6.13.2018

O day-song of a day




MINUSCULE EDIFICE

Some ancient Oklahoma sage
knows life as integral
& whole.  A round corral
of circle dance (light wind on stage).

One heartbeat, straight from Manitou.
John in the river, calling
each to prayer, & fasting –
washing clean (life to renew).

The little red plastic lawn chair
Sophie uses catches
the sun.  Minuscule edifice
subject to ridicule, she will suffer

small kids to be comfortable here.
Her persecuted refugee
will be your judge someday –
the heart of old Bluejay casts out fear.

Some perfect day in June, she’ll come
for you...  Shine, raving dove
from Resurrection grave!
She’ll ask what you have done, she’ll sum

you up.  And it’s not too late
(amid these arcs of oak
& pine) to add your spoke
to the wheel of penetrating light –

to hear Natasha’s whispered promise
in the ear of Mandelstam
& join the rapture of a psalm
clasped in her kiss within a kiss.

6.13.18


6.11.2018

American Gothic




SPRING CLOVER

This light foam of wild spring clover
on a green hummock, like
a burial mound, back
to the river... O my Irish rover.

& only the plain brown smock
on a Quaker wife
(with the quincunx life-
crux) remains – to lead the flock

in a morris dance (slim track
to paradise).  American
Gothic.  Meridian
through cornland, by the clapboard shack

which was Birthplace of Herbert Hoover
where a Belgian oasis
for inscrutable Isis
echoes the cenotaph to Henry’s Clover

(the other Henry, in another city).
Wind wafts through green
montage like a has-been
Hobo, wheezing dew (for pity).

Hard to make a go of it, under
them glum St. Louee flying
spirit-flings!  Crying’s
no help – you have to be Apollinaire.

The spray, the veil, the rosy foam.
The train, the backward boots.
Minotaur, with his galoots.
Ariadne with her pigeon, humming home.

6.11.18

6.08.2018

bring it all to bear (she-bear)




OPEN SEA

This Hobo, then – who he?
Lounging by Mississippi
lumpy, caw-caw-hokey
groaning accidentally for She-

Bear – as for primordial Iris.
Great purple monarch,
Theodora in birchbark –
like unto Micòl, or MLK (who is

& was & will be, by the light
of Milky Way).  His Big
Rock Candy brig
like a Black Sea barred-owl frigate

slants downstream, toward Colchis
or N’Orleans golden fleece –
& that arc, that St. Louis
centerpiece, shaped an L for his

Osiris lance (his buoyant flatboat
horizontal).  Troubled in mind,
some perpetual blind
haunt (old King Unfort, behind his moat).

& the whole American Dream lies
like dustbowl wasteland
of frosted heart, hard hand.
Sleepwalkers, unredeemed Henries

                     *

                     *

yoked to their stock.  An iron band
for an age of iron years,
until they can weep tears
again... up to the waist in river-sand.

Providence is in our eye,
he mumbles to himself.
In Ocean State – elf-
green, Rose Island red... (sigh).

Immaculate, born from the sea...
baptism for Columbia,
the Jonah-Dove.  Selah.
An overlay, a palimpsest... a little tree

of life & liberty... an ark
bearing a covenant
of loving-loyal parent,
child – for you, America.  Embark.

Into the open sea of universality,
where the human fingerprint
whorls to its fundament –
that knot of radiant mutuality –

the heart’s own ruby (in a sapphire ring).
So melt the iron with a diamond
flame, graft flowering almond
to the great oak’s mistletoe, & bring

the limping Hobo-King into her limpid
shade, moss-green & grey...
Hagia Sophia, who shall be
statutes of Liberty – dancing, embodied.

6.8.18

6.07.2018

hummingbird hum




RIVER KING

A ruby-throated hummingbird
zips past my hideout
like a Feirefiz out
of Wolfram.  Parzival inquired

at last – What ails thee, unstrung king?
& tears of fellow-feeling
poured from that Grail-thing
wrapt from all eyes.  Dovewing-

featherlight, yet penetrating stone –
translucent as stained glass
above tall quarry-house
of God’s emerald-&-ruby throne;

& waves radiate from your Ocean-
Shadow, like the flowing beard
of an Ancient of Days.  Mild,
domestic weather.  We are all children

of one family, Turtledove coo-coos...
Come into the Riverboat
of Paradise, & float
upon a Fontegaia (green, chartreuse).

Dive into Dream River, Orpheus,
Eurydice... the River King
is on his dais, chanting
the origin of everything (in caritas).

We are all offspring of a Thunderbird
who lights the way with lightning –
guiding tears to clay, shaping
these bones into gemstones (flameward).

6.7.18

6.06.2018

not kingly oak




SPRY LIMBS

Not kingly oak, nor prescient almond...
just some pale cottonwood.
Moon milky-green, for good
measure.  Shedding vagabond

fluffballs – like poetry, or
cotton boles – bales
for Memphis, N’Orleans...
spry limbs bent into hangin’ tree.

I go into jags & eddies, dried
pemmican.  Downstream
from vinegar dream-
sponge (where the Bre’r-man died).

If the Word were truly a fluffball of light
I would be acorn coracle
green mote on miracle
worker spinal curvature (bent wight).

It gleams through red Pipestone
peacepipe – an emerald
happiness, turned gold
as sunshine.  Welcome, Everyone!

Translucent presence of a place
for you, before all places
cling to timespaces...
a nest for omnipresent Falcon-Ace.

Benevolent breeze, that moves these leaves
to waver into swing-time
antimatter – chime
morning with Hope (sings in the sheaves).

6.6.18