Sunday, January 31, 2010

human extraordinaire spirit james

a wave from the middle of a green man street
you were shakti

a line of this of that, velvet and crystal
you were smiling

i stopped because everything else stopped
you were obliging

hesse, the dead, purple
you were sharing

and then my memory and some words
you were guiding

labelled as a list of wonder talents
you were boasting

newspaper and flowers, coloring the city
you were loving

project: walking with the gods

concept: still to evolve somewhat. peace of art created from a spontaneous or sort out divine interaction every day. sharing sparks. mending. always laughing.

Afanasi, Roert Smyth, Steve

each has a name. it started on the steps.
in another universe. with no dawn coming.
then breakfast and a class to get to
on the ferry building clock's chime.
it was the orchid that kept me
and your photograph that drew me
and your voice of devil talk and peace possibility
and almonds, blue eyes, balloons
and rainbows
arching into the perfect crevice of being fed.
i kept making decisions of where to take us
they were perfect and seaweed sweet.
it felt purposeful like jasmine memories
and i stay out for as long as the day will have me
nothing ends as sweetly as it could than with a chai
steamed and rich
in a hostel selling peace
specificity brings untwinging attention
and tonight will be a night unlike any other

Thursday, January 28, 2010

THE CITY

i am sitting through the window
and the world repeats itself
bus eight passing every six minutes
as i unfold -- evolve -- slowly


THE FOREST

i am sitting on the wooden porch
and the world dances itself
the rooster calls every six minutes
as we unfold -- evolve -- slowly

heaven meeting earth

lie on its back surrendering to the all
mighty three with legs calmly flailing in the air
is met by another mighty three, hovering
focusing downward descending
meeting: infinity

you didnt change my life

and i apologize for not listening
and not fully giving you that honor.
you are a sage, divine

PAINTED POETRY

FALL

into cover to recover
understanding the necessity of rest
but the active space of growth.
the grounds enflame with crackling tones of earth
and the rake screeches order.

insist on collection
knowing the imminent plateau.

there is no reason the fall --
of man; from grace --
would be unretributable.
apples grow all year
and the colder the frost; the sweeter the crisp


SUMMER

nothing else comes but the quenching of afternoon shower
the sky suddenly surrounded with wrung-grey cloud
the pavement streamed and puddles glimmering prism fuel

there is no reason to relocate the world of imagination
the water simply enhances the game
and the storm-wrecked pirates wave to the shore
with the rest of the flotsam
the tropical island jungle boasts luminous creatures
and hard shelled fruits

ice snaps as tea slides into crystal tumblers
and chairs rock, elongating scarves drawing to the veranda's wooden floor boards
there is a hum of music to this life


DISSOLVE

what is there can be so easily lost
needing a scent of balanced seeing --
for engraving but avoiding reliance.
everything will become yours
recorded in chemical compound
(with a popping sound)
and the choice becomes yours
to color the sound in light whiteness
(or say, beige and blue)"
or glum heaviness that has no color
but acidic callous
let it move


TWENTY SEVEN HOURS, NINE MINUTES, AND FORTY THREE SECONDS

i wrote of dawn
in a spring garden
in front of growing brussel sprouts
or was it cabbage?
but what of the dusk
the active transition into reds and purples
and yawning

when it is acceptable to waltz
into the worlds of thinned blood streams
and activated receptors
and sigh and bat
and forget the rigidity of the day?

oh, the gateway


BE-ING

tell me again that it is as it is
so i stop worrying that it isnt as it isnt
and perhaps for a moment
we will be together


SPIRALS INTO ORANGE

for everything, a season
for every being, another
for every rain, a bow
for every seeker, bliss to discover

numbers count in sequence
with hidden infinity between them
colors separate that which they do not possess
boundaries of oblivion

it doesnt end
this experience with no spectrum
it will always, simply, be
ad infinitum

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

earth my body


and fire my spirit


air my breath


and water my blood

coffee and smokes; pipes and blintzes

sleeping in you'll miss this morning:
the ones who havent slept and still want to speak about the world
the leaving ones in their absorptive urgency
the en-joyful ones refilling their coffee to side their bagels

and the magic that happens over cutting fruit
laughing the first movements of the day through

every man has his way

how do you say juice in italian?
or mandarin, or australian

teach me before you disappear forever
for that's an awfully long time.

Saturday, January 23, 2010

dont take the lashes your father took

we will be thrown opinion in every vat in this place
every pitch of sound will be advice on how
as is this, in green.

relent
be free, however that means to be

with love and luck
white tiger brothers and sisters

Friday, January 22, 2010

nice guy. 415-400-9493

smiles like prizes,

you're a carnie today,

whose gesture entices,

hopes of more prizes to pay.

batting eyelashes,

and sky, knowing smiles,

coy unspoken dances,

which dropped for miles,

from giving heavens,

to fall in my favor,

like sevens and elevens,

its a smile to savor


cnr of green and columbus

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

my fares, lady?

wish chants and lists of manifesting paradise are let to the wind
and the seasonings will marinate
i watch over my shoulder at every movement
reacting to some wagtail scent

to be shy is to watch grass valley panners
and teeth reddened as the crane lake empties.

your eyes tell me words i may be mistranslating
as your steed leaves each dusk without looking back
and i create a chapter that you are timid and sweet
and a busy busy man
lonesome lunches are pathetic but the slow mastication
expectation nestles satiety of some sort

key and chain

a song i have written for you:

about tattoos i refuse to reveal
about every thought that changes expression
torn open

wondering if the surfacing is healing, or simply surfacing.
i could describe the room unfolding every night
your favorite peace drying out by the wood stove

this may writhe you. this is just my mind floating outward
responding, yes?

where is free will? in my honest smile and love for you
or in the unfolded reality that isnt as i planned.
is this your plan in your power, in your dreams?

how will i return to you what you say you give
what you want for me in this frigid world

this is your song, my gift, for your gifts
it will soothe soon and i will see it for what it is
not how i respond to it.

blessed be.

cement kings lovin motha earth

the rains have brought wrappers and disintegrating tissue
to the steps
the broom is wet and in effect futile.
kaya ascends with me bending to scrape someone else's disregards from the pavement.
his red knitted beanie and crooked nose hold his smile.

he has been a patron of these streets for fifteen years

vernon keeps his heart company and shakes so tight
he could brake skin.

they fluff passing pets on leashes
and shiver-dance on Broadway until there is no one else to see

the do not starve. they smoke

playing god

how easy it would be to jump - the edge so sweet
a destiny i will violate
when i want it sometime, inconspicuous

loading and unloading

her hair was bleached strawberry
and her lips trembled.
vixen blazoned, tattooed across chest
and an eyebrow ring for bravery
her right eye swelled purple and her cornea shot blood

population 250

speed boats, trailered, without their hubs
coat with crackled leaved and crushed earth.
a coffee joint. tavern. scattered post boxes:
it is a silent heaven in madrone leaves
white in the dark.
morning hazes over the mountains; fog;
and pines pierce the veranda view.
bottle bury along the path
and truck parts lay rusting until the summer.

the tip jar overflows with crystallized cash
and the gas hardware store keeps business.

sunday swells and pours clearing evidence

the folks will look you in the eye
and strum stairway to heaven on the guitar
while you sip on coffee and wonder the day.

the garden swirls hiding roaches

looking for theatre

the city is cold on its own
colors link arms through every street
and the neon becomes normal.

beggars count their change for nuggets
and everyone has a job.
guitars are tuned and movies play till midnight.

sweet nothing come find me in the park
i am playing

it comes cross what is different here from anywhere else
the temporal tune keeps me hidden and new
i want to link eyes on the bus, on the street, the moon.
i keep porcelain

amphibian

a red-nasal chef, adopted and repressed
with magical ideas of connection
sharpening his knives, giving up smoking
and his lost penny.
we cant remember his name dicing onions
waiting for the conversation to finish
hoping for life to start.
he disappears in the morning; my hangover remembers something

gregory jerks his umpteenth introduction
with a new paper doll each time: josefina likes to dance (his voice so sweet)
we swing her song about twinkling stars and falling bridges.
he speaks of maine and his journey in two years from now. now.

he will cry in excitement and smiles through rotting teeth.

we read about the boston fire from printed sheets
and he laughs anxiously.
his navy jacket hides him through holes.

who else is there to tell me stories?
look into my eyes for five minutes of my life
let me sleep through the night
and wear sweet perfume.

haight

i saw you with the same newspaper i was reading but you were coloring it in, i was looking for a job. i heard you speaking french but you were angry.

the seniors meet in this thai place. i cant forget yellow corduroy, red velvet cap and striped rainbow sweater ordering the dish on the bottom item of the poster behind me.

im not there until he apologizes. he was there the moment i saw him or is this a game and am i waiting for you?

it is so colorful outside like topsy turvy school buses and fields of sunflowers. youre still reading the menu and walking across the street
watching the crepusculean sun rise through the city buildings

my neighbors dont care for the spinach in their teeth or their anxious habits: its easy to be paid for

what are you grateful for?

abounding river meandering through my memory soup. the candle, light, is generous and i cannot help but feed from moment's ceremony. gifts and wonders stream smiling gingerly offering, teaching. here there are eyes cherishing, touching and trusting what is truly thankful but the receptive offering into infinite focus. how can i help you? this picturesque life continues to follow me into magical forest where lights are shining and burning life alive.

04-01-10

why does the date matter
when it is a moment in time;
a moment to forget?

there is haze in the air
helping to forget fading magic.
peace, and people. and coffee
blend into hand-painted tables
and bumper-sticker walls
and i cannot recall how i got here.

the emollience has taken me nowhere
for a while now
and i know i never want to wake up
from this.

and is this sustainable
like the magic herb growers in oregon?
and is this safe
like my bed and my pillow
and my memories?

and where is the line
and you know this is true
and it can be anything you imagine.

every day has been a clear canvas
stroking inside and out of the lines
until i have painted you perfectly.

it is leather bound, all this is
and i will continue to check in with you

it hovers somewhere and syringes downward,
manifest,
each time, training and testing each time.
is there method in the involuntary madness?

i don't always draw hearts and flowers
and symbols
but i like those things, i do.

the walls are speckeled differently today
but he will sing the same songs
until i understand the lyrics
and the gathering of souls to witness
the truth of this meeting.

it has been long,
magnificent,
but long
and i send love to you dear friend

eve of a new year

it is the dawn of the fire starter journal
union workers and feather followers

land of the free

told in the dews of morning
of a structure of liberty --
a code for creativity --
coloring between the lines.

but anything can exist in this language
numbered and capitalized
and all the thing needs is a thinker
and a paintbrush or someone who paints.

and on the last day, watch your children,
listening to the purrs in the sunlight.
it sets again, in the west it sets,
so turn eastward for the new day.