rumours of another summer by pd lyons

Rumours of Another Summer

poetry by PD Lyons

The author has asserted her/his right under section 77 the copyright Design and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work pdlyonspoet@yahoo.co.uk http://pdlyons.wordpress.com/ http://pdlyonspoetry.blogspot.com/

For

Shelly, bravest of the brave love of my life more than ever more than always

acknowledgements

Thank you to the editors of the following publications in which some of these poems first appeared: Vox Poetica Hot Metal Press Angelic Dynamo Shit Creek Review Fresh Ink Virtual Writer Gone Lawn Osprey Journal Eleutheria, The Scottish Poetry Review Thunderclap Calliope Nerve Poetry warrior Kerouacâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Dog West47 Calamity Jane Irish American Post The Legendary Corner Club Press Lapwing Publishing

CONTENTS 8. Stainless Un-marked Sky 9. Come Down from your Hills 10. Could She But Think Of Cape Cod 11. Garbo’s Garage 12. Senti Mental 13. Immortal Beloved 14. Jenny 15. Espresso @ the Borgia 15. Ritual 16. F’n Bukowski 17. Morning Piece 17. Once While I Was Away 18. Summer 19 For Jack Who No One Reads 20. Poetry from The Edge 21. Ghosts Of My Summers 22. Still Snow The Cemetery Is April 23 Once We Knew The Dark 24. Pre Ghostings By April 25. Kisses Which Bear The Open Mouths Of Love 26. The Ghost Of My Mothers Lover 27. Bigger Than The Sky If A Star Was Your Eye 30. Divorce 30.Children 31. The Girl Next Door 32. Wait 32. Second Cuppa House Blend 33. Cop 34. As If The Rain 35. Dublin 35. When I’m Gone 36. Summers 37. Rumours Of Another Summer 38. Autumnal 39. Complete Enemy Of Words 40. Rumours Of King Fishers 41. Coffee Mornings 41. Snow 42. Questioning Morning 42. 1955 43. No Place Like Home 44. Beginning 44. Woman Shapes 45. Knowing Now The Healing 46. Billy The Kid In Hamburg 47. Moragna 48. In The Absence Of Air Conditioning 49. Writing With Vengeance

50. Women Buying Guns In America 51.Looking For Work In Dublin 53. Capri In The Borders 54. The Disappeared 56. American Outlaw 57. Old Shirt 58. This Morning 59. Little Shoes 60. Tattoo On Leaving Gettysburg 61. With Jesus In Jacksonville 62. Riding With An Angel In The Pale Moonlight 63. As Time Goes By 63. Canada 64. For Brian 65. The Lover Of Wisdom 66. For W.B. 66. Memorial 67.The Man Who Came for Turquoise 68. Should The Question Beg For Answer 69. La la la la la 70. Kent 71. In Favour Of Ice Climbing 71. Red Bird On The Road 72.Soft Bends The River 72. Home 73. Hey 74. Pensioners Remiss 75. Smoky Pelican 76. Eileen Di’Bartalamao, Jan Iorio 76. Herding Goats In Ithaca 77. My Heart 78. Red Bird 78. On The Bridge 79. The Girl 80. Hitchcock Lake 81. Annie In Connecticut 82.Brendon 83. Morgan Knows 84. Only August 85. Loretta’s Piece 86. Pop* 87. Battery Park 88. Whose Name began With Stars 89. Continuum 90. The Red Bird 90. Titanic 91. Mo Matter Where 91. Late Night Transistor Radio 92. Too Early For Blueberries 93. Waltzing Miss Jeanie

94. Porcelain 95. Outlaw Days 96.Wanting To Be In The Old Tongue 98. Dreams Before The Growing Season Of Grass 99. Trust 99. Maybe Michelle 100.. Belize 101. Wordsilk 102. Xunantunich 103. Just A Cat 104. Me And The Small Talk Angel 105. The Poet In Her Narcissism 106. Sitting 107. Dharma

Stainless un-marked sky Against a powder green wall single bed Magazine photos yellow cellophane taped No underwear favourite red t-shirt 30/06 lever action Blue barrel fingerprints Weevil ticking toes Fly hums against the glass Until heat makes everything Even outside Still. Beneath that shirt Bump each little island Up to where if a boy An Adams appleâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;d be. Knees steady butt end On a white board floor. Spidering fingers. Raw cotton breath. Knowing itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s loaded. Stainless un-marked Alone in your room Sky.

Come Down From Your Hills Come down from your hills and see me Remind me when I was a girl Tip my kisses with honey Bathe my feet in your curls Soft green grass in showers of gold Apple blossoms swirl like snow Echoless laughter my hands on your face

Come down from your hills and see me Remind me when I was a girl Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m tired of long wool skirts Tired of wobbly shoes Tired of being a stranger afraid to remember you

Could she but think of Cape Cod Sand spray ridges Heartbeat trombone ocean still out of sight flavours the air her hair and Shifting down to the open beach opalized lumps of stone darker lighter sand crazy north east gales bit by bit Trail of unnecessaries Shoes Coat Shirt Skirt Polka dot bra unmatched by pink panties A string of moonish pearls returned

Garboâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Garage Velvet finish Concrete floor Silver dollar oil spot Otherwise dry as a bone Pontiac No other reason Than liked The bonnet ornament Lush blob Chrome Streaming back Noble savage Sometimes Put her mouth Around it Alone Parked Garage Door Closed No shelves No Tools No Debris

Senti mental Nineteen seventy-three followed me Out into high drifts Sparkling like sugar Crisp pancake sun Sky blue as a bell bottom No homes to go to Old leaves summered out Criss cross Like stars our hearts Fifteen years old So much a live time a go There were birds beneath her islands There were bold Fenian fingers of my own But love was a thing that made me listen when she said no And even then I believed summer was forever and so I loved her so

Immortal Beloved There’s no such thing as Beethoven in Waterbury. No one sees him buying race forms or cigarettes at Bauby's corner. He doesn’t play pin ball at Dazz's, Chalk a cue at Genlocks, pan handle a concert crowd at the Palace theatre, Order Blue Ribbon shorts at Backstreet’s Sit in Dresher’s after three sipping cool tall dark drafts. He’s not protesting the war at Library Park, Selling acid from the Kingsbury hotel, Falling asleep on Christmas Eve with a girl named Mary in the chapel of St. Johns church. Strung out girls don’t get to build snowmen on the green with him Mattatuck music can’t hire him to move their records And old men at Palace Liquors can’t argue with him. Hare Krishna’s can’t get him to do their chanting. Doorways where he stood out of the rain for hours are empty or are gone. Strangers at the all night bus station, killers on their way to Canada … Women from Louisiana … never meet him anymore. He doesn’t share a table with downtown Shirley and her father, Reminisce the death of walkin' stick Louie betrayed by Tiger Teddy, Sell more orange sunshine than Bobby Comfort, Blow a joint with the New Riders of the Purple Sage, Love a reincarnated baton twirling beauty queen from North Carolina, Let catholic school girls follow him home – Cry because he had to let them go. He doesn’t clamour along the roof tops with a friend named Bird, who never got to California, find free warmth in the library or in the stairwells of the Brown building or for a quarter a slice get to sit behind the pizza ovens at Dom N Nick’s. And no one sees him sitting on the fire escape drinking Roma California Port with Whitey and Charlie Brown – anymore. On the corner of Lewis and Main Beethoven’s lover eyes several school girls waiting on a bench across the street. There’s nothing happening for her in this town anymore. Yet still she dyes her hair red, refuses to ever ride a bus and her pale lips still struggle with those Lucky Strikes just like always in his dreams.

Jenny My fingers have touched Your face Your razor cut hair Rose bud lips Every square inch of how you define your Slender secret self Vulnerable to love Shielded by the city Defensive diaphragms Nicotine & coffee Shadow sister Manhattan monochromed cool Believing anything was possible we were the same

Beneath warm tones of old bones Pictures of girls and oceans First born anxiety Visitation eased by distance Horizons met and thus reset Soft steady ache like something summer upon green lawns Time to talk in silence

Espresso @ the Borgia She used perfume Smelled like cinnamon gum That should be enough If not: Dressed in black tights Emerald green Kamali sweater Hair long white ~ recently unbraided Red marks left by her lips on porcelain cups

Ritual Silent on the back steps Smoke spirals Past heat stuck insects Webs of spiderâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s 60 watt bulb Cracking whiskery grey paint Four glass panes never meant to be opened Stars peek in & you come along Not necessarily to join me But sit beside me none the less Nimbly roll one for yourself & then another one for me.

(For Ulrike)

F’n Bukowski Idiot me picks now 6000 miles away at 52 To discover him Still glad I didn’t stay in Waterbury Find him sooner Probably still be pukeing Out in the after last call Parking lot of now what am I gonna do Or else back in jail Or else still with one of the x-es Or else not even alive ~ Tonight just had a chicken and ham sandwich on rye And its sometime after midnight And I’ll probably still be up @ 6 maybe half 6 Do some yoga make some coffee Bring it to her in bed Get some pancakes going for the kid And be happy to do so ~ No not envious Not regretful Rather peaceful Glad to be out of it That’s the kind of poet I’m happy to live with Now

Morning Piece This morning Wrap myself In a one of a kind memory Close my eyes Slip into my hands, Cock my head back Lean into a Manhattan Sunday Just before summer On the luxury side Of uptown Slightly smiling.

Once While I Was Away You might have come Expecting awkward greeting won by Philosophic well planned answers to What you thought my unasked questions were Accidental touch Silent linger hands Knowing prelude to a kiss All it would take to unclench my heart Inviting you in So you'd have something to do for the afternoon

Summer In June the dead come October too cold Perhaps reminiscent of that part of being dead Theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d most like to forget We talk about the past After all what else do we have in common? Mostly women come. Perhaps because I always went to them Or maybe death, a vulnerability, makes men shy? Either way we sit where it is I am these days, Outside the kitchen By an old apple tree Across the sea Leaving behind the lands they knew me in No longer needing now to wander

For Jack Who No One Reads Needing someone new to love Loving/ needing newness They loved Not understanding No appreciating Not knowing Or caring He was it New Filling the need they had regardless of who he was Something new A thing Parents never heard of Would never approve of Would at least be threatened by As if every one would really go Leave pack it in Give it up hit the road And even if they did Would our highways then become our cities? Places like Manhattan our open roads? But he brought you flowers Somehow knowing about purple irises Sat down beside you Knowing about the gallery You being there You thinking about your boyfriend You thinking about him in the dark room Afraid to wait any longer over Turkish coffee at Mamoonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s That one time he was late That day you were moving From the city From the summer From all possibilities of being swayed For Gabrielle

Poetry from the Edge Maybe if I stayed Paid my dues Drunken disorder Home town lovers Possession with intent Liberal arts and all that shit Reading at the button wood tree Slams at the museum Out for macrobiotic afterwards with students and faculty But I didn’t Instead Carrying with me every step of the way Bones broke by horses Planes to airports languages I couldn’t say Waited all day for you in the Grand Canary Rode alone desert near Giza Stranded in Aswan after ships curfew Walking frozen January rivers in Hamburg Drove 14 hours straight as far as I could go to end up in Ohio Waited hours at Mamoons for someone named for angels never showed Stood alone on street corners 3am waiting on a bag of coke

hope you’re doing well having a wonderful time glad I’m still here.

Ghosts of my summers Ghosts of my summers walk by Long pink skirts trail Roads of my youth Still there yet some what changed As if each and every memory plays out again This time A different girl Meets a different girl Once you Once me Still June.

Still Snow the Cemetery is April Here hunger Has been learned Insatiable Into a kinder Peace Vampiric Living come To feed off the dead Hunger Temporarily Satiated Only fleeting Only the dead can be starved into peace No matter how many Flags Medallions Mementoes Stones Flowers The dead no longer can be known Memories are not the same as knowledge Unlike the living The dead have moved on Songs of birds Sun on brown grass Reluctant winter In ways the living call regret The dead with kinder knowledge Know

Once We Knew the Dark No matter where days may differ but darkness is the same. What if I lead you by the mouth? Places underwater you could breathe in Fingers taught on instruments stranger than bones Drawn by strings reminiscent of words long ago Familiar colours since extinct. When winter was all there was could you find reasons to celebrate? No matter how elaborate windows intricate trees harmonic songs What does it take to lure a silver sun? Bleaktitude chased Hot whiskey voices Oak wood smoke Red berry holly Slender secret ghosts vulnerable to love. If it were long ago and my name was Jesus Would you change your name for me? Would you be my Mary? I have become food for other creatures Things I never knew existed indulge themselves in me Grey not white birds mark my passing secret self No evidence during that time of my existence Yet even so something still remains: A dying ember tenderness unquestioned. Drawn to the wound in you moon strong as my own A thing to be fingered or fucked a place to meet or loose ourselves. What makes me want to reach in wonder what shape your creatures take as I do? Unlike them others, reverse rodents unable to stay, I'm not afraid. I know nothing survives the future. Why wait for secrets? When we forget enough we die. For: Loretta '73

Pre Ghosting By April April slate daggered crows litter garden walls grey as soft rain sky wanting to believe again all thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s green able to shine any minute now kettle whistle coffee pour almost burning toast can you ever begin anything at all? Never mind again? white walls white linens white floor boards high gloss mirroring white radiator, doors, curtains pale as milk skin as silk black as Japanese all night eyes. when the moon was blue cleaned the roaches rolled two joints by the reservoir sat in shadow Lambrusco laughter places so like home between us without your mouth I couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t even whisper

Kisses Which Bear the Open Mouths of Love She would not know me now All spidered and soft eyed There are no horses here I do not smoke with them Before the rising sun We do not track our way through trackless lands Drink from any random running waters. No summers here My own muscles do not perfume The working day Attract the stars nocturnal butterflies & kisses which bear the open mouths of love

The Ghost of My Mother's Lover Sometimes I would find the things he left, loose change under the cushions, a little red box of wood matches (that my mother took away), black liquorice candies wrapped in stripped silver foil and once a big silver skeleton key - that he really left for me. One night I woke up, hearing his voice, his voice form my mother's room, his voice talking and talking. I went up to the door which was not quite closed - they were in bed together. He was sitting up and mother lay with her arms around him, head on his bare chest. He wasn't just talking he was reading, so I sat down there in the hallway and listened about Morgana the sister of a king. I guess he didn't notice, my mother was asleep because he kept on reading and whenever he turned the page I thought he would look right at me and smile. I listened as Morgana looked into the water for pictures of the future and how some of the knights did not like her but there was one, one with dragons on his arms who loved her very much, how it was Morgana who taught the little girls of Avalon to serve the Goddess...And I thought I have to ask him, who is this Goddess? I must have fallen asleep there on the floor by the door of my mother's room because the next thing I remember I am being carried and in his arms! My face against pictures of blue stars and a black winged horse on his shoulder. His smell a little like the ocean mixed with something from my mother's kitchen. His muscles so great that with one arm he held me while with the other pulled back the blankets, swung me down into my bed so fast I almost laughed out loud then tucked me in. Through my half closed eyes I could see his face coming closer and closer, then his lips touched my forehead - but soft like mother's kiss even though his breath of smoke and prickly chin were not at all like mother. As he pulled away he said so that I could hardly hear, "Sleep well. Sleep well little Morgana." Then I remembered, I wanted to ask him... I sat up and said "Tell me - " But he was gone and already the light in my mother's room put out.

Bigger Than the Sky If A Star Was Your Eye Without sadness there can be no kindness. Depression while it may be unkind Is not a kind of sadness. Someday children will know: Daddies don’t know everything Daddies aren’t always there Daddies cannot protect omnipotent in any way On top of that neither can mommy. Not even if we are turned into gods. Allowing our children to turn us into gods Should be every parents concern. I have lived in houses of the dead. Those who died before my age, Those who lived to be a hundred a hundred years ago. Someday these stairs I sweep will still be here And I will not be anywhere. Someday all those I ever knew and who knew me, No matter how intimately; will be no more. Not even forgotten because there will be none Who ever even knew them or us or me. My daughter age 7 asks “What happens when you die daddy?” “What really happens after you die dad?” Am I afraid of death? Afraid of not being me anymore? Am I afraid of life? Afraid of not knowing answers? Growing old? Forgetting? My mommy my daddy. Grandma Grandpa Aunts & uncles. How they looked where they died – hospitals wakes funerals What they taught me? Names of dogs, my first cat, Cards, poker, slap-jack, war, set-back, cribbage, 31, solitaire, rummy.

Smoking: corn silk, pall malls, Kents, old gold, lucky strike, viceroy Marlboro, Mores. TV: channel 8, ABC, Superman, Twilight Zone, Avengers, Popeye, Lone Ranger, Roy Rogers, Rifleman, Sugarfoot , Captain Kangaroo ( how to tie my shoes), Bunny- rabbit, Mr. Moose, Tom Terrific, Sonny Fox, Sandy Becker, Ranger Andy, Outer Limits, Bugs what’s up doc Bunny ( all I know about classical music) and oh that mighty mighty mouse and the farmer and the mice (made before sound all action to a can-can score), Zorro, Robin Hood, Paladin, Seaview, Sea Hunt, Flipper, Twenty Mule Team Death Valley Days. Stateline potato chips, Mr salty pretzels, Oreos, drake’s cakes, Cracker Jack, sandwiches, deli grinders, first sip sting- my- nose Knickerbocker Beer, hires real root beer, diamond ginger ale, real mayonnaise, sour pickles, Pepsi-cola, cream off the top of the milk bottle. Big giant glittering maniacal magical Christmas, and the baby, baby Jesus in his little wooden manger. Easter bunnies, Easter baskets, vinegary coloured eggs. Halloween, store bought costumes, pillow cases full of trick or treating treats. Songs my mother whistled in the garden, all the flowers she taught me names of, the birds she always fed, the pets she always had Nietzsche, Fritz, Simon, Suki, , Dulcinea, Heidi, Beau, Nietzsche II, Terry, Frisky, Penny, Mamma Kitty, Tuffy, Tasha. My father’s chess set, going fishing, making models together: black bear & cub, USS Missouri “big mo”, making us sawn and sanded swords at his work bench, heavy iron wrenches, hammers I could hardly lift, picks that weighed more than I did. Cub Scouts, baseball, sledding on the golf course, going up the bank, down the rock fort, up the rez, taste of snow, scent of autumn bright sun on brown leaves orange & yellow & up to your knees holding hands with mom walking down peach orchard hill to glimpse a sight of JFK waving as he went by on his way to Hartford. Roger Maris as a rookie my first time at the major league his first Yankee game, Mickey Mantle, Whitey Ford and oh yeah Yogi Berea! Summer vacations, going to the ocean - 5 kids all are we there yet packed into the Chevy station wagon when Connecticut to Maine really took forever… My daughter loves the sea We don’t live near it Sometimes get to visit Dancing in and out the surf Up and down the Dogs Bay regardless of the weather.

My son now in his thirties hardly ever leaves his house the one he bought from my father’s estate The house me and the siblings grew up in Same ones I argued with so he could live there Like his grandpa said. And maybe it’s no so bad to forget? be free of history be new make space for right now stop so much looking back. And maybe it can be that way with death? not so bad, letting go of all this me? making space for something new? But I've a strong ego Tuff as nails A Buddha’s nightmare Veteran of all kinda wars. Maybe that’s the equation: stronger the ego – stronger the fear? I am not the god of my children I’m too old to fool them with immortality Anyway they’re too smart to not perceive My purely human heart. Love is not an answer. Love is a response to all those unanswerable questions. Not knowing anything I love. The more answers I don’t have? The more I feel my own true love. ~ I don’t know what really happens when we die But I do know how much I love you ~ 20 Jan 09 for Morgan Macha

Divorce Two boys Sons before school Dad’s darlings Learning to swing “...all by yourself!!!” Under a friendly sun Free vitamin D Lace of green tree buds Song of wandering sparrows Who knows the sorrows of another?

Children A natural kindness Quietly they meet Slowly ease Help one another with shoes, swings and reach the water fountain ~ Fearless to be gentle. Too soon The intrusion of adult fear Corrupts the fragile little dears.

The Girl Next Door When I remember third floor windows tall white lace sails summer all running in our veins her mother in the kitchen making cool aid and plate full of something cookie sweet to eat she wanted me to stay I was afraid wanted to go home but didn’t want her to know Not wanting to be in this house of too many windows overlooking this mill town valley but she wanted me to stay and her mother agreed besides the rains begun going to be a real storm already rumblings from darkening horizon I’ll call you mother She won’t be worried You can stay for supper you like hot dogs don’t you? and that was how I learned not to be afraid of storms not to hide from thunder or lightning Frances and her mother guiding me with their exuberance ohhs and ahhs and joy over every menacing vibration or sudden crash every flash or veining skeletal zig zag

Wait Slow Moon Miles ran Rain bent Poplar pine Remembered snow Flickering yellowing Butterly lite Echoes of breath Along washing windows As if washed Might sense A meaning other than Tomorrow April comes And here I am Un-gone Un-knowing

Second Cup'a House Blend Almond biscotti Girl of peaches Girl of shadow Smattering old men @ chess Soft grey lady novels Dilettante cell phone planners Lap top troopers enterticing Man I am friend of the coffee Man I am friend of the coffee . 32

â&#x20AC;&#x153;Copâ&#x20AC;? Sometimes he woke me up so early getting ready for work I learned how morning could be dark as night Sometimes he woke me up so late Just to kiss me back asleep When my father was a policeman No one thought armour piercing rounds Were a constitutional right No one but the bad guys Thought he was a bad guy We knew he was the guy you called for help And always he showed up.

As If The Rain Emily Dickinson used to sneak out. Sometimes in day light, mostly at night. Tip toeing carefully down the back stairs Even though nobody else was there. Always a hat a shawl or a veil To keep the neighbours off her trail. Walking along the streets of the town Glimpses her reflection among dry goods and gowns And in the shop she has been seeking makes her purchase from a little man who has always honoured their agreement And never Miss Emily’s secrets revealed. Bag of tobacco, skins and matches snapped up in her bag. While wrapped in brown paper knotted with string – a bottle of port She tucks under her wing. Emily Dickinson used to sneak out. Later that night she did it again. Carefully tip toeing down the back stair Even though nobody else was there. Making her way out to the train station, Counting the stars as she sat on the bench, Naming new constellations while she was waiting. Defined by an overcoat of wrinkles and stains Rodent hands desperate deep dead end pockets Rusty knife retrieved by one opened by the other String and paper, slit and peeled ~ Turbulent mouth not spilling a drop A shudder of sighs he sits down beside her. Easing back against green slats, Things he knows he sometimes tells her ~ Crossing the country by freight. Tin can meals around a fire. Men who only knew for certain that they’d not meet again. Bones broken by horses. Bayonets emerging from a fog. What it’s like on the other side of the ocean. Names of young girls, young men. Who might be living? Who might be dead? And sometimes, only warm smoke shapes lingering As if the rain would never come again on a Tuesday night in Amherst…

Dublin Dublin The sea The gulls The Liffey Joyce And the ship in the window on Berkly road Still Claim Her .

When Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m Gone Who will know the feel? Wood held by bare hands Sweat hard work horses Rain soak Walking home In the dark Night rainbows

Summers All the leaves I ever loved In autumn fell Acres of New England Wrapped in colours Damp with promise Maybe rain Maybe snow All I ever knew of walking.

Rumours of Another Summer

95Âş 4th of July Connecticut Bare Trees, Winter Night; oldie not so familiar says the radio. this is age & what itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s like & how is there anything else now? But poplar silver still sounds like rain quick sand springs still stream maples shade deep gorge brooks high stones circle the pool of where going down to the horse bones we were kids.

Autumnal foraging geese too busy for flight occasionally eye little white dogs being walked on lines not being busy myself I watch my beautiful daughterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s joy at this To offer is to become.

Complete Enemy Of Words It was me with nothing left to inspire about a complete enemy of words at this point Hot winter sun hard through glass walled heart unbending damp handed pen not a thing left to say at this point remembering perfect sentence the artist as a young man touched not one myalgiac fibre of my un known self So into the hallowed hands of Ulysses trust all this open wounded calcified flesh hope one last time miracle heal my father heal my self heal bruised leg muse every curse of every failed publisher - purge quick silvered anew my lazy soul go on do on no do more da do run run run da do run run

Rumours of King fishers. can you ever begin anything at all? never mind again white walls white linen duvet pillows sheets white lamp white floor boards radiator door & pale as milk kiss black as Japan lacquer all night eyes smooth long whisper curves of ahhâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s to not call it ocean that which we call ocean would be? to not call it mind that which we call mind would be? to not call it I that which we call I would be?

sometime ago angels leapt up in summer time yellow gold all one w/ human kind of course looked like love at first then became lust by try as they must could never get off though happily multiple the women went nuts

Coffee Morning kisses tear love bleeds my mouth more coffee morning piano sunlight flicker crows garden frost coloured eggs cut flowers chocolate bare feet toast crumbs on the floor

Snow silent soft unable to do anything but fall stops a millennium in its tracks

Questioning Morning

How does the sun shine through the window? How does the barking dog enter? How do the tips of our fingers touch? When there are kings of demons and not demons When there are mortals and not mortals When there are thoughts and not thoughts How can I make pancakes without coffee?

1955 when last seas iodining sharply long remembered scented by my late November birth salt tinctured hands slippy sticky sweat sound sighing tear sighing breathless mother ~ held by other hands I was

No Place Like Home come for a little while make this place a home feed the birds adopt stray cats secret places no one else walks well met unvisible and other things beauty not always kind just like always we must leave nothing left of April once the birthday of my mother once the meaning of something new only now a month of waiting un influential hours un heeded days long night unbroken weasel bites and now the new month may not be any different.

Beginning an amateur chess crossing fine tattoo ass indigo satin fine breathless golden brown unlikely to lullaby rosebud pout

Woman Shapes dapple grey helixed tree any shadow of the moon.

Knowing Now the Healing Once I walked these unfound streets, doorways to oblivion. Ecstasy, a venture into realms unable to be described in any other fashion. My own youth deserved derision by the elders. Ah! But it was mine to Taste - drunkenness never wasted on the young. A time before cynicism was anything other than humour, Bitterness something tingling an acid tang, a tiny speck amphetamine, Alter reality, ultra reality, no difference at all reality. I could see myself stepping into the night, disappear into an open Universe such was a lifetime then. And you, would you come? Would You dare? And could I make some fatal mistake, not going by myself Because I wanted to be with you? But how could anything be wrong? How could mistakes be made when Marked on the map was only the welcome empty great unknown? And Would I do it again? Does it matter yeah or nay? As long as I was me How couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t I repeat, repeat resoundingly that open, open ode to joy? I could touch you then. I knew you just around the corner you. Half way Up the stairs, you. Noticing a single rose growing between back yard Rubble, you. Travelled by Grey Hound, cross the country by freight, park Bench dreamed, double dancer Zelda you A tide of whirlpools. An antebellum majorette beauty queen. You were The most beautiful woman in the world. You were me as a woman. Wanting to be the first one to make love in a whole summer of dry attics Never believing for one minute we could end up on the street by Christmas in Connecticut. I was gonna. I was destined. I was the one. I was the chosen. I could have Been Jesus, preferred to be Krishna, hoped only to be Watermelon Sugar. A thing delectable to your lips, a thing you might someday remember Without lying or regret. You were anything possible, Meeting again someday. Around the corner, half way up the stairs, Eyes still same as my own, Knowing now the healing ways, Strong enough for love.

Billy the kid in Hamburg Billy the kid in Hamburg On the run from what he didn’t know Brought his six guns, slid down his hat, Night robbing trains by lantern light. Secreted senorita homesick for palm trees & tequila Small stories of her badlands youth Explains to him the length of her long legs And how she knew she’d never have his kids. Down in the Reepherbahn, softly smoking Cigarettes he didn’t know how to roll, so she did As if hot grog and sailing men Could persuade him from Whatever treasures he’d go back for. And she’d hear how he’d gone for some golden princess steeple swayed, Belief in orthodoxy still strong especially when so far away from home Until eventually surrounded by things even he couldn’t deny, Wrapped his pistols in dirty laundry packed in a trunk, Trusted to the stations of trains and kindness of strange ports, Made it back to the land where he was born. Severely betrayed, nearly captured on the river Escaped by some woman so strong she scared him But from whom he learned to ride Life of horses, Long constantly moving horizons, Real living breathing freedom between his legs. And whoever couldn’t understand his guns Abide the smell of horse shit Take those chances heartily offered, Wouldn’t they still love him, lead him into parlours, boudoirs, Soft green grassy banks secluded by whatever river – Until once more his own true nature’d break their law?

Morgana I was awake, stars like angels I spoke to about you and me. A golden moon so fine only by a whisper Was it kept from disappearing. Tiny drops of water leaned from every green thing Flightless fairies yearning nourishment Your name deep measureless breath, A hum of whales sky blue enough So every inch of everything could Hear deep in their minds, repeated. Across high, seldom slack, storming Sightless of any land Oceans, I have written. Have you lost more teeth? What makes your tap dancing men stay still? Can immortality ever be mellow? How other than stupor could it be done? Answerless. As if the right combination Could instigate response I keep trying new ones: A girl with stones Started with daddy but now sheâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s alone; Names, dates, standard rates - charges extra for more. Or, warm coffee streets, Silence pressed around places we used to go, Faces we used to know, now no longer clearly Rather believed in, things thought and sometimes still Do think are true, even of ourselves Dancing on the lake once covered Kathmandu valley Sipping flowers fell from a sky beyond stars. Smiling children marked by turquoise cobras Great roots of great trees where Grey matchless undisturbed as dust, Weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d rest.

In The absence Of Air Conditioning They talk of gambling Hit, Stay, Bust. Sizzling meat and eggs A bronze beadwork of sweat. With milk and sugar tones Discuss how are-yous and the weather. Crackling newspapers, Clicking cigarette lighters pressed. They talk about who they’ve met And shouldn’t god bless all waitresses? And red-heads too! Salty stringy ham, wet marmalade toast. The urgent illusion of having someplace else to go. Unbelievably they talk about what’s new: New York, New Hampshire, New Guinea and Zealand. In a collage of oily aprons The boy on a milk crate Head back against the white slat wall Black eyes liquid lures. Knowing outside this shelter A stainless steel sun is all that’s waiting Draws my attention back to coffee, To sheets of yellow paper Avoiding grease spots as I wear this pencil down. But against the wall damp in his apron Black eyes spiced with swimming fishes Blessed by the god of electricity The boy arches his back towards the fan Phil’s Diner, 14. 06.97

Writing w Vengeance

She bought Kafka by the arm load Encouraged by her white and kaki Black ink sunnys Boyfriend Held The Trial to her periwinkle breasts Flip flop over to the shade Long auburn braid slightly undone Shuffled half dozen h/c books into one arm Removed her own black ink sunnys And with the back of that brownish wrist Brushed the straying hair away oh to be on sugar mountain All muscle and tone and almost twenty one sure I’d have robbed her with Miller, Bukowski Maybe a few well chosen irises Either way I’d not curry favour by supporting Kafka

What your boyfriend encourages you from Is what I’m living Every day

Women Buying Guns In America Smash the TV walk barefoot in the snow Pierce ourselves with steel Chew tequila worms ‘til the hand of god wipes our mouths Piss wherever, say whatever, love whoever Fearless with the night of any street of any place And no Thelma and Louise We don’t die Don’t even get caught We hide Disguised as geriatrics Happy enough to sleep now Two ends of the same rope Richly deserved coils of never never land Surrendered, Only to each other Our Peter Pan tongues.

Looking For Work In Dublin The same girl sitting on different buses going by over and over I knew if I saw her one more time the rest of the world would completely liquefy and go with her. Wishing to avoid that whirlpool of a thing I knocked back the coffee, paid and left keeping my eyes firmly focused on the sidewalk made my way to Eccles street. Sidewalk, crosswalk not daring to look up risking my life in the traffic like a blind man saving the world. In the crumbling doorways tilted columns boarded windows planning permission posters all along the way safe to be looked at on the right side of the street I had no fear of buses as the decaying signs of Eccles street lead me down to the Georgian centre for saving the ruined life of city boys saving ruins among the ruins 90 days repairs a lifetime then out with you maybe meet again in some emergency of violence queued up amidst the hospital flu wishing you weren't here. There must be some as yet undiscovered carpet to sweep you under. On my helter skelter straight way down to the bus station maybe Oâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;Connell street. instead some nameless to me slope of a road not to far is that the tower of Ulysses where once Telemachus watched black mass Mulligan sacred shaving interrupted by old Ireland who may have forgotten her own tongue but remembering to bring the milk had her tits compared to moocows and other things I cannot now remember. everything old once was new like some profundity this rolls around in my brain tickling something in me I'm not sure of any more than why. Cutting across I decide on Oâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;Connell, I am afraid of the city only now when I am so indecisive about destinations as if there is some gang of violence waiting for that sign I send of not knowing where I'm going. Jackals of the lost man wandering seeking safety in the numbers of Oâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;Connell, safe among the herds, oblivious to the old, ignorant of the new. penniless. No merchants sanctuary, a foreigner among the African languages and Friesian competitors, children named Rosalitta frown then smile, German hippies Burberry plaid guitars, Somehow I don't belong except to old bullet holes on the GPO, rusted tin enamelled placards above the discount shop on Talbot, soldier statues, new inns ward, eroded Grecian friezes on greasy brick work, stained glass window cracked holes. Noticing no one seems to notice like me wanting to some how take the time to repair myself, remind myself, inquire of the passer byes, to whom they attribute freedom to?

We are in a hurry to forget, do our best to not remember. There has never been another day like today There has never been another way It has always been so World without life Amen. A long cat stretch beach of green benches Cobble stone tides break debris from yesterdayâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s storm Soggy cardboard Bleached pigeon bones Desperate for sunglasses Into the leather sleeves of dreams I fold my head.

Capri The Borders nocturnes written a long the ever passing caravan of days deserted debris in hope of hastening a pitch black oasis sparkling the only un-still things such as stars or the jewelled throat of ghosts haunted by something beyond all knowledge like your eyes the only dark that shines as if a different kind of sun. my mouth for your love dreams of smoke on wandering horizons red glow desert darkness a voice whispered wet silk drawn as if my skin found out in the wind scented by foreign creatures ground perfumes attracting strong fingers nourished by such exploring fed by sky blue horses my heart like other fruit contains a fertile seed A treasure trove for beetles an insect paradise.

and I saw you with tears in American gowns you were just like Picasso but knelt on the ground as if genuflecting before the print page youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d inhale the spirit right out of his grave and I just couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t take it so I wandered around as if I could shake you Like salt from my skull I end up returning an orbit of doubt. no matter how determined the scent of your soapy skin draws me in so many ways I could not identify and even if I could would never ever say, like ivory in the morning someplace else away beyond a snow tipped mountain before the savannahs open prayer dark meandering luxurious survival Our daring selfâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s mortal among the Edens.

The Disappeared Along the lane Straight down as rain Without wind Without sound Wrapped in briar vines Emerging posts of bone As if some ancient mariner Draws me in a secret un-gloved caress. I wanted to keep you for myself. I wanted you to stay, because you went. But the police, After further questioning Came up with ideas all their own And in so doing, made contact with The families of the disappeared. Occasionally, To men in long wrinkled coats, they speak, A fog of voices drifting apart, Before reaching any type of destination. Taking turns, cast looks around, As if this really were sea And answers like shoals of silver fishes lurk Just beneath the surface. Careful. Pretending not to notice How each movement flickers in the lights As if this really were all some cinematic image Screened with no one but the actors in the audience. Their silence magnifies only certain sounds: Elastic latex snap, Slicing shovel slaps, Unsteady cigarette sighs, Plastic, almost echo, abruptly ending zip. Believing their expectations to be accurate predictions They came for something clear and full of meaning, Something settling and complete, To find, as if some great surprise, Only the obvious inescapably revealed. Unlike them I know you not by what youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve lost, 54

But rather by what youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve brought back. It was that which drew me In secret un-gloved caress And now plays out Along the landscapes of my every night And haunts my every morning with regret. I wanted to touch that forbidden you again. To trace upon that more secret map Etched, invisible to my naked eyes, Every line of your journey, Circling with the tip of my tongue, So that I would know Everything. .

American Outlaw Always somebody just like you Somewhere else In photos They even look the same In their past your lovers Have met and loved them In the dark they dreamt Of things you used to pray for

Old Shirt days walking laying sleeping eating over-steamed radiators warm spells February spring But the colour is good fit is right and when I catch myself passing mirrors in hallways bathrooms shop windows turned off televisions Stop and/or glance who am I breath caught a moment Old shirt smell still me still who I was and am now in need of a shower

This morning This morning of streets Emptier than anything from my Deepest darkest youth. Not even a beggar to drop a coin to Not even a reason to unlock the doors Useless to lock anyway. Ambrose comes So I open the side door He tells me about darkness and men so scared That only by killing and striving To not be killed by one another Could they bear it. I pour hot black coffee into the cup Cupped by his hands A browner porcelain of prayer As are my own. On little creaking chairs Face to face raise to our audible lips Ahh in unison Hot bitter caffeine Rewards us another day. I get up and go behind the counter return with a small tin box Knee to knee we look in Share the same ingrained thought: But it is forbidden. Then broadly smiling, We two grown men Each take out a cigarette.

We have silence We have soft grey shuddered light We have no need of heat yet.

Little Shoes All the same wonderings Ages of ifs Lifetimes of whys Each life History of wonderings History of ifs Where it leads Where it goes How it begins Voices of an independence Give way silenter than plastic tombs Small electric dancer springs A whirl only god could hear If the ear of god had no hair no wax no smell But god Had pious milk bone men Absolution in the dark Disciplined and cleansed In the dark & The ear of god Blind an onan eye Silent voices absent language All those wondrous hearts On crosses born Their darkness A long testament of utter failure.

Tattoo on Leaving Gettysburg The dead of Gettysburg reach out Soak us with desire, Teaching us its tears that shape their ghosts. Even down at the Blue Parrot, Drinking Pennsylvania Porter and Jamesonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s We find ourselves with them, And at the motel? Phone ringing with 2am complaints, Does not stop us the living from honouring the dead. In the morning Stacyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Chrome Garden Soft hum needles lullaby beneath my skin, Winged horses form a few more drops of blood for Gettysburg While you, holding my hand as if in hospital Think of ways to further delay our leaving Because like me you crave the company of ghosts And too you know the need the dead have for healing. For Stacy

With Jesus in Jacksonville Went out rolling n hitting the bars Bumped into each other got sacramental After last call Wished hard for a car with out a locked door. In a blue & white Bel Air Fixed on a higher power Rolled up a Jerusalem & Floored it Ran out on some twisted ridge Wandered So far away When the cops finally showed We didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t even have to run. And we wished for something we could do. Something to keep things at bay. Some way to swear all that we done Would still be so in light of the day

Riding With An Angel In The Pale Moonlight so light little queenie I know you know the way soon now little darling dawn will light our way soon now little darling home will be in sight I know it’s been a long time I know you worked your heart soon now little queenie we’ll ride out form this dark soon now little queenie we’ll see the morning light I can’t ever tell you I don’t know any words you’d now but you’re my own true heat girl you’re my own true one in darkness I trust you in darkness no fear I know you know the way dear I know you always find the light All those nights sat silent Smoky wine coloured full tide my veins my heart my own For Jeanie

As Time Goes By Days are always going on Streams of hours like cars trucks motorcycles Steadily scrambling through As if on some desperate mission Important business somewhere else Not very often quite Hardly any attention to my imagined rules of the road I am not important enough For a slow down Lucky the buggers havenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t come full stop yet I suppose.

Canada Where I could step out into the night Smoke with the stars Hear an ocean just beyond the pines Somethingâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d draw the dog off barking Into a pitch black forest where really anything could be When all I wanted was the sparkling solitude of Orion. But you know when the son of a bitch came back All proud of himself and waging his tail, All I could say was, Good boy. Good boy. Good boy.

For Brian All he wanted was to be friends But there was no friendship there Three assholes Got m to steal stuff from his mother Talked him into going through other peoples windows first Got him high on percocet or ‘ludes And when he wouldn’t wake up? Pushed him out of a slow moving car There on the street beneath the underpass Downtown sometime in the early hours Less than a quarter mile from the hospital.

Few years later They tried to rob/bury Me and the wife over a half ounce of coke Thinking we had something we didn’t even have One of em had knocked her on the ground n straddled her So I stuck him well, in the kidney. Held the others at bay. Scrambled into her daddy’s car They bashed all the windows out with shovels As we drove away. Later at the police station in the cell Spent the night wishing hoping afraid The bastard would die and I thought they were the demons. But Maybe if he did Ronnie would still be around They met up with him next Nothing proved, nothing found. Even the police were on our side in that one.

The Lover Of Wisdom He helped in the kitchen While she was away. One night he was worried about the wine Her father noticed, told him Not to worry They said it was the best place they’d been to That they were glad to be here, Besides it was the second bottle they’d ordered. It was then he grabbed her father’s hand, said Are you my friend? Are you! The towering man with black moustache In a well-worn greasy apron said, Always. I am your friend always! It was evening when she came back. He was sorting pots from the green house Packing them into the jeep Parked at the top of the driveway When they pulled in BMW convertible dark blue w/ tan leather. He did not want to meet her friends. Afraid they’d hear the beating of his heart He stayed on the other side of the jeep Pretending to be too busy Waiting for her to come to him. But after their long good-byes, She didn’t. He walked around saw her walking Down the hill with her bags He thought – she has not come back at all then. Shortly later she came back. Sat with him on the grass Her black hair veiling them As hunched together head to head He opened what she gave him Wrapped in white tissues A ball of crystal inside a ball of alabaster. I missed you so much he said. Are you brave enough to let me shave you? She said. Come on. Let me. I want to. He had not shaved since she left And her creamy skin could not abide a whiskered face 65

For W.B. Would I were on raglan road When days and nights still soft like rain drops fell. Unnoticed smokes occasioned by good porter And I wanderer of no particular destination Knew by heart each foot fall path Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d take To find my self back home again

Memorial After a day of rain White flowers A young girl Small songs upon the mist

The Man Who Came For Turquoise He came for turquoise from the mountains Envy instead green wove garlands of the valley. Laughed with singing running brooks And singing running children. Shook hands, danced With the man who had the right by love To kiss her. Left dreaming she had come to him instead Long before anyone he cared about Could be hurt.

Should The Question Beg For Answer will the water be beautiful? will I thank every drop of the sea? the sky, will it be so blue, Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll find ships sailing in the clouds? and emerald and hawthorn would I lie down there again? arise to secret women drifting sleek wolfhound shapes, lead by old and limping men between hedgerows and dirt lanes? speak with mallard fox and swan? their stories told of long ago when black cats and tabby cats, small black terriers, through stone walls and brier sure and steady tracked all possibility of horses

For Lilly, the Tabs & William

La la la la la I am rolling on the waves on the waves on the waves I am rolling on the waves far away from shore The sun is shining not too strong not too strong not too strong The sun is shining not too strong far away from shore Happy dolphins guiding me guiding me guiding me Happy dolphins guiding me far away from shore

Kent there are still places walking far enough finding gatherings human kind small meetings coffee chocolate banter laughter unthreatened sanctuary

In Favour Of Ice Climbing used to climb these ledges hot summer days high enough thread like river above the trees escape the mosquitoes... almost grabbed a freakinâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; snake once For Martin - St. Johns Ledges, Kent

Red Bird On The Road

all proud looking for love & then not. how small easily fit into my hand now. all the beauty you brought this world may it be equalled by your blessings in the next.

Soft Bends The River if you come here often enough youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d know softness is strong enough to move things the size of cows against their will

Home Slow motion flags the east mountain receding snow sounds I thought forgotten

Hey keeps her feet salting sleet wants to speak recognising me walking by hi thanks how’s the roads better than this sidewalk oh yeah glad I’m done for the day good luck getting back tonight walking by bye thanks see ya bye knowing our worlds missed long time ago when even youth didn’t have enough courage to do more than buy gifts from her shop lost in deepest crystalest bluest eyes breathless stunning and walking by bye to this very day see ya later thanks

Pensioners Remiss When I wanted to see you Young and available Dresses out amidst a blue jean wasteland Stoned as laughing smoky charms Dancing at any moment unannounced On the steps of Spanish little Harlem Turquoise as your eyes church doors Sacramental wine just opened A spiral of possibilities each as believable as the past. When I wanted to see you Roads wide open looking to ride Strong as summer sweat muscles Love like horses into a sunset Diamonds across that midnight sky lived only in your love me eyes Breathless barefoot pirouette Limitless kitchens by dull Frigidaire light Icy pale ale fast as you can drink â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;em Third floor back porch dawn Aegean blue among a city of fearlessness. When I wanted to see you Saint Johns Christmas balsam scented crushed blood velvet Crystal singer choir of angles Mysterious as snow the mouth you used An accent of hypnosis Lead like sorrow obsessed with green As if summer returned between live pines And the first breasts I ever saw were you stripped for the reservoir My hands held by your own showing me to cup each one instead. When I wanted to see you So much more so than where ever you were So much sooner than now Despited unrelenting Sharper than anything ever dreamed.

Smoky Pelican I have known there those eyes like Canada mostly dark vacant cold wake with sudden flashes no slumber impenetrable a last boat before the ice chugs like some crazy kids skipping rope missing a beat beat beat before returning reassuringly to proper rhythm time to go minutes as if fast food wrapped in paper Styrofoam tucked in a rolled up bag held one handed while the other pushes the door out into the world quick as if what was lost could ever be something to be found

Eileen Diâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;Bartalamao, Jan Iorio rushed in watch from the window school girls on their way home walk by my house my mother when she asked yes, I said, I like her the best

Herding Goats In Ithaca she went a way up into the high lands. she had wounds to nourish. ghosts to speak to. Her own kind to avoid.

My heart

Haven’t I sold you dear? Haven’t I let you go? Trading you in for something asleep Unridden horses Fields of summer lawns Sitting cross legged in the parlour? Something safe and sleepy Weird yet respectable Places withdrawn and risk-less How are you now? Preserved by ancient anger Nourished by nebulous acts Unperturbed by age Despite my best efforts to skip into senility Undaunted by the death I’ve fear of Oh What wouldn’t you do if I said yes? Ride until my own legs useless Could touch the ground no more? You my heart’d still carry me.

Red Bird Does he get darker with the summer? Having already found a mate? Or maybe No snow reflections Sunlight instead absorbed By all thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s green?

On The Bridge Snakes and swallows Stone walls Sleeping sweet Cut grass Moves Pregnant girl White dress puffing flags All soft sweet and White and chocolate and cream Sunlight mixes Red breasted finches Nest of old ivy Under the trestles

The Girl Call her flower by moonlight Cypress by spring Watch from the evening Change to grey misty morning Leaving the Stars Behind Across the spider down day The girl Walks on her toes Sneakers let the ballet Peer out with wonder Amid this morning garden Slipping into shade Who gives you pentagrams And whispers river lily secrets When your musings get too heavy?

For New Haven

Hitchcock Lake I am tired of travelling. Charlotte Looks for duck eggs In the lake And finds them. I am tired and drinking black bitter coffee at the kitchen table. Charlotte Water cold Ankles blue Picks up Sticks & stones & chips of glass Collage. Basket patterns my eyes haze. House plants strain for sunlight. Days been another all day grey. Just put out another cigarette. Charlotte Rolls up her pants Crazy woman Before trees bud.

Annie In Connecticut The leaves turn brown For winter, The sky’s gone grey. I’m turning my thoughts Around you, Wondering how it would be, But knowing better Than to ask you to stay. I’m thinking of how pretty You are in dresses And how you smile When I hold you. But this winter promises To be harsh And I can’t be the one To keep you from your Louisiana sun. The leaves turn brown For winter, The sky’s gone grey And you No matter what your accent, Will always be October.

Brendon You used to do skate board tricks. So I sent padded gloves, Black leather to wrap up your wrists and around your fore arms. You used to play guitar. So I got you something electric V shaped to play loud and hard. You used to run through the reservoir woods. So I went bringing you bottles of delicious new wine. You used to like earl grey tea. So I sent a porcelain teapot, Green with creature faces from Ireland. You used to worship the goddess. So I gave you a dagger, Rose wood handle, cow hide sheath Aged by hunting blood Stained by my own youth.

Morgan Knows The night has its own creatures Familiars like foxes, bats, Owls, green eye cats And others more unique Those without a day time shape Shifting shadow colour forms Billow through dissolving walls Entwine upon her outstretched arms Feed on darkness through the night Until thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s nothing left but light

only august crows almost quiet only feather sounds rising almost still only slow steady beating as if horses finally taught themselves to march in order across the fields almost green only smoky spiral dust almost damp descending mirage as if insects finally taught themselves to sing like falling rain across midday almost yawning only august .

Lorettaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Piece Rose was first thought Remembering was coming But put back almost worn out. Now â&#x20AC;&#x201C; when roses bloom Not trying for anything. Now when I am and am not Then or pretty soon. Now when words burn meaningless Giving warmth To bodies Already left behind The thoughts are all, Growing weeds Coiling snakes Blooming Gaping The flesh we cared for The planet we cared for The stars we strived for.

12.09.73.

Pop_* Down the streets of ecstasy I take my chances endlessly But there's no need for me to run With my fingers wrapped around a gun Look around what do you see There ainâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t nothing here for me Reality what can it be But a misery you set for me And there's no sense in wanting more This is what I been put here for You preachers of morality How would you do to live like me? Heavens just a novelty Another thing denied to me. So down the streets of ecstasy I'll make my way most carelessly And you can judge it tragedy But I won't surrender easily. * recorded by Background on All The Answers

Battery Park The devil walks shadowed streets Boys in hoods shoulder him as they pass Bruises keep them from their plan of violence Instead they just keep going Black n blues spread w/ each step Arms swelling twice the size before the end of the block. The devil walks on Slight smile disappearing by the time those boys start running home. Years ago it would have mattered, Great struggle, desperate fight for something invisible He’d have made them heave with their own throats into his hungry hands – But not now. Like that lovely girl once said, ‘... just want to be left alone’. Here by the waterfront, soft still nights Hardly a sound but for tender lap lap lapping water Occasioned by his own crackling footsteps. Just to pay attention to each and every thing, No regard for priority Hard human shoulders, Cold rising off the grass, Huge Bulava beams across the water Black hands point hour after hour. Memorized names, Dead of war & catastrophe, Wireless operators lost at sea, SOS – save our souls Faint sparkles across black water. Up into a black sky, warm ghosts Shape into rings by his slightly smiling mouth. Night so much more beautiful than day. If ever there was freedom, this is how it would come, A long breath into nothing bright or strong While sitting on a bench near gangway 4.

Whose Name Began With Stars the man whose name began with stars combed like golden curl searched silence went through forests withheld blame through deserts called out names unlike his own took shots with chances so long no one ever knew where they landed cried into nights so long it terrified god expected nothing got more than he bargained for And when the time came for secrets Whispered to his long dead mother Remembered midnight hair, red red lips, eyes the colour of someplace else Cool skin, pale airless, hello goodbye kisses, Deep as if oceanic Swells Her voice

Continuum Man walks out the cold water tap Hands drip forgetting everything he held dear In the lap of a strangling angel fallen into waste Half mast eyes hypnotic charm All their doing a fortuitous disaster They meet full force frontal As if the harder they fell the deeper theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d go But the amount of space between them? Still same as any other, a whole universeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d fit into it.

The Red Bird Now I know his song Follows me everywhere

Titanic Silent swimming cold. Tumblers of fresh water in a lost room. If I had found you instead? Weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d still be together, Unlike the brevity of death Forever.

No Matter Where It was a house full of Irish women Which should be all you need To figure out how I the only man among them fared. Herself, the one who loved me Loved me in a way I never knew before, Language of some ancient homeland Alluring, pulling, unavoidable.

Late Night Transistor Radio Beneath the bed sheets The world came in on Cracks and hisses, Languages I didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t know, Music I never heard before. Pressed hard to my ear Not wanting to be interrupted By waking brothers

Too Early For Blueberries Maybe she dyed her hair Wears black sweats and grey skirts Walks a black Boston dog Down the paths of your childhood Maybe you just missed her

Lacy ferns Mosquitoes and still turtles Sunning on trees fallen Across dwindling open water

Waltzing Miss Jeanie The sky barely visible Gunmetal cold keeps each bit of snow completely separate. Sounds, most into silence or muffled by a swish and swirl As my horse moves through. Imagine sand against a giant hourglass, Wicked witch of the west, There’s no place like home… Nothing else moves, Rock walls mostly covered Drainage ditches camouflaged Snow drifts level the landscape almost beyond illusion. By memory only we keep to the road. Imagine being the first to cross this land in winter And if it were a time before horses…? Off the open ridge we cut down to where the pine woods Shelter enough so we can pick up the pace. Occasionally over burdened snow spills, Sometimes peeling bits of green, chunks of old ice, thuds magnified by the quiet. Perhaps an excuse to break monotony Or some primal memory aroused – She spooks. Imagine double barrel blast, a restless dragon, a living legend… So I talk her through; my voice being a calm place for her to focus. So I sing, putting the name she knows into the song, My fathers’ curious choice for a lullaby he used to sing to me. Imagine not yet five years old, frightened from things that you don’t even have words for. Things that move only in those darker places in your room, And then his heavy footsteps, the weight of his body as he sits on the edge the bed, his strong steady hands sometimes rubbing sometimes patting while always singing over and over until finally asleep you couldn’t ask him to again… We make our way like that now, Dealing with imagined as well as real risks – Patches of ice beneath this rising snow upon this rising, winding road

Porcelain Cold spills of rain Magpies fly Always searching with the light Always dreaming until dawn When I wake and think you’re here Coffee on the stove Pale light over the stove I would often think of you Dark mornings just before dawn Standing in this spot – you’d make mine with hot milk The pain of coffee much to hot to drink The ache of winter haunts my hands When I close my eyes I cannot see you any more Cold and spills of rain The music porcelain plays again Inspired by the music of Helen Jane Long/ www.helenjanelong.com

Outlaw Days Rode through forests so dark Could only let the horse pick the way. Called down the moon, Lain in silver arms, Goddess whispering across every inch of skin my name: â&#x20AC;&#x153;Remember what you know. Remember you are power. Know that I have missed you.â&#x20AC;?

Wanting To Be In The Old Tongue Words Someday Someone Might say to you. Unimportant memories Aroused to beauty non-the-less Like cobwebs beaded up with dew, Brass fittings on a cedar door, Day’s debris randomly swept into a banked up fire Before to your own black iron bed you’d slowly go.

W/all our coming and our going Will we ever meet again? Fragile as the moth is the flame One slight breath And darkness has us all. W/that in mind, I mind no dancer Let us join whatever way we can Before the waiting darkness Makes us all fall down. Clumsy fingers Holds her own heavy breast skyward As if the moon, areole hungry Wouldn’t have found communion Without guidance. Gentle at the end of the world Even rocks all soft And buds of lilac silver slanting sun. And when gems of green roll down Meet the slate blue sea Gently rippled by disappearing pearls? Somewhere we still know women who paint the things we see in dreams Wanting to be in the old tongue January crows gather. From the eviction house Another row of slate slips. 96

Sun orange fingers Poke dark shy pillows, Disturbing bread crumb dreams, Little red breast birds. Shouldn't you be left alone? Cradled in the earth for another thousand years or so? Discovered as some tantalising source Of artefactual speculation: Those marks True cause of death, Or left by some post mortem carnivore? Perhaps sacrificial ritual, Signs still legible, Though fading as if Some water colour in reverse Until only bare bleached paper Slightly stained. Ghost steps. My warm eastern mouth nourishes, My amniotic fingers curl, Personal history noted, As if by some distant observer Swirled into tight sips Almost impossible to savour. Between the posts at midnight A long wire of electricity Calls little bits of rusting iron To lantern the siesta heart away.

Dreams Before The Growing Season Of Grass Not early enough The day already begun Anyone with any place to be Already there or else so late itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s not worth fretting about Brand new bus half empty At least two hours to go No ghosts dance over the river No diamond tips the foliage No dark shapes emerge A girl you used to know Leads a horse you used to own Liver chestnut White star snip Bucks rears dares Once your brown hands could do anything Melt the mouths of untried horses Finalise another divorce Set paddock posts well bellow the frost line Pull sunglasses from a girl Hold her surprised to kiss And kiss and kiss as if There would never ever Be anything else To ever do again

Trust I walk out The horse does not resist. Leads as if thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s not a diseased bone in his body. Does not notice children crying, Rain stopping sun brightening But rather a yellow butterfly Moves his head to keep it in sight Until for some reason he will never know, He can no longer do so.

Maybe Michelle Ripening rock wall berries Morning coffee sitting Voiceless smoke winding Open windows Damp summer sheets Candle light pillows Come home Come home

Belize The cinnamon woman pulls me down In an ancient heat Her golden fingerprints Whisper of an unborn midnight Long long ago in the dream time Before moonlight ever was And every shadow moved with care Beneath a hunter diamond sky Before the horse spirit was hid Beneath slimy limestone floors Covered with pottery chips and rusted cans All twisted up in fibre root and rot. The cinnamon woman pulls me down In an ancient heat Her golden fingerprints Show me another way to that secret place And how to draw up the horse spirit So that it may once more Run on into the high bush country Where our flesh lays in blossoms of hibiscus And the caves of heaven are radiant with swimmers.

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Wordsilk Reminding me of words like Border line Crescent coyote Ancient timbers Polished smooth as kisses Paradise Abandoned eyes of shipwrecked sailors Myriad pin prick suns Flightless birds Something Spanish that you said along a twilight turquoise Ishmael to Ishmael All the nights we've ever known Not bothering the quiet.

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Xunantunich The silent policeman Lay himself down Across the great western highway Tired from watching everyone He wants a return to dreaming A return to those days of the high bush Those days of the interior Swimming into limestone caves A lighted lantern A box of toucan matches Floating on a little piece of wood While on a smoke of kerosene Coming back to him the words of his fathers: “So now you know. Everything is alive.” The silent policeman Lay himself down Across the great western highway Tired of growing heavy with the world He wants a way to avoid ESSO drums Coca-Cola CESSNAS The End of Paradise Hotels And return to those days of the interior. Behind his eyes bare foot women light the lamps Up into a palm thatch Honey shadows seep While owls make questions of constellations And rolling in from across the valley A hush answers: “From the pale eye of the hunter A single tear drop fell arching over an unseen face It touched Earth and disappeared.” Ring tail ghosts come by bringing soft grey kisses Through white jungle nets of night Beyond an ancient plaza immersed in some whisper of wings Jealous eyes of jaguar two great gold pearls on the edge of rain

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Just a Cat No longer will morning Find you by the window Pondering the flight of birds You wonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t Trip me in the kitchen Circling like a bandit reminding me I forgot the milk Play games with our feet Pounce up on the bed Attack every thing that moved beneath the duvet Curl up with my daughter and the Barbies To watch some favourite TV show. No more my little one Trust me to carry you like a slip of black velvet Still sleeping in my hands No. No more because Some ignorant bastard drove like a maniac And thought, oh just a cat.

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Me And The Small Talk Angel At the gallery today, Among the masks I thought Of Morrison. I thought of that black woman. I thought of the past, Remembering the future. Pleased that knowledge Only brings more secrets. Sitting out on the concrete, Rolling another cigarette, Chatting with the small talk angel Pass over the smoke.

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The Poet in Her Narcissism Creates her own obsolescence, instead of practising real writing. All those years squandered not a penny to show for it, If that's not bad enough it's not even the kinda stuff they publish for free. The poet in her Narcissism believes she’s special, Expects she's the exception to the rule, Rock star popular, read by millions Important people ask her questions, New York Times regularly quotes, Name an encyclopaedic entry And to never ever know what it's like to spend years on work Inconsequential. It’s true. Someday has come and like everybody else Dead or distant relatives, marriages that didn't work Opportunities slipped into a perfect evil of hindsight. Mind and body know things differently & therefore each keep their Own memories secret, hidden from the other. Today because she forget to write it down she didn’t know where to go But remembers so many yesterdays. Never did the ride she really wanted, tack that chestnut mare, Head out before day break just the two of them Saddle bags packed, enough to get started, no plans for coming back. Her next horse a cross between memory and fantasy, A some day kinda thing How many years ago has yesterday become? We’ve all touched the world with little fingers, Seen the world through tears, Breathed the air breathed by every body else. Once our hands were small enough to be held by another, Once we saw the world as full of wonder. Alone is a place where anything can happen, No mater where it’s always there, Dark like streets you’re not afraid of, Deeper than sky reflections on an unknown lake, A sunset trail, Stars you can walk off into

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Sitting A mans hands on a girls thighs One on each rolls them out A better view of what heâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s dreamt for so long. Muscular even in yielding She allows her deep breath body freely. Outside women talk how the year slips School days into holidays beginning school again.

A woman in love writes her name Moon soft ivory Pale sky By the Buddha By the open window Major piano chords A simple charm Like where in dreams we canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t be hurt. A man begrudging poetry Leaves out such things as joy Hopes a mirage of his own making Hides in clothes made from mistaken identities Secrets like superman behind caped crusades Although blurred some character always lurks Despite the roles he thinks he should, He thinks they want, he thinks he must. A series of figures exchanged through out his life Even the god he picks a model of dysfunction.

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Dharma foggy misty morning birds sing longer dawn gone slower soft diffused glow tempted to stay in bed not wanting to miss one moment push myself to rise instead golden Buddha sky blue sky prayers carried by wind white & blue green & red blown beyond belief

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