only Osage land

WHAT SMILE

July... all the baby flags.

Every bright young lamb

tuck to torment in Vietnam.

Lyndon moon-face – how it sags.

Hubris... alien, demonic force

unhinged from humility

(vomitgreen parrot pity).

Folds bomber-wings in remorse

after all.  Neither national

nor international;

only irrational

(November’s double coronal).

I’ll finish off this work in progress

now, Columbia –

OK?  Oklahoma’s

only Osage land (but I digress).

& poetry?  Is just a conversation

among singed beans.

You joint it, Henrythin,

to ease U-Haul into elation

(somehow).  That OK.  The heart

is made of meleki limestone

(royal).  43 lamps shine

down upon them groove.  What

now, Henry?  What hum?  What ghost

flit as yum turtledove

‘bove fry Friday pirate cove?

What smile lightum up (coruscant host)?

7.1.18

ledge of regal limestone

HUMAN PLEDGE

The cool dry tesserae congeal

in Sant’ Apollinaris –

dance, coalesce

into high figures of a royal seal.

Exalted features... recognizable.

Your neighbors (Limentani).

Riding bikes to the sea

to get away from scent of stable

(Mussolini’s racehorses).

That was then; this

is placid Minneapolis.

We’re not like them, of course (off-course).

The constitution of a human pledge

blazons these images

from pencil-boxes... pages

scratched out.  Natasha’s ledge

of regal limestone – living rock,

streaked honey-colored

marble.  Moss-layered

icon, limpid under chopping block.

Our covenants of disputation

rest on implicit ground;

Rhode Island in the round,

an Ocean State of transmutation.

The bond of love is clean as salt,

as plain as day.  We are

redeemed by holy fire.

The one you seek has left the vault.

6.30.18

stone for bread, bread for stone

ANCIENT DATE

The soupy heat slouches toward

July.  Flesh sags &

drips, we’re breathing und-

erwater.  Jonah’s gone overboard.

A billion fins of fans rotate,

create more heat.  Hobo

lies flat under a willow.

He daydreams of an ancient date

by Highland Water Tower; the whole town

spread before them, just

beyond the graveyard.  Lost

her name somewhere.  Don’t drown

me in false memories, he begs.

Canova’s statue (broken)

of George Washington

writes its own ave over his crossed legs.

Farewell, Columbia.  Guard well

her statue in the harbor.

Beggar not they neighbor.

Muzzle Nero, tripping up from hell.

That shimmering seine, the veil of Isis

shrouds the face of Henry’s

Clover.  Out of bleakness

of the grave, young spring may rise;

beyond the azure of the Golden Gate

one facet of euphoria –

one artophoria

of stone – revives... brings light to fate.

6.29.18

conversation for kids

LITTLE PEARL

The Hebrews found a verbal replica

for Pharaoh’s pyramids.

Conversation for kids

(& sheep, & goats).  It was Jehovah

came to intervene, to interview.

Some saw an Oedipal

triangle – shadow wall

of mud-baked bricolage (dream stew);

some saw trois anges, craning down

from Paradise – to speak

with Abraham, Sarah, Isaac

(that lightning twin would play the clown).

The pyramids are office towers.

No one will explain

how so much pain

depends on callous fingers (ours).

The just one wears a diamond pin

stuck through the heart –

QUADRANS IN IMO ET

IN SUMMA SUBTILIS (wide-eyed dolphin).

The Middle of the World, he said

& made the sign of six

ways (willow sticks,

or cottonwood).  So truth’s inbred.

Her little pearl of rectitude

is portable – rides

water as a cheek glides

tears.  That’s all (beatitude).

6.28.18

yodeling in Mendelssohn

LITTLE MIRROR

The mind is like a little mirror

& the word is like

a mirror in that lake.

We skated there, one ancient year –

across the icy glass, Heidi.

In Mendelssohn, sweet

neighborhood (complete

Garden of Cyrus now, in memory).

A melody of day-lilies cheers Henry

Hobo (by the Mississippi).

He might be somebody

you know – booked into penitentiary?

Sol.  Solo.  Absent Sheba

browses in another aisle

(archived in old Rhode Isle).

Her ship’s in search of Colchia

lambswool – seamless gold web,

mute mutuality –

griot reality

lofted to laughter (on Mount Horeb).

Square triangles of pyramids

fit into portable log

cabin logarithms, Mag.

Your stone’s a tiny tablet, hid

beside that lake, in Galilee –

a solidarity

sodality, a party

writ on water.  Fountain, artistry.

6.27.18

by the long slow delta-mouth

BRIGHT FLASH

That line of poplars in the Corot distance

like on the way to Ravenna

or along the Seine, Papa

– no, only the topmost branches

of a simple sycamore in Providence

– no, just a maple

in Minneapolis.  O ample,

inexpressible, tongue-tied inheritance!

In the heart of the heart of the country

maybe.  Where anguish lives

alongside hope – conceives

the origin of time-&-space, Henry –

this wilderness of unfound, foundered

land.  This knotted maze

where a wood casket will blaze

(portable grail, marine crossroad)

the suddenly articulate harmony

of an integral universe

like that scene on a vase

when Isaac, Ishmael & Melpomene

leave town together, shaking tambourines

a procession to seashore

on the blind side of Minotaur

throwing down scimitars, carbines

for their Thanksgiving celebration

by the long slow delta-

mouth   at the seething O

& ah   bright flash   of seraph exultation

6.24.18

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

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

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

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

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

serene enchantment

ROYAL SEAL

Springtime earth bears a secret promise

for that unknown child

somewhere, today – mild

summons of the midnight stars

foretell the coming of her Magi, too.

May burgeons toward her

flowery grand fanfare

beneath its vault (red, lilac, blue) –

a royal seal of lilac coronation;

within that dome’s one

multiocular panopticon

prophetic voices merge in exaltation –

serene enchantment of perennial life

blooming toward light itself

(O fragrant almond staff

sprouting sweetness – beyond all strife).

The infant nested in a great oak’s shade

smiles in soft seaborne air.

Ocean will prepare

her Restoration Day – as you were made

in the beginning, so shall you be again.

Shining in Paradise,

where all the rivers rise;

gemstones of blazing men & women

awakening from mind’s blindness.

Under an azure-orange arch

they sail... grail-search

fulfilled – Love’s everflowing happiness.

5.24.18

Whitsun yodeling

SHADY RIVER

Hobo goes with the flow of things,

he sinks into the green

entanglement of vine

& grape, the stream’s faint ripplings.

His logos is a Lincoln knot

scratched into driftwood

while Turtledove cooed

overhead (so reads Coyot’).

The knot binds everything, as with

her singing spine, the Argo

bound over il Mar Nero –

Noé’s noeud of adoration (myth

turned moth turned monarch seal).

Echoes from a cave

one vanished brave –

Love’s breadcrumb, who became a meal.

All come to bloom in memory...

as the canoe in the garage

scented with Micòl-image

breathes again inscript in Bassani.

A grail of dew sprinkles the summer grass

with Hobo’s oasis-gems;

yearning no one condemns

uplifted where it shall not pass –

into that monarch-realm of dark cedar

where a thrush warbles

& salt breeze marbles

lilac dusk (by Po-Boy River).

5.22.18

May-time

ALMOND FLING

Palmers wayfare toward Jerusalem

& Holy Sepulchre –

empty signifier

for an Easter hymn (they’ve taken him

away).  A grail of ever-floating joy –

love’s Pentecost

fire-fizz Ghost

Dance for 50 stars (Old Glory

stitched anew from burial shroud).

Rivers of Paradise

(Tigris, Euphrates,

Nile, Big Muddy) circle back to cloud

of Ocean-Stream – source of sky-waters,

like round limestone

beaded with ripple-shine

to emerald gleam (through grisaille shutters).

Hobo, fish-eyed Fisher King,

beheld this vision

through a wavy octagon

of old gazebo planks.  & sinking

down upon his quaint Vienne étable

his head (like Bran of Grain

Elevator) made moan

for Miriam, or Marian, as in the fable.

Until your May-time dawn refulgence

metamorphosed everything

into one almond fling –

Oak Restoration (eye-in-palm, perchance).

5.20.18

Philadephia harbor

SHADE TREE

Stewart’s old print of Philadelphia harbor

(1821).  The great shade tree

by the shore, so peacefully

imposing.  What’s America for?

The benign bonheur, hovering over

our intricate pursuits

of same.  The one who loots

forcefields of dominance, mon frère,

may never find this canopy

of feathery leaf-

grace, hopeful belief...

for we the people brook no satrapy –

relentless justice of the golden rule

the frame of human dignity;

law’s equilibrium of equity

our guarantee of commonweal.

My own boat pilots back to Mendelssohn

so slowly, through such vast

flat riverlands.  Her mast

a pine tree split from almond Someone –

cloudy shadow of a smile (O shady oak).

Your heavy clay, Coatlicue –

the chilly violence you

still portray – fired to a silver spoke

as fine as spiderweb, becomes a sign.

Your limestone epitaph –

a serpentine & fractal staff

fractured for us, broken for bread & wine.

5.17.18

those double doors

DEEP RESCUE

Those double doors of the Baptistery

in Florence, where Alighieri

was restrained from returning.  He

might have admired the mastery

of Lorenzo Ghiberti – that golden river

of perfection, surging from

Eden to Gesthemani... some

inscrutable summa of Prime Mover

spoked in parables of heartbreak

& confusion (Miriam, lifting

both hands in agony).  So bring

what you have to a blindman’s break-

fast, to her Thanksgiving feast.

From the belly of a whale

came Jonah – whole & hale

as dolphin-breach (O swift grey beast)!

The linèd forehead of Leviathan

is like your own... therefore

be not dismayed.  Footsore

mule, flinty thin Prophet Stan,

your Livingstone (still at the Nile)

holds firm against the flow

of time – your steadfast glow

upon the brow of them who show.  Smile,

Indigo!  Passage to more than blue!

– these equilibria

of gyroscape... mute

mutualità, below the soil... deep rescue!

5.16.18

How to be God's friend?

JUST BEYOND

The lifesaver : a fruity ring

invented by Hart Crane’s

father.  Across the plains

yawing wind-wagons roll.  Something

akin to Grant Wood corn, maybe –

an icon.  All’s figures,

counsels holy Zero

Summer.... Burchfield parody

(complete with feverish Light-

in-Gale).  Deep swampland

heartland, over sand-

fly latitudes.  God’s outa sight;

Dad’s a kind of Kingfish, generous

in all the wrong ways.

Those were the dog days.

Rain... unlikely hymn (so mysterious) –

another author, just beyond the pale.

Moses climbs from his dinghy

ready to shake that thingy –

waterspew from Rock (a Word, set sail).

How to be God’s friend? ask

the Friends.  Williams hectored,

but he left on record

how to walk humbly (high shellfish task)...

Friends gathered in a Rhody cave.

Silence is best response

to Charlie’s dalliance.

Our Author is a friendship trope – to save,

not to condemn.

5.8.18

I am what I ham

NIGHT TRAIN

The night train rumbles like a ghost

of iron over the bridge

over the river.  Sage

Minnehaha, Hobo loves you most.

He’s lying by the muddy bank

trying to clear his head.

Everything he’s read

demands – who am I to thank?

The driftwood spines of shattered books

surge downstream, sink.

Think, Hobo, think –

a deadman’s glancing you posthumous looks.

Twin humps in winter refuse

under the lamp-green

of young leaves...  Scene :

pillars try an almond (Moses, Jesus).

Through teenage foliage coheres

the rust-brown iron magnet

of one (hold tight!)

modal mine of shifting gears –

the rocky profile of a personal friend,

who’s center’s nowhere

& who’s hairline is (look there,

Horatio!) nowhere near the end.

A sibyl croons from the ancient world

whose prince is dancing

naked by the prow.  Sing,

mickle dam... like slingshot hurled.

5.7.18

one Coke hand

LILAC-JOY

High fan of infant cottonwood leaves.

Their light-green spray,

pale sign of spring today.

Come late (come early May).  Cleaves

to the swollen river – spewing snowmelt,

winter flotsam, garbage.

Nature floats this mirage

of metaphors... for what the Sibyl spelt.

Your sister-dove (Jeannette-Columbia).

Shade of Beatrice –

plumb-bob Eurydice,

sounding the depths of Sheol (ephphatha).

On this day in 1775

Little Rhody broke the tie

with Mother England.  Die

is cast.  The wasps have left the hive.

Still an ineffable spider-bridge

dangles its catenary M

between two pillars.  Hymn

of Wisdom’s unbreakable pledge –

octave uniting heaven & human,

person to person – one

Coke hand, spun

to Ocean State... wide chordal span!

Your mirror of primordial Sea

(reflecting golden doors

of Baptistery) pours

lilac-joy – Love’s ripe To Be.

5.4.18

be manifest, be imminent

TUSCAN HILLS

Nestled in his city of rivers & bridges,

hidden in his cabin

of Lincoln logs, alone

like that baby screech owl (wedged

in his cozy cottonwood hideout)

Hobo will contemplate

his May-time temperate

zone, his mild creation, riverine, remote.

Knotted by Amor – like an Incan quipu-

net, like a ruby bud

of that burbling Word

afloat so murkily nearby (his Brook of Q).

Ahav-be-manifest – be imminent

as hale touché-scapegoat

whose royal honey-kismet

soldered Okean to oak – bent

light to leaden doomroad (East

to West).  Jerusalem

gleams in the sun – shalom,

shalom to the returning one!  A feast

for the soul of yon American

blindfolded rambler.

Holy fool, shambler-

yurodivy, from Voronezh to San Fran

you’ll meander, like an old river

& mumble of a Union

equable & all-human –

soft Tuscan hills, moss-green forever.

5.3.18