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He studied her blanks, his heart a magnifying glass as he carefully copied out each jot that filled the lens. He often sat back, in surprise and wonder, sometimes awe, sometimes astonishment. Sometimes, sadness, that could not be expressed in any current language, he mourned.
He didn’t have enough colours. But the poetry, brought him to his knees.
I admit. I am rather happy to see this year end. It just seemed appropriate to repost this (from the 17th of Dec, last year).
that pause of minutest minutes
between the un and the furl.
the joyous window unwinding
that threatens the re and the curl.
the risk of the lean
into the breeze,
minute puts out its smoke
and falls to its knees.
it’s time to go sailing
down a memory foam floor,
mind brake off,
jadeless tinted glasses
a treasured gift
in a shadow box on the wall,
to be smashed open in an emergency,
that page in the dictionary
torn out and replaced
with a hammer
for every day of the week
I catch the evening as it floats in,
on peppered bird song
and the undulating breeze, salted-
these tiny sepulchres
vibrating with lament,
precious, sacrosanct lyrics of being
in creation’s sighs
I wish you could read
my coloured mind, finite. The
same shades flashing when
(Just discovered JB. Chainsmoking his music.)
those playful mobiles
above my head’s
(Or, something profane. I forget which.)
their petrifying –
the timbres compound,
was ever meant,
but you know I have to duck
circumstance demands I pluck
the searing missiles
from my psyche.
…again like a song
and the notes were prolific
but the _______ was wrong.
And every second bounced now
right off of the clock,
the humming how it deafened
but was unable to knock
through the walls of the translation,
giving up the only door
that opened to a palette
of contemporaneous score.
Her soul hoarse from acquiescing
to her psyche’s dual frown,
its analysis unimpressive
to her cynical eyes drawn down
by the weight of all the irony,
dressed up in metaphors sweet,
the egg had laid the chicken
with a pre programm-ed beat,
and with a glass of favourite wine
she smiled to calm the fray
her psyche saw it coming
she said before, it’s just a segue…
The immutable reality of change
the longing to keep “before” in range
it’s cratered the cortex of my being
and reverse refracted all my seeing
my inner core blinded by the white
lasering the absence on my sight
the snow in sympathetic silence
weakening the contrast in my blindness
reaching for the knowing of the past
the sewing pain of beauty will not last
or the hope is, it will, in fact, diminish
and these lines, for now, remain unfinished…
First day of the year.
Evaluating movement through life’s substance. (Or is it residue?)
Remember when you told me Vaseline was made from gasoline, and here, have some for the healing…
Remember how we wanted that clown for the party?
(I tried to publish this three times and WP didn’t save it for some reason. Hence the title 🙂 …I thought it was just me. Maybe it is…)
looking back over the year
I marvel at the resolutions I’ve kept.
eat more chocolate: check
talk about joining a gym: check
laugh heartily at myself for talking about joining a gym: check
comment on the unseemly passing of time at least one million times: check
tell significant children in my life I can’t believe how much they’ve grown then grimace as I remember how much I HATED that: check
promise myself I’ll eat healthier tomorrow: check.
And now I’m driving, pondering if it’s even remotely possible to improve this list, but all I’m hearing are the wheels turning.
you got me again you re-indefatigable resolutionary revolutions you.
then my coffee spilt as I hit that bump darn it.
I was hoping I could stop missing you…
up through the water,
I watch from the dinghy,
shifting my weight,
the water heaving beneath
as you swim
by air flecks of non snow –
music bubbles I reach up
to release those pleas for you
to open your hand…