Monday, February 27, 2017


Speaking of war
seven eyes close
showing deference
in defense of peace
all victims
are resigned
to the memorial stones
next to holes
lined up
for the next bodies
dug into bogs of bones,
there are swords
of politicians
and the press
an editorial board
and a cross to bless
for fallen Christians
seeking success
for heaven's reward.


Prior images
and blue prints of spring
my voice recalls
a poet's vocabulary
of a language
with a briefing
from my urban reading
in club corridors
with consolation hints
at a landscape of choice
drawing me in
shaping lines
as we witness sounds
of birds with scattering wings
from windows
of my studio underground.


   furious thoughts
of new ventures
  runs through my senses
combines for a study
 with my  pupils
in the lenses of past tenses
 passing through
 a Socratic  critical
eye gate reading of
"Mrs. Dalloway"
prepared for my English class
waiting with a literary analysis
of my before dawn dream,
as I'm sitting on a park bench
feeding the vocal
chorus of sparrows
playing my tenor sax
and riffs in corridors of a gig
getting green tea in a cup
from my kitchen
my cat runs into consummate
waiting rooms
as if it is a springtime to dig
from ideas for a reality check
that I've sought to relocate
and recall the scenes
of my morning dream
in visionary words
as if this poet will wait on
his past thoughts
without self pity
getting up in day light
to check the grandfather clock
putting on a sweater
mailing my letter
to an editor
going along the local deck
in a brief jog
near the still snowy docks
sitting along the home harbor sea
reading out loud my poetry
thinking this disconsolate life
here in late February
may rather be seen
as in Platonic shadows or knots
or in a Picasso surreal reality
not dispirited to learn  any lesson
that a still life
has a metamorphosis for us all
in which we are always taught
to discern the fury of spirits
which may have a causality
of chance in the universe
that verse even casually
derives from a dream in caves
caught by a golden sun
in a window dome of surprise
from this light on these waves
that we have not sought
that only my memory saves
for a later time.

Sunday, February 26, 2017


Your scat mind
is racing with jazz
bee bop's emotion
cannot stop
its poet riffs
as you interweave
and deposit a lotion
as if in a crucible of romance
in raw emotion
even the boy
in the Savoy corner
is able to dance on stage
making us believe
we are all in a locomotion
of a love connection
to chat and engage.


You recognized him
in his disguise
at the Cafe Zola
he was playing
the part of
Alfred Dreyfus
in another century's scam
returning from
Devil's Island
that very nearly cost
him his aging life and honor
in his epitaph
when the politics
of prejudice and jealousy
transfixes even
the stage of every art
with disconsolate strife
in a language of the just
emoting with shame and rage
at his engaging part
yet as the actor leaves
the restaurant corridors
he is politely asked
without regret
for his autograph
name and signature
on the program notes
even from the jet set.


Nature's mark
left my initials
on the bark of an Elm
amazing me
who wrote wore this
after an urban reading
at the art club after many years
near the local vineyard
as an unexpected breeze
curved its branches back
on the earth affectionately
by a windy day before spring
as we are feeding the birds
feeling overwhelmed
by the vulnerability
which made an impression
in part to share
at our ability in vocal words
on the dark wood
dubbed in expression
in our neighborhood.

Saturday, February 25, 2017


A city moon
in the undershirt
of a breath of wind
by the seashore
taken by surprise
on a now leafless tree
moving a March of nuances
from clouds
which wisely dance
between sleep houses
at a shivering pace.