
April 25, 2011
Monday, isn’t it?
Fortunately the Easter Bunny had already hidden and left his wares by the time I was awoken and mistook him for a six foot intruder. Needless to say there was rabbit on the table for dinner and eggs for breakfast.
being a non-christian, non-catholic, non-pagan, non witch or warlock type (did I miss something?) makes celebrating these things a bit odd. But there is the children – or child. I want to give Jackson the best of childhood memories for his impending memoir so I aside personal beliefs and offer candy, presents and a good time had by all – sans the shooting of the Easter Bunny – I don’t know how I am going to cover that one next year.
I jest about the bunny but did find another dead/dying raccoon behind the house of the walk out steps from the lower level. I allowed rigor to set in as I didn’t want to handle a floppy dead two stone animal. I imagine this also gave his brethren time to grieve properly and if they didn’t there is always the garbage can to go to for visitation until Thursday morning.
it’s starting to rain and I must bring this inside.
On the front of good news – after a year or so of waiting I finally found the most talented cobbler and had new boots and a pair of New Balance (unpaid advertising) made for me. No, I am not some rich weirdo who can only wear shoes made for him – I am some weird cripple who needs shoes made a certain way so I can walk.
The new boot and shoes are so perfectly made I almost forget that I am crippled when I walk, almost if not for the pain. On the cycle I now completely forget that my leg isn’t whole, that I am not broken. My ride to the food store yesterday was the best ride I’d taken since the accident.
If any readers need shoe mending and are in the north of Illinois – I strongly suggest going to Geneva Shoe Repair for this service (also, unpaid advertisement).
But back to the business of poetry.
@font-face { font-family: “MS 明朝”;}@font-face { font-family: “Cambria Math”;}@font-face { font-family: “Cambria”;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: Cambria; }.MsoChpDefault { font-family: Cambria; }div.WordSection1 { page: WordSection1; } @font-face { font-family: “MS 明朝”;}@font-face { font-family: “Cambria Math”;}@font-face { font-family: “Cambria”;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: Cambria; }.MsoChpDefault { font-family: Cambria; }div.WordSection1 { page: WordSection1; }
it’s monday, isn’t it?
awoke, fitful night of dreaming
convalescing
a chapter before sleep or
Chopin waltzes
in interstellar time space conversion.
Pleiades, the seven sisters, gathering together,
gathered and looking down
in a pirouette of secular astonishment,
or not looking but close eyed
fancying
intersection of some young girls jeans;
these are the seven wives of the stationed
star rishis of the Great Bear.
Sterope
Merope
Electra
Maia
Taygeta
Celaeno
Alcyone
in dream,
stirring in twilight rest;
looking up,
looking out
sextant guiding the way home.
– Hoc Scripsi
March 3, 2010
two for today
Today I am feeling spiky, might try to get the little stingy bastard in the corner once and for all. Or maybe I’ll lie down on the floor and pretend none of this is happening while I try to avoid the electric touch of humans.
words
the notebooks,
IBM Selectric IIIs,
et cetera
these are my shields,
protecting me from the world
from you –
My words are the weapons
I utilize
bludgeoning the audience
until they bleed from ears,
mouth, fingertips,
and eyes.
– I wrote this, just now actually in HTML’s commentary.
I like to shoot from the hip. It seems to work better.
February 24, 2010
It seems
Normally I write a new poem and I submit it around and hold it. Most poetry here is a few years old. This one is not – this one is right now. Also this one has some precedent in my work as I am rarely moved enough to write about something political that can also become so charged. But, here it is…
It seems (prisoners of consciousness)
for Orlando Zapata and Fidel Castro
F. Castro is
doing well
it seems
Cuban dissidents are
still dying
in prisons
it seems
R. Castro blames others
for the blood but not
his blood
it seems
all the while we
mostly remain silent
it seems
– I wrote this
I wanted this out now, right now. I don’t even know how finished it is. I wanted it out now.