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Archive for the ‘art’ Category

on hay-bale box-seats
in nocturnes
lost

enclosed day turns dreamy night
yet, birds sing
outside
still light

this music
played through life-times
notes and rests
melody and themes
intended images and dreams

now in audience
tactile, tangible
in time

your real
hearing
witnessing mine

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Knight’s Move Thinking

linking tangential ideas

off-putting to some

comes naturally to me.

Isn’t that where new ideas come from?

Don’t poets and artists build

bridges

between otherwise disjointed ideas

to let others cross?

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Time for reflection.

Ultimately – or at the limit – in order to see a photograph well, it is best to look away or close your eyes. ‘The necessary condition for an image is sight,’ Janouch told Kafka; and Kafka smiled and replied: ‘We photograph things in order to drive them out of our minds. My stories are a way of shutting my eyes.’ (Roland Barthes: Camera Lucida: Reflections on Photography)

I love this post… do I write, and make art in order to forget – to clear my mind? Am I driven to share in order to forget?

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arching back
pelvis rolling
tail flexing back
opening legs – hips expand
relaxing
expand – inhale

rocking
rounding spine
thighs rotate closer
pelvis tipping up
towards chest
contract – exhale

our pulses
in complimentary reflection
each to each

rhythm
in time
our dance
entwined

so simple

so basic

so fundamental

just now

just pleasure

just feeling

just breath

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first date kissing
us much dated
before
back seat bed
entwined disheveled entangled

give up

give in

steaming up windows
raising temperatures
warmth
careless thoughtless buoyant
young and free once more

yes

yes

compassionate caressing
witnessing want
explore
breaking boundaries
push-up bra undone

quick breath

now

soft eyes occasion to open
street lamp’s  illumination
night’s sun
sees lips and tongues together
breathing bodies pulse anew

shhh…

give in

intentions’ expectations
lake-side parking’s
view
bridge and
far shore homes alight …

shhhh…

okay

just for tonight

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passing my past
on each corner
where i’ve walked
walked
walked

before

years of moments
on these streets

the urban landscape changing
stop motion film
my life plays out
again
again

again on these streets

what was i then
who am i now
concrete questions

i have seen these buildings go up
and down and
down and up

again
again
again

changing with the decades

and me
how have i been transformed
walking by these
shifting structures
five decades worth of

now

all this inside me
changes’ richness
moments collected
bricks up down

down
up

sidewalks once
new

now

cracked with age

five decades worth of
eye’s  inspecting
ear’s composing
finger’s touching
feet feeling earth

texture gravity evolution

making sense

five decade’s consciousness resonate still

this deep breath

memory pulled to present
open soft eye’d vision
from then to

now

all who’ve walked
who walk with me now
all their recollections
sensations sensed

pulse

breath

connected
dancing random patterns
constant metamorphosis

web of life

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when there is no thing

we share
we share

nothing

not the nothing of ease
not the nothing of freedom
not the nothing of carrying water
or cutting wood

but the crushing nothing
the no thing
of no line
to complete the other
lines
of the poem

the nothing of

no pair
of parallel
eyes
to see myself
being seen
or to see
with mine

the
nothing of just me

‘till…

seeing with these eyes
completing that verse
finishing those chores

the no thing becomes

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what is here
in front of me
clean and dirty laundry

cats

throwing treasures to the floor
recorded music resonates

my sadness

if i think about detachment

don’t own the un-mated sock
or the dishes
in the sink –
if i don’t own the cats
clawing at moths

and ripping the screen

do i own my sadness

what is there
behind me

wake
distinctly discernible
patterns of pain
expectations, explanations, reasons and rational
big because-es

do i own my past
my sad specters

what is here
in front of me

cloudy morning
music
cats moving inside
breeze outside
hear the summer
soak in the green
fractal and chaotic patterns

of living leaves

do i own my future
my sadness sits

i watch it
i will not will it

it moves
on its own time
no different than
the cats
the leaves
the breeze

the dishes

the clean and dirty laundry

the solitary sock

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feeling my role like a method actress
looking for the cues
to find my entrance
knuckles knock
on too many locked doors

twenty-seven small bones
sore in their sockets

No, no, no, no
No, no, no, no
like the Fifth begins with a knocking
it’s not closed in a closet
not – not – not  — there
not – not – not  — there
not in these twenty-seven
flanges – knuckles and fingers
not held

but in the twenty-six or twenty-eight
(depending on how you count…)
bones of my feet
grounded
connected
standing
accepting and supporting
my souls on the earth

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The longer I listen
The more I hear

Birds

Filling up the

space

air

Foreground middle and
Back

Expanding

Painting a picture
Perceived
Patterned
punctuated

seen sound
Strokes of solos’ song
Each individual’s cry
part of a whole

Each to each
class and category
Variety, kind and type all

Call out to the

Noon summer now

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