. 
Those are too sweet 
and when will we ever
wonder at blossoms
appearing on dead trees
the dry tinder straining
at making joyful sounds 
about when we will live
again as if springtime. 
The desires of youth
being the willy nilly
markers designating fields
and what is plowed under
leaving faint traces 
of all the usual tragedies
in moist hollows 
and adjacent stone walls.
Running up against 
unyielding surfaces 
in the pursuit of 
whatever the name was
kept in memory or not 
as what was thought 
seemed wanted
and sometimes remained. 
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180124A
------------ 
The accumulation
and the discarding 
of appeared reasonable 
and seemed useful
sorts of things.
Each such thing 
related to an idea 
that was abandoned
prior to the fact 
of actual disposition. 
Pondering whether 
we gave up on it
too late or too soon
mistakenly begun
or falsely ended. 
Consideration given
to what it was 
that we expected 
in comparison 
to what we got. 
The balancing out
of the rare more 
and the much less 
than our optimism 
of onset to surrender.
Putting bones out
heaped at curbside 
for foraging men 
come panting as dogs 
to take as blessings.
Those relics 
of peculiar worship 
originally venerated 
then feared 
in scorn of meanings.
Rather the meaningless
comes of lost meanings
and scourge of progress
most likely leveling 
sources of false pride. 
It meant sacrifices 
and often the largest 
follows after 
the rituals of use
have already ended.
Things made holy
by exhaustion to monument
standing commemorative
of a purest intrinsic nature
as common sacrifices. 
Then it is history
being mostly nameless
and faceless doings 
more undone than done
but all done with.
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180124B
----------- 
We go gully up
a gorge down way
to the chance into
the recompense 
of the muddied face
along the jibber jab
after hours social
delves the precarious 
treasure hoppies 
the way the birds sing
diddly dack do 
gracious and sensible
doddle wack drop
into smooth clear
rims the sexy ice.
Precious piddle 
drools a sharp candy
on the tongue flame
denials of any intent 
and disparage of emotions
locks the gull whistle
squawking drift dodges 
pronounce of weather tangles
entertains any curious
between credulous boasts
the cheap thrill recitation
of sandwich board poetry
along the surf edges
gone monkey toss 
sky floods of blue screen
indicating unsubscribed.
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180124C
------------ 
We make moves 
in the quests for solace
and in the vague desires
for sanctuary.
None of them are ever
to be deemed satisfactory
but mostly we make do
with shades of meanings. 
Acquiring or culling 
another hair's breadth 
of satisfaction 
is an obsessive pastime.
It can entirely eat up 
lives and fortunes
funding expeditions 
into dangerous places. 
Until we realize 
nowhere is really safe 
and there are warnings
on and about everything. 
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240124A
------------ 
A gull shivers 
among crystals of air
spying the encrusted
bits of gulp down 
dropped from loaded
over fast food 
bucket edge of trays. 
A lot of beginnings
end that way 
in any final analysis
hitting the pavement
between odd jobs 
and foggy visions
of imagined relations. 
Not very much 
in the usual dialogues
that is more honest 
than hunters and prey 
telling the truth 
about different hungers
driving the conversations. 
Step forward and back
looking to who follows
as to coming across 
invited or inviting 
the way that it begins
concerning new deals:
conditions of consumption.
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290124A
----------- 
In a nice place 
in a nice time
getting some attention
and some satisfaction
but it always leaves one
craving for something. 
We are all full of wanting
something more
that we do not have 
among what we are tired of
giving up on
and tossing out. 
If we had gone faster
and if we had been smarter
in the gotten and given 
of the chanced into 
and as to the something
always seemed missing. 
Urged to hold on 
when we should have let go
and pushed to let go 
when we should have held on
for all those reasons 
we knew nothing about. 
What went wrong 
on the way in 
and on the way out 
among all the reasonings
into unreasonable
twists and turns. 
The nights are sweeter
than they were before
and good morning arrives
a while after the dawn 
but that is not what it was
that was missing or gone.
You wonder what it was
that was missing or gone
where you lost 
what you never found 
but you still do not know
what you were looking for.
--------------------------------- 
290124B
------------
The wreckages
of our own exploits
along forbidden shores.
Cargo that we took
from foreign ports 
of sensual lingering. 
Memory is the wreck
eroded and decayed
in tides of time's events.
Flesh gradually melts
holding on to the edges
of harder things.
Desires ever clinging
to what is most fragile
and washed away.
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030224A
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A red bird hops
tangle branches
of bared perch.
Seems being here 
is a long time 
arriving yesterday.
That place before
moments ago
a short while. 
A sense of comfort 
is a feather pillow
resting a sunbeam.
Window eye
looks to familiar 
strange worlds.
The way it looked
to child explorers
of near distances. 
If only it could be
so very new again
each bird song. 
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