Eternal Return to Work

Monday morning crisp air cuts up

from the lake.

With my ever-stained jeans

I kick the start on Putt

my scooter.

We scoot 5 miles down the old road

as Putt’s oily gas fumes

blend with early morning gravel and

overgrown dewy wild grass drainage ditches.

On the edge between towns

passing the roadside motels

to the paint and sandblast shop

at the cross-roads of a half dozen or so

construction sub-contractors.

Punch the time

clock card marks

my pay and my life

for the next 8 1/2 hours.

The shop foreman’s

cheap cologne mixes with

cool freshly sand-blasted

iron as I wipe each piece

tack cloth clean

until they permeate dreams.

An eternity croons backwards

Keats’ nightingale song.

My mind aches and I wish

I was sleeping.

Mime snap an

imaginary twig to signal

10 minutes to sit

and forget how many more minutes left today.

You’re not making any

more money than

how you figured out yesterday

but you calculate again.

Payday Wednesday we

cash our checks at

the bar with beer burger and fries lunch.

Five o’clock Friday

see ya'll

in the funny papers.

Elegy for Cousin Mart

Jeremiah was a bullfrog

who is a good friend

of mine

though I

never understood a single word

of his

he always would share his wine

and say joy in the world!

We bounced up on the bed

my mom said

don’t work up Mart

he has the ADHD

but we bounced and played the song

over and over and over

I said but ma

we’re having fun.

I Say I Never Tire of Looking at the Mountain

The mountain stands

               and

the mountain reminds.

The mountain is there

even

when we don’t see it because

of the clouds

or the fog

or a vapor mist

and then the mountain will be there

when we’re

all gone.

To walk to the top of the mountain is

called climbing you

can’t just stroll meander or amble

across let alone over

the mountain.

To climb the mountain

you must have gear –

clothing designed especially for the climb

tools purposed

only for such a climb

and then as well there is the training –

physical training

skills training

mental rigour training all essential

for climbing the mountain.

You say to me

why should I care –

this doesn’t make the mountain in

any way special

we very simply

should never have to

have anything to do

with walking up any mountain.

I say

the mountain is a symbol

of a struggle

to see meaning.

You squeeze the mountain

between your fingertips.

Nature I say

doesn’t feel a mountain

                        as any more majestic

than an ocean bottom –

most creatures know only features

                        of the small spaces they inhabit.

However

I continue saying

to be human we try

to grasp immensity with

fierce vision or our

imagination of a

freedom.  

You say what did you say I was texting work.

eat sunshine

eat sunshine
fart light rays

the sun the moon the trees the breeze

smile at the shining sun
gaze at the full moon
hug a green tree
feel a warm breeze

interchange
all of the
above

hug a warm breeze
feel the full moon
smile at a green tree
gaze at the shining sun

feel a green tree
hug the shining sun
gaze at a warm breeze
smile at full moon

gaze at a green tree
smile at a warm breeze
hug the full moon
feel the shining sun

blather rant
repeat

The Color of Rain

In that photo?  Are
four sides and four
corners the limit
of my vision?

Tan smooth skinned
woman, with soft
silken reciprocating
touch of love.

Or am I only
dreaming?  Her
reddish nipples speak
                        otherwise.

Rain isn't captured
by a camera, droplets
mist drizzle torrents
showers sprinkles

Needing warmth
and sun, so much
as nature's chaos
is her discipline

and waves are driven
towards an unknowable
rhythm defying time
space - matter mass
  
we weave entwined
pulse vibrant hot
circles within our
minds' sight lightning flash

   .   .   .   .   .

Pour! Over imagination's edge:
animate!
from the middle
in the muddle

the colour of rain, a
picture           .           seeing!

Pabline

Fall
Rise


Ocean waves laugh at
sands pretending to
be permanent and then
the people fall
off their
two legs their
brains beaming
but
the sky with teeming strength
says, 'Mother' earth only needs
what she needs.

None
of
us
are
enough
to
satisfy
the life
of
earth,
not
alone
no;
our weapons
and
plans
of war, tearing the world
over dark
green colored paper
takes nothing of
anyone's heart
but signals
the end
with
poisoned gardens;
each
life
must
as awakening
to know
the fire
and musical joy
of life
embrace
each moment.

Work
through spring
summer and
if
odds
favor our earth
rooted
even seeds will
sprout in
time
and none
will describe the
smells, sights, visions
except those
of the
golden dream;
frustrating as
it
may seem
now;
and then.

What you do
now will
matter
later to
some
one
some where in
the face
of the
sparkles
upon
the
world.

The real Earth
does not need
us.

Then
the ocean waves do
not rest ever like we do; nope
the waves do
not die,
but the
wave and stars and sun
do
not eat
nor dance
nor sing
with their throats or legs or lungs
like we do, but are
amazing in
their
presence
just the
same.

The drum,
the bass beat
of
walking
of
dancing
of love
of rhythmic
love making upon
drum skins
upon make shift
moments
and tender
kisses and not so
tender kisses
are all what we
imagined
and rested upon
with blankets tucked
and mornings slept
upon while the sun
rose while
we ignored the sun
rising one
more
time, shades drawn feeling, almost
as beautiful as
the real light awaking the
hills and
pines.

But not quite
as the fountain
of light
is
always just
and all right.