shift and lift and sift and still
endings will end when they will
and beginnings begin
in silence or din

THE FIND or POET’S PRIZE
---------------------------------------

can it be entered?
Can it be taken into thought like a prize of love?

can it be opened?
Can it be prodded further and further from its dancing start to the edges
of furthest surprise and always be wrapped in the guiding beat of its
phantom source?

can it be closed?
Can it be wrestled and tossed through veils of sleep into blocks of
improbable wholeness weighted and linked out of infinite choices
called by desire for absolute sureness and magical tone?

can it be given?
Can it be brought to the lowest of needs and hardest of pains without care?

can it be used?
Can its bed of charms and hopes serve the waking of reason’s amazement?

can it be forgotten?
Can it be ended like a joy so complete it must vanish to progress
be lost as it was found in the shock of play when what can be and what there was reverse and meld as if to catch and freeze the work of dissolution’s grace?

can it be remembered?
Can it stay like the hang of the sky  the grip and pull that keeps and changes
rules and riddles locked in pulses streaming from---into----around
the ever shaping heart of life?                  

POEM INTO LIFE
---------------------------------------

RIPPLE we are all monkeys

WAND we are all birds

HANDLE we are all the space between defining graphs

GAUZE we are all lizards washed by the moon

TRACK we are all systemized dots

RECAP we are all the stick in the goat’s ass

TOTEM we are all the fire of gravity’s wheel

MIX we are all parallel corollaries redesigned

PRECEPT we are all drums with with steel nipples

BEACON we are all honey in the poet’s grave

CLUSTER we are all monsoon warriors sporting

IMAGE we are all the seventh sphere in the unblinking

crystal

FRAME we are all the last runner in the eternal spill

ripple

STRIKE................................

 
REMEMBRANCE
---------------------------------------

 
When the churning clouds that held the seeds of beginnings fell into each other
there came  a light that bent and rounded into stars and from there --with time--
into the making of breath, sound, shimmering colors, the edges of skin, the tips of wings, jaws, wild eyes, roses.
.
When the sun first blew heat the visible, invisible, wiggling, streaming things
 of the earth to be clung together and stayed in the shock of pleasure.

When the huddling and humming of atoms into cells and onward reached its destined crescendo movement became directed by aspects of purpose and rushes of desire.

When the tides drew back and the land settled in and the sky grew clear enough
the shaping bonds of what could and could not become real fell under the sway of the moon’s spin and tug and it was as if a basket of wishes had been presented for testing.

Heights, weights, length (for teeth), centering (for noses), balance (for ears), points for fingers and toes and width for what kept them in place---properties for topside, bottomside and innards between scrambled out of chance, choice and change for perfect fit and lasting use until wholeness of creatures came into being--waddling and paddling, chasing and digging in, grunting, tweeting and roaring, sipping and licking, racing through fields or flying above and so forth and so on--until each chose a defining stance--e.g.: crows, goats, hens, frogs and such took a voice, whales--girth of course, snakes and owls a freezing stare, cats a demeanor and apes and their ilk a trembling stance as if poised for daring or retreat.

When death became needed a sadness and moaning numbed even the great trees of the forest until dreams sprung up to mark the gap between past and future.  Thus poems were born and poets hanging in eternity--drawing words from the leavings of stars.

As for love in the world--it is yet restricted to sips and dribbles taken by those awaiting conditions allowing for the end of a terrible thirst.

THEME FOR ENDINGS
---------------------------------------

       Everything dear and lovely passes.
       Everything grand and blessed races into a song of time.

       Is this the embattled heart--condemning--extolling--ever at war
                            for beginnings?

       Is this the means of our craft and lore?

       Is this the why of our crossing into unchosen alien fields?

       Is this the jest and perfect laugh of our coming together and apart?

       Is this the squeeze of the day--the slip of the night--the crumbling path between
                                    that draws us on and on?

       Questions always questions good friends.
       Wait for me in dreams--I’ll be along with another
                         late or soon.

       Stay near.

 CHANT FOR ENDINGS
---------------------------------------

LIKE A WORD

LIKE A TREE BECOMING A GODDESS

LIKE A MEMORY’S BUZZ

LIKE AN EYE AND A HORN AND A WEB OF SPACE
REDUCING TO THOUGHTS OF EYES AND HORNS CONCEALED
IN WEBS OF SPACE

LIKE ASHES AND GRIME IN A BURNISHED CUP

LIKE MUSIC IN A FIELD OF TUMBLING SPIRES

LIKE A HAWK IN A DREAM OF EDEN

LIKE A MASK

LIKE A WINDOW AND A MIRROR AND A VALLEY BEYOND WHERE PRIESTS
AND KINGS ARE HOPPING AND SKIPPING THROUGH A MAZE OF CLAY

LIKE GRASSY STAINS ON A LEOPARD’S TONGUE

LIKE A CHAIR TILTING TOWARD VENUS AS THE EARTH EXPLODES

LIKE A MARK THAT TIES A WALL TO A STAR

LIKE GEMS DROPPING FROM A COMET’S TAIL

LIKE A HOWL

LIKE A CLOUD FORCING ITS EDGES TO BEND

LIKE A FLASH

LIKE A GOD BECOMING A SWORD

CHANT FOR BEGINNINGS
-------------------------------------

To bend the dot

To worship the pause

To cut the base of a circle’s flow

To be mindful of the order of passing sparks

To position the angles of endless withdrawals and failing sound

To prod the traces of vanishing stripes

To gauge the weight of impending heat and gathering ties

To burrow   To mount    To catch   To stitch   To stretch
To wrap   To drape   To seal

To make concrete the fabric of the inner throb
        that holds the weave of motion’s stop
         and spins alive the threads of dreams

TO BEND THE DOT

SKETCHES FOR GROUP PORTRAIT
----------------------------------------------------

The consoling man sits and sits

The forgotten man taps and prances

The plodding man goes ahunting in dreams

The blighted man waits for a season

The doting  man is awakened by storms
 
The everyday man waddles and bows

The complete man forgets his riches

The marooned man begs for an anchor

The sated man hums and whistles

The pious man studies his image

The deceiving man reminds children of fate

The honest man makes a harvest of losses

The monied man and the haunted man dance over the tracks
                        of the laughing man

PORTRAIT 2
---------------------------------------

Passion in youth is like a constant howl
that must be chopped into words

Love in youth is  like a rainbow that stretches from eye
to object

Grief in youth is like a flame that can only be doused
when swallowed

Fear in youth is like a shredding cape

Regret in youth is like a vine that widens as it strangles

Joy in youth is like a yellow bandanna thrown into the wind

Need in youth is like  a flawed gem that blurs the light

Death in youth is like an unrehearsed play without music

LOVE POEM
---------------------------------------

Love is like a game whose rules strictly forbid advance or retreat except as a final maneuver

Love is like a canyon where the whispering of strangers echoes for an instant into a ringing chorus flooding the heavens with wondrous music--that fades so quickly it can  not be noted or recalled without error

Love is like a sparrow beating its wings to the last as the icy gusts of a sudden storm drive it closer and closer to the frozen ground--and the nest from which it had only just tumbled free--to soar

Love is like a harvest whose value is unknown until set by the plower long after the reaping is forgotten

Love is like the rustling in a forest that  can never be traced no matter the strength--the wit--the wisdom-the desperate need of the hunter

Love is like a tunnel dreamed of by  a soldier at war praying for a way through enemy lines to an open sea beyond and rescue for the wounded and dying
                                                     beside him

Love is like a serving bowl--once filled--never scraped clean again

Love is like a chain of magical feathers curled by the wind into a neckpiece that comforts with warmth in the chill bleak night as it winds around --tighter -
ever tighter-- yet ever allowing for its being  loosened --one time--
but that one time--forever

Love is like a post on which a code for betterment to perfection has been tacked in the hope of future translation into practical terms and use

Love is like a stream testing its welcome on hard dry land

Love hears-- runs-- puts on a costume-- pretends to be unconcerned --rolls out a hoop ----dives through-- lies on its side --peruses a basket of writings and sketches --yawns --shrugs --bounces up --shrugs again --reaches out --takes what it can
LOVE IS EVERYTHING REMEMBERED
BEFORE IT HAPPENS
                                                        

LIFE STUDYor biocosmic equations unfinished
---------------------------------------------------------------------

MEN PERCEIVE          WOMEN ABSORB
MEN CONSTRUCT     WOMEN RESOLVE
MEN SURMOUNT       WOMEN EXTEND 

men are the traces of unplotted journeys
women are the coursing stretches of fact

MEN APPROACH         WOMEN CIRCLE
MEN PRESENT             WOMEN UNCOVER
MEN CONNECT            WOMEN DRAW
MEN PROBE                  WOMEN COMPLETE

men are the sums of discovered truths
women are the progressions of invented terms

MEN COUNT                   WOMEN NAME
MEN PRIZE                      WOMEN CHERISH
MEN SUPPORT              WOMEN SHELTER
MEN CONSOLE              WOMEN HEAL 

men are the gazing centers of the past
women are the slicing and bundling of the hour

MEN
 ADDRESS
 PROJECT
 COMPARE
 REVIEW
 CONFIRM
 INSCRIBE
 ENFORCE
 BELIEVE                        WOMEN ASSUME

MEN REVERSE         WOMEN EXCHANGE

men are the pulleys and wires
women are the hooks and spools

MEN GIVE                    WOMEN ALLOW
MEN TELL                    WOMEN SHARE
MEN OPPOSE              WOMEN DELAY
MEN REGRET              WOMEN INVOKE
MEN ATONE                WOMEN UNDO

men are the haunted paraders desperately seeking commands
women are the moonlit grounds on which scraps of forgotten magic
                                     still rustle and invite

MEN GAIN                 WOMEN ADJUST
MEN PRETEND         WOMEN ADJUST
MEN DECIDE            WOMEN ADJUST
                                                              REFINE     SETTLE
                                                                           OWN

men are the banners that govern even as they fade
women are the choices that gather unnoticed into the marking
                              of an age’s beginning

MEN SUCCUMB          WOMEN LEAVE

UNTITLED
---------------------

SO  drifting away from the rush of seasons
will not unbud a single twig

or darken the whitening of the farthest peaks

or stay the drop of cascading rivers

or reconfigure the angles set by chin and nose
and glaring eyes--

these are facts--uncontested--frozen truths--

yet-- what will not transform in the heat
of a poem in the making

or a splash of color

or a run of notes

or a trick of the mind
dazzling itself with Xs and Ys
that lead somehow to acts of daring
making for conscious and unconscious leaps
beyond what is taken as absolute--permanent--frozen truths
to the untraceable sources from which they are drawn
and once there--tracking the streaks and squiggles
that assemble the world of the known--

what will not transform in the heat of a thought
or poem in the making?

AGING PROCESS
-------------------------------------

                                               In the fullness of life----
WELL ITS UP DOWN AND PASS THE GLASS
WITH A SONG ALONG
FOR TAPPING AND CLUTCHING
BOTH RIGHT AND WRONG

In the history of love
ONCE TWICE AND  OUT TO THE FIELD  TO MAKE A BED
FOR SHE WHO DANCES A STEP AHEAD

In the deaths occasioned--
ALWAYS SURPRISE BUT NEVER DISORDER
AT THE GRAVEYARD’S   BORDER

In wintry trials and desperate summers---
HARK HARK THE VOID IS A PARK
WHERE COMFORTS BLOOM
AMIDST SPITE AND GLOOM

In the flash and fury of awakening dreams---
OH THE CLICK AND STICK OF  FORTUNE’S KNIFE
WHEN REWARDS EQUAL LESS
THAN THE PASSIONS OF LIFE

In the  way of error and regret---
SAVE FOR WILLING A KILLING
TIE  ENDS AND MEANS TO WIGGLING GENES
OR  EVEN THE NOD OF  SOME GOD

THEN CRY FOR THE LIE
AND LAY BLIND TO THE SKY

In the sweetness of giving and taking---
AH RARE RARE DELIGHT
WHEN STITCH BY STITCH
RHYTHM AND PITCH
MAKE A BALANCE  THAT’S RIGHT

In the finality of caring---
NO PLACE ABOVE BENEATH BEYOND
NO DAY AHEAD OR PASSED
AN ABSENCE OF PERSPECTIVE AT LAST  AT LAST

POET'S PRAYER
-------------------------------------

NOTES 2
-------------------------------------

ADVENTURE         a road without name covered by snow

BEAUTY                an evening’s fire at wartime’s end

LUST                     starlings above toads below

PRIZES                  north winds easy tides forgiving hilltops abloom

WISDOM                a door before a door before a door before a wall
                              standing bare

REVELATION         chase a balloon over the moon
                              tap the top of a silvery spoon
                              squeeze a toe and whistle a tune

                              things to do     wedding false and true

P.S.
-------------------------------------

Beauty is like the sand
That needs a sea to be

Beauty is like a bottomless lake
Forever unstirred and never heard

Beauty is like a tree
Regaining its form no matter the strength or length
            of a storm

Beauty is like a season for reason

Beauty is like the mist on a grave
So cold so old yet as near and dear as a story just told