Thursday, August 10, 2017

in the dark
on park benches

we discussed
the morning lark

and love's
future adventures

amid the dust
of an August daylight

waiting in laughter
for a cooler afternoon.

Tuesday, August 8, 2017

Counter arguments
of a gender stereotype

with your horoscope
hidden in your urbane hope

for your human chance
development

forbidden in a gap
of intolerance

symmetry here
in the hostile sun

while I  prepare in therapy
to dive in the ocean

with my snorkel on
amid the minnows and pearls

in the depth of motion
along the coral sea.
John Riposo between actor's cuts into his lines to record his solo for his love scene in an operatic way ,his voice reaches the stage enforcing his romanticism,making his case for engagement.

Tuesday, August 1, 2017

Tuesday
sounds on birds

outside my window
a shadow lingers

of the cat's body
who likes to play

on the swing
and listen to the birds sing.




Monday, July 31, 2017

blue Monday
you blast out from your sleep

on the diving  board
you strive

to swim and sail
like Ahab's whale

with the vim
of the grim reaper.

Saturday, July 29, 2017

Saturday
when we are safe

from amplifying life
defying  the past

of a reality check
and compliance

in the fine arts
and science.

Thursday, July 27, 2017

writing Thursday
on a page

texting my life
to sum up my life

full of the creativity
of an age of strife

rolling over topics
when you lived  in the Tropics

with your destiny
in poetic storage.

Wednesday, July 26, 2017

trying to go on
with my disappointments

writing up
a storm at the river's edge

holding onto a neon
butterfly in the light

between a warm morning
and night.

Tuesday, July 25, 2017

what remains
of my life

like summer rains
which will mot last

yet brings back
all the artistic strife

of our caustic
past.

Tuesday, July 18, 2017

A warm July
day on the hassock

waiting for a friend
to share

trying to be fearless
and not give into

a melancholic
or panic despair.

Monday, July 17, 2017

listening to Mozart
on an afternoon in July

mushrooms being found
outside the door

the cat is hard
to ignore.


with a heavy metal smile
the drummer plays

all night
inspiring an actor

to interpret
him in a play

he helps
to star in.


reacting to
diversity

of scene
here on the boardwalk

the many
university students

ask me to read
a gender fluid poem.
exit the river
which unites

the fragments
of an expressible life

fishing for salmon
here surpassing time

with an uneasy wish
to catch a haul

in a basket
for lunch.
A baroque clock
found in an auction

not far from Paris,
located in a bazaar

not far from the Seine
wishing it would keep

time for me on every road
in exile.
reading Lautreamont
in a Moldoror of horror

and a metaphor
of catastrophe

of poetic justice
erupting into loss

seized with humor
in a parenthesis of guilt

of amour
and racy obstacle

in a miracle
of apostrophe

in an orgy
of the deranged.





Saturday, July 15, 2017

living your time
with a stopwatch

for a poem
to emerge in the park

you stay still
with the cat

until it is green
and dark.
A bird
behind the Paris sky

we walk on the boulevard
until we reach the bicycle race

and join in at the end
on the main field

and come
in second.


the dawn
started out with ease

tennis is played
on the court

You looked for love
for support

after your
life was cut short.

Friday, July 14, 2017

the waves are nebulous
seaward over my boat

quoting Baudelaire's
poem on the albatross

watching tossing swimmers
on the diving board

a sailor stare at us
fishing for salmon.

Thursday, July 13, 2017

A living death
of breathless wind

on the home harbor
where we make our way

to fish for flounder or sole
lost in passages

of wind swept navigation
on a July morning.

Wednesday, July 12, 2017

I personally call
on my Muse

by the river
of cherry trees

with a sunny column
to the skies

do not desert
this still cloud

for rain
is needed.



Tuesday, July 11, 2017

the lights
in your eyes scar

when the wounded
past of war hurts

no one knows
what dog tag

the soldier wore
but for us your witnesses

not ever be
forgotten.
no one answers
no one listens

only the words
of my meditation

gives me pause
not willing in poetry

to obey the  laws
but to speak from my soul.
A listless dawn
when only the cat

seems content
in the grey alley

in the air
that sleepwalks

and we munch
on mushrooms.
An innocence
of shrunken images

after a life long perusal
of poetic justice

with a sorrows of long era
of being multiplied in sound

with images, words, shadows
of underground banishment.

persecuted for
the game of life

against the windows
of a serenity of words

a pick pocket poet
deposits images

of shattered glass
from an exile.
A black and blue
shadow in syllables

and parables of my words
are sent out to the globe

hoping there will be
images of transience

will recall a memory
of more than faded love.


Monday, July 10, 2017

a dream
in creativeness

a bird quivers
on the bark of the tree

he spies me
getting him water

and quivers
on the hillside.

barefoot as the sparrows
in the mountain crevices

a face in stone
searching for water

a blue July sky day
moves us higher

in a collage
of sunshine.

Sunday, July 9, 2017

expecting to hear
the sparrows

at my windowsill
searching for water

and bread
you step out the door

to reinvent
the past for tomoroow.


Saturday, July 8, 2017

the ship passes by
with morning coffee

waiting for a homecoming
in the port of call

the tiny craft warnings
of a gale of winds

emerges
as we sail to the Coast.

Friday, July 7, 2017

like a gaggle
of geese

reading Demosthenes
outside the library

the students
are informal

having Swiss
cheese.


Sharing a salmon
and lone potato

we motion our lips
as I recite a poem

of the Apocalypse
and we examine this quarter

with a lemon on this ship
and sparkling water.



Politicians
claim to want peace

but in their arms
are an increase of armaments

with pen and ink
the government thinks

we know
they are not Christians.





we stare
at the trees

looking for nests
of conspiracies

and see the games
of birds

and suddenly
am at a loss of words.
we repeat the mirrors
of our cremated times

dated to the chance
of banishment

ascending each morning
like the birds

destined to wish
to be at the shore

to share our bread
and so much more.
the flowering seed
giving life at birth

the butterfly showing
off its new orange wings

the scraggy fish
off at the pier

the last wish
to live another hour.
For Jean Senac
(in memory)

the scary knock
on the door

the arbitrary bell
of military police

the trumped up
charges

against a poet
for his soul.

Wednesday, July 5, 2017

the sea rings
her melody

dances on the shore

what better time
to ask for peace

not war.
Seeds of spring
 love twists

in the wind
planting a glance

above the garden
hoping to be forgiven

yet seeking a pardon
of a romance.

Monday, July 3, 2017

jazz on a june night
out over the esplanade

by the river
forgetting it is only

in poetry's memory
that we will remember.

Sunday, July 2, 2017

why do we endure
so much

for the rhythmic touch
of phrases  and words

in our
verses

when life reverses
in its poet's clutch.

Entangled in Vermont
in my aunt's maple tree

seeing the constancy
of nature's arbitrary leaves

the butterfly sears the dawn
near my open neck

and catches me
unaware of other stinging bugs.

Tuesday, June 27, 2017

living only
on memories

fallen on my knees
asking only to please

who is greater than me,
the Creator.


you realized
your jazz quartet

called Alcatraz
on the last train

to San Francisco
and woke up

at the club
with a large audience



you cut out
before the final dance

of life
when death declined

to rival your life.


by the rocky shore
you move with

known eyes
along the water

searching for flounder
and then we site

the fishing boat
we round her

and our wishes
come to us.
a drone
flies near the slate roof

the sky
is still there

by the branches
of the elm

while blues from my
guitar is being played
the ferry
with tourists

docks by the shore
on the wind gusts

of an isolated storm
on the coast

with orange frenzied
light


two of us
reading

on the same line
striking a chord

by the piano
like shadows

leaving our memories
behind

Monday, June 26, 2017

the cat
in his crawl space

to enjoy his hour
the day falls in place.

the earth speaks
to my soul

in which love
is my goal.
such a day
of sunshine

yet there is
suffering in mine.
whale watching
by the docks

along the shoals
of the cape's sea waters

in liquid blue waters
of green dark shadows

off the Cape
of birdsong animation.

the park
is deserted

except for a child
juggler with a ball

in a rare silence
except for the birds

and a violinist
playing a song

without words.


on notice
for swimming

the life guard
in the mirror's waves

watches
the illuminated ships

on the Atlantic
without any panic.



on halibut point,
rock port

our feet in the waters
slowly move

as we see divers
their backs to the ocean

gather in fish nets
for their basket.



Sunday, June 25, 2017

Saturday, June 24, 2017

street riders
ventures

bicycle
out of their troubles

while circling
their world

of verses
of wheelhouses.

soccer players
outside my world

of shadows
and windows

wave to me
on the ocean floor

of my last night
dreams.
children make lines
on the beach

reach out
for the waters

on the cape's pier
as the noonday disappears

digging for clams
and oysters.



inspecting the rocks
stones

in the gateway
of squatting lovers

who greet me
with a smile

on a sunlit
dawn.
seeking wisdom
and freedom

at my age
when it vanishes

from the sea wells
of words

of clinging
sands.

perhaps
your sentence

is your life
leaving me by

needing a companion
spirit

to nourish
this unfinished time

for a poet
wheeled by the stars.




nightfall
with all dreams

through the skylight
in a lag of time

when people
define you

though appreciate
you and your words

even in my late dawn
i sight humpbacked whales

struggling to stay alive
being caught

by human fishing gear
in a beached state

as two dolphins visit
in a surprised hour.


faces of hours
in the crevices

of the bay
watching oyster

gatherers
on barefoot feet

the sky is assured
of blue.


here is a poet
who recognizes nature

invents hidden memory
to witness his fate

from the mirror
of art and history

flowing with darkness
and light.

Friday, June 23, 2017

narrow paths
of hyacinth and roses

birds on stones
by the Cape's seashore

a hedge
of sunflowers

love poems
left in the dark.

like summer rain
after a rough winter

sunlight emerges
in a silent day

except for the birds
who hover near the pond.


Thursday, June 22, 2017

with every sound
of June rain

at the showery sound
on the path

by the sea's
white sand.
no way
out of so much

like Dutch
elm

yet my body
touches love.

otto warmbier

you had no chance
in korea

may you be freed today
of your suffering.
wrestling
with so much suffering

over my shape
of health

praying for
an overturn

of my fortune
to free me.


ends of days
ends of words

in life's
acrostic puzzle.


Joshua trees
in the Mohave desert

the breeze still
is flowering

even in the heat
of thought



we hated war
and injustice

for identity
is to be for humanity.


playing the rain sonata
by my studio

casts a shadow
in the land of yes and no

when my life
is touch and go.




apples
in a basket

gaze into
each others core

knowing
what spring

is at the morning
for


So much symbolism
in art

of my hands
where the bluebird lands

to feed on bread
he gently takes

in his mouth
while going South.
the inquest
as a guest

of the green
playing golf

while you
day dreamed

of a better June
when it would not rain.

The jet black
of a land bird

vanishes into
the landscape

of my painting.





your hands
full of roses

impose
its revolving will

among the green
of roadside patches

the sun catches
you unaware.
Packed up
for a summer holiday

quivering
like a eucalyptus hillside

on a twig
and leaf

trying to discover
a belief in love
A new book
held up

at the margins
of reality

in a ration card
of intimacy

you read
on the hammock.
Morning when the wind
in children's hour glasses

rise on the playground
and the one sound

of the cardinal
is constant

on the field
outside my window

and the shadows
of the sun

are mirrors
of a blue June sky







Drifting in my world
of flotsam and objects

of prisms of art
living for the courage

of doing my everyday
part for beauty

watching a film
on modernism.


modernism in my
flow of words

painting in a scenario
of my own  text

who knows what context
language contains

in the camouflage
of sky blue in our age.

Wednesday, June 21, 2017

in the wellspring
of my mind

contains my world
valid for life

though in the time
of my great suffering

we endure
the culture of everything.

Tuesday, June 20, 2017

Having iced tea
and a murdered croissant

on the back porch
in the scorching heat

my feet buried
by the salt spray river

the trees budding
on this June bug day.









Friday, June 16, 2017

The river flows
how soon we forget

the winter snows now
here among the violets

as if we are to go
for a drink at the fountain

and what sweet water
comes off the mountain.

Wednesday, June 14, 2017

POLITICS

Scams and slams
from sins tricks

and the assassin
who can win

no one doing their part
without a clean heart

in a panegyric
of politics.



Sunday, June 11, 2017

Sitting by the ocean
by the rocks

of Newport
by sands of time

remembering times
and faces

now set to a memory
of words.



Friday, June 9, 2017

The earth
is full of glory and memory

it was also a lonely sky
of many radiance

for a poet
who will shine.

Tuesday, June 6, 2017

I made an elephant lamp
for my aunt

at summer camp
in the Vermont forest

I rest the memory
of my childhood

by her kitchen
wooden cupboard.  
the sun
leaves our memories

in front of our eyes
without impediment

the morning relaxes on
in the nests of time

the rocks by the sea
are shadows of prayer

hours astonished
to delay her by the tree.




Saturday, June 3, 2017

As an outsider
in the garden

even the spider
seeks pardon

for the web
he wove

offering us
a treasure trove

of enjoyment
in his limited discernment.
Facades and arcades
from white buildings

in St. Dennis
after walking a short time

where a songbird sings
as Cynthia a flower girl

brings hyacinth
to the tennis match

as a young man
hears the sparrows whistle

among the underground
of shivering thistles

circling on court
and a poet in the corner

with his racket
in hand

huddles on the field
as clouds in the distance

offer us a rainy Sunday
altered his fragmented thoughts

effacing a memory of a fox
in the windy distance

with the childhood chance
of reciting disconnected prayers

Cynthia offers
a loving glance.





Friday, June 2, 2017

A child declines
to slip into his pajamas

sleep is not his favorite
time to dwell

the light above him
chimes from bells

his footsteps now
on the stairs.

With the sound
of wonder

in experience
from the underground

of expedience
we live each day

dying to make
our way in our perusal

and reach out to live
forgive and survive

in death's refusal
and to be a blessing.

Thursday, June 1, 2017

PLUM ISLAND

The sea
is Monet blue

the sky
faces the rising sun

and I am one 
swaying shadows

of my memory
along the beach.
Knowing

that every
revelation

gives a new
self introspection

to my life's
inspection

in the void of my time
of day dreams.
WHO HAS THE TONGUE

Who has the tongue
of the canary

at the window
of the contrary shadows

of the breeze's birdsong
to receive me

in the train of an hour's
sand.






CAPE COD

Any new start
when you are not ready

to begin the morning
in transition

shining in shadows
from the sunshine

at the windows
geraniums,blue bells

knowing life
tolls for you.

Tuesday, May 30, 2017

Listening to the birdsong
outside the harbor

for six hours
at the arboretum

memory freezes
by the Poe statue

at the Boston Common
near the frayed flowers.

Saturday, May 27, 2017

BALLERINA

In silks
and satin

you perform
and silence

becomes a whirlwind
of movement


for the audience
in the dorm

who are like Galina
open to joy.

Monday, May 22, 2017

NEVER MIND

Never mind
the lost puzzle pieces

of your latest craze
you will concentrate

on the found alphabet
you make into a painting

as you are waiting
for a breathing spell

near the snorkel
by the under sea floor.

    

Thursday, May 18, 2017

NEVER MIND

Never mind
yesterday's map of sunrise

or the originality
in your silence

we disappear in a skiff
by the oceans's side

who will remember me
in all my body

set to sail
my faces to the wind.


Roses

Rows of roses
left on the road

invades the depth
at the cool air

hearing the ocean's
facade of a humpback whale

life survives
as we on our house boat

sail in morning light
in a fly blown wind

on the other side
of the ocean.




Monday, April 24, 2017

GRIEF POEM

My mother
is gone

like beautiful swan
she loved me

in her way
but the winds

sway in my belief
for her life.



Saturday, April 22, 2017

YARN

Erasmus told a yarn
behind his barn

about his colt
in the mud

that the stud
was hurt

in the dirt
was taken to the hospice

during Christmas
but was rescued by Jesus.




Thursday, April 20, 2017

WE SINK

We sink
into Sixties movies

from Italy
because we want to think

of something beyond
beach red

into phantasms sanguinity
of life's reality instead.







ESCORTING

Escorting the violets
to plant in the ground

no one but a bird
on an Elm branch

is heard with regrets
to make a sound

as a poet on the sunny wind
will reveal his secret word.


FROZEN IN TIME

Frozen in time
of resolution

percolating as green tea
you asked for a solution

in a steaming hour
of questioning

the power
of poetry's chimes.






UNDER A WINDOW

Under a window
of faltering spiders

wondering why you
yourself feel as an outsider

in a polarization
of shadows

of astonished wishes
of meditation.
WANTING

Wanting a safe space
in a field of butterflies

you asked for love
waking up to be wise

masked by secrets
of transparent regrets

hidden by a shield
of purple violets.
SHADOWS

Shadows in a plethora
of motioning sorrows

in a honeymoon
bounded by waves

of a subterranean
ocean floor

looking toward
snorkeling tomorrow.





SOMEONE IS LISTENING

Someone is listening
that the winds are crying

near the home harbor
in the lull of an echo

with a sadness
by the sands

of pure light
by wandering eyes

poised to swim
in the teary sea.


Tuesday, April 18, 2017

THE WIND

The wind
carries me off

as I warmed
on the lawn

by the trees
at the morning air

near the river
by the Evergreen.




Monday, April 17, 2017

PERHAPS

Perhaps beyond
the wall of lilies

around the river
clearing the Neva

our hearts would collapse
from the church times

in prayer
of chimes

as Pasternak
and his sister

spoke for the last
hour of Vespers

to remember
this Easter hour




Friday, April 14, 2017

THE JERUSALEM WIND

The Jerusalem wind
from the air of breath

when Jesus
as a rose of Sharon

in his depth
of death is alive

in memory
of his reality

will survive the garden
as the sinned seek pardon.

THE DAYS

The days
which pass over

and cover us
for Easter

under the canopy
of brutal intensity

the Resurrection
when every sound

is a poem
of immensity.



PABLO NERUDA

With his poems
of justice

in his valise
hiding from the authorities

and the military
police

who wish to take away
his contrary soul

he in his verse of wonder
are at peace who sings.




Thursday, April 13, 2017

EVOCATION

Evocation
and equivocation

on this dawn
following a deer

in the forest
of the Northwest

watching for hunters
but hoping for rest.

Wednesday, April 12, 2017

AT THE WINDOW

At the window
close to the hills

hearing the bellicose
wind along the roof tops

the rain laughs
at the branches

the sun singes
the lightening of the Oaks

which shiver
in the breeze.
THE QUARTO

I walked into the light
of the church

in my most tender
flight and search

feeling I had been
forsaken in the lurch

it was so bright
in its revealing.




Friday, April 7, 2017

WHEN

When there are
war clouds in the air

pray for peace 
do not despair

be aware of life
not of strife

your mind's thoughts
are beyond compare.

Thursday, April 6, 2017

PLYMOUTH

Amid the rocks
and sand on the beach

the trees reached out
after the storm hid me

in the Mayflower
breeze

glowing in the
sun shower.
ROCKPORT

This time against
the water and ibis

from Pigeon Cove
to the harbor of waters

flowing out of the mouth
of breezes blowing off the shore

paths of knowing the intense
love of nature.

Wednesday, April 5, 2017

HELEN FRANKENTHALER

At the paintings
Jacob's Ladder

the Mountains
and the Sea

the surging ocean
in the rudders tides

you navigate
your oils

in painted spirals
from whirlpools of motion.


NEWS

Access
to the process

of deciphering news
with banner headlines

behind unmasking
deadlines

asking for a manner
of what you choose

to believe the press
by asking questions

demanding answers
the public will still

in private lose in views
to testify with intelligence

as they spy to impress
and we the public

confess to a  chance crisis
of surveillance only to guess.



Tuesday, April 4, 2017

LOCKED IN CABIN FEVER
 (JOHN CLARE)

Locked in cabin fever
becoming a believer

first in sorrow and sadness
then in tomorrow's madness

then in despair
was I upon my bed

John Clare
lived in dread.





Monday, April 3, 2017

SIMONE WEIL

I feel your
long suffering

in a pure soul
that sought for justice

as a fearless cloud
being assured

another will take
your hand.

JACQUES REVIERE

A  prisoner
of war fare

on a fearless road
a scholar life cannot scold

only words of wisdom
in freedom's mold

in a careless
life cannot be controlled

only looking
to be consoled.


JEAN GIRARDOUX


Self doubt
leads to distraction

you take each day
in satisfaction

that your voice
is as the eternal green

abstracted in wisdom
by freedom's mean.


ALAIN- FOURNIER

Age like modernity hours
pass away in surprise

in April
the flowers retain

some luminosity
in the city

as the wings of birds
on the weather vane.


PEGUY IN PARIS

The yearly calendar
distills in April

Charles Peguy
has promised to be faithful

to words in the home light
of a pacifist and partisan

cannot efface or hide
his continuing wisdom's guide.

Saturday, April 1, 2017

YEVTUSHENKO PASSES

Remembering you
in the snow of snows

free of the whip
of censorship and tyranny

Ghosts still haunt
the ship of stars, Yevgeny

thinking because of you
and the agony of Babi Yar.
ANDRE BRETON

If you must move
to the moon for light

watching vibrating
stars atop the weather vane

think of those
who spill our grain

who fill their baskets again
for your omelet without regret.

ANOTHER INTERVAL

Another interval
of music draws me out

another color by the river
informs the crocus flower

another eye shadow
hesitates each hour

to the  crow fields
on April Fool's day

yet delivers snow
yielding to us

 in this powerful
 display.


ESTUARY

Estuary for shore birds
as a spring sanctuary

like a cave from the wind
in a shadow of a sunlit nest

is the silence
of a resting place

to save the singing flights
from a journey

in a migratory
of sandpiper wings.


Friday, March 31, 2017

THE SNOW

The snow is dust
under Turgenev's feet

Writing his story
with glances at the words

through the ardent clouds
that hide him as he lives

yet knowing there is a scent
of spring to greet him in the air.




Thursday, March 30, 2017

TOLSTOY

In early April
a glimmering morning

the birds rest
outside your dacha

The ice is gone
from the pond

even the horses are ready
to ride

it is a time to contemplate
and write your memoir.




Wednesday, March 29, 2017

BIRDS

Birds in shadows
of the ranch wall

where we once played
kick ball

today songsters stir on branches
assured of their quick melody

interwoven by the maple tree
as youngsters in perpetuity

are wrapped in the sunlight
watch faithful doves sway.

Tuesday, March 28, 2017

PICASSO

By constant reinvention
of installation art

from arrangement
in stone

with new images
to retain

from parts
of flesh and bone.


EACH DAWN

Each dawn
colors to smile

on its flowers
with rain or sun

as if there
is an incarnation

even in  exiled hours
at Babylon.

CLOUDS

Clouds tear
the fog

in grief
of existence

on dark March days
as these

shrouded with
unthinkable distance

we take a chance
with resistance

in a faithful chance
belief of ease.

THE WIND MOVES

The wind moves
to rise

over the new tulips
crocus

and Iris'
as we focus

on a field of life
in the mind's eye.


HOCKNEY'S POOL

Hockney's pool
of color

examined
in this light

of a waterfall
to discover

a realistic school
filmed with oversight.

Monday, March 27, 2017

WHILE IN THE ORCHESTRA

While thinking in symbols
of a Yeats poem

in the doldrums
of the orchestra pit

all the traffic outside
the waiting horrific dramas

as geologic and philosophic
eras of the critics do not matter

when drinking in
a poet's words of wit.






MAGNETISM

Magnetism
in the hallways gym

with regrets of life
always on the ropes

among all the day activities
initialed with a charisma of hope

near the devices in proclivities
and gadgets of phones

in this time of chatter
and news of shattered noise

where is the atoning peace
of reaching for existence

only by the marina bay of rocks
and stones on the beach.


Sunday, March 26, 2017

DOVES

Doves on the rooftops
before this alcove

birdsong will rise
on an open grassy field

forgetting the hour
lodged in this dawn

destined to escape
for a shield of snow.





BY THE TUILERIES

Pushing aside my thoughts
by the Tuileries

wondering which flowers
will make a brief daylight scene

within a curl of winding
strawberries

to take time away
from the artistic loneliness

of so many gathered here
to echo in their art or music.

Saturday, March 25, 2017

IDOMENEO

Mozart's overture
opens an opera

that lacerates
the curse

in its libretto
the culture

of the gods
plays out its part

where love
opens our hearts.



IN A RIPTIDE

In a rip tide
the boat rears up

on the shore
where two blackbirds

rise by half flight
over at the tidal basin

as cherry blossoms
spin in the air.


RODIN

"The Thinker''
that was his body

distant eyes
of philosophy

always
on the precipice

of Dante's
conclusions,

earthbound
by logic.



Friday, March 24, 2017

AT NIGHT

At night
by twined hours

a decade passes
its petals

and rootless seasons
from blinded lights

of guiding dust
in parchment histories

from shooting
stars.


FAULKNER'S NOVELS

A construct root
of reflections

installed by voices
of pranks hijacked

to prejudice
in his metropolis

in an abyss
of family relations

from a direction-less
sense of endless existence

yet with outposts
of ultimate humaneness.





NATALIE SARRAUTE'S NOVELS

Anti- novel
by a master eye

exploring faces
motifs and motives

you cannot take
in a venue of networks

and subjects
obverse

in an ambitious
universe.
ROBBE-GRILLET'S NOVELS

Novels resume
in a surrealist mirror

in priority
of obligation's fate

to human pastimes
in reality of attention

to characters
assuaged by language

in mirrors of tension's
of illusion.







UNAUTHORIZED HAND

Unauthorized hand
of art's landscapes

in portraits
from isolated paintings

of Cezanne
always feeling apart

like an outsider in a sample
in "Still life with Apples.




A PLATONIC DAY

The museum
in clay and paint

on its white statues
facing us down

in a classical fate
among fingernails

on masked day shadows
in which only time speaks

its sages jesting
when asked and suggesting.
WARHOL'S DREAM

Camera's coverage
in impresario's colors

on a canvas
will not stop of visage

of a surprised language
in a pop artist design

catching the footage sights
of interlaced scenes

of endless ageless patterns
in an unsteady Manhattan.



 MARCH'S TREES

He saw the  fir trees
in the home harbor

while ice fishing
for smelt

on the breezy tail
stashed bait of his boat

wishing that hooks
would that catch the glint

of entanglement
in nature he felt

life and breath floating
in a flash.






Thursday, March 23, 2017

IN THE TOOL SHED

In the tool shed
to rake for the spring

what leaves
are left

at the unmasked snow cleft
of the White Mountain

by the legible light
moves us up the hill.

THE LAST SPATTER

The last spatter
of snow

scatters on the kick ball
graffiti wall

the passage of my hand
shrugs the foliage

as every leaf
falls to the ground.
RESEMBLANCES

Resemblances
by the trip wire

of dancing feet
glides on the floor

from lacerations
of lost loves

in fugitive
collaborative desires.

ON THE GOLF GREEN

In a horizon
on the golf green

a fawn in the sun
recovers breath

lured from
white branches

of the last
dazzling snow.
SURROUNDED

Surrounded
by low leafed branches

in spring's disclosure
by wind along the Cape

A rescue ship also
picks up the herring

to bring to the mainland
in mid-March.




HIDING AWAY

Hiding away
in the west field

with daylight
in its sun glasses

Squirrels
embedded from a storm

by the  fountain spring
in a wishing well of coins.


RELAXATION

Flipping houses,
playing solitaire

Kick ball
in the teeming light

Day unfolds
its raking leaves

Snow rinses
in Harvard Square

for a chess match
outside the cafe


THAT NOON

That noon
dragged through

another photo of
bright strawberries

and a lost school bag
was located by the river

like a retrieved hour
of initials on the tree.







CABIN FEVER

Hearing the mountain river
but not there

the bees in the hive rising
but not humming in my garden

the unloosened sweater
for another wintry dawn

A love letter
but not delivered.
AN AROMA

An aroma
from the   rock garden
    along the wallflowers
  how well we knew
how quickly
are shooting stars
the light of hours.
THAT LIFE'S GIFTS

That life's gifts
not corrode
but quickly lift
by a sea Nereid
nor be muddied
or poorly buried
from a shifting mirror
of honor code.
DUFY'S DREAM

Regatta in the Seine
cleaving at the yacht race
blurred in waves
quivering in the cool air.
FALCON

A falcon landed
on the balcony
in an outdoor theater
of a mystery play
he entered by the side curtain
with his winged mystery
not bound by space
he then storms
onto the stage
in flying forms
like it was in a struggling race
at the last act aimed
from a performance
in perfect timing.

Wednesday, March 22, 2017

JEAN HELION DREAM

Bleached abstractions
from a vital scene
of parched color
as you are captured
during the war
on a surrealistic platform
saved only by a palette
off the Britanny Coast
in the awe of summer.

GIACOMETTI'S DREAM

In a gallery
not demurred by mirrors
portraits gaze
from the sunlight room
there is the composer
Igor Stravinsky,
the poet Pierre Reverdy
in a delightful symmetry
earth bound space appears
in the wonder of color
traces his take
with a diffused poseur
of an underground to share.


Tuesday, March 21, 2017

SECOND CHANCE

Fragrant in the shade
of a canopy of spring
with a winged bird
in a second chance
to reach for safety
on the vacant branch.



HUMAN FLIGHT

Human flight
relaunches
in the mist of dawn
up in the floating space
shot out of sight.
A SQUIRREL

A squirrel
follows me
by hiding in a tree
crossed a country street
until he hastens
for an inquiry
but lost him
in my anxiety.

IVY

Ivy in the academy
by the large lily
set on the window
by my shadow
over my novel
of Ivy Compton-Burnett.
COMMODITY CULTURE

Changing and charging
on scales of justice
weighing in spices
diffused chances of humanity
to compete in instructions
only with appearances
of deductions said
in our epitaphs to prophets
with a reference
to our own defenses
or the worlds sold price
of interference from crudity
in our trading posts
from the crown and majesty
of our head's connivance
from the gold coasts of intellect
or silver shred that we expect
to stay all breakdowns
as we survive
from feelings of dread
and robotic routines
make us  critically
alive instead.



 SECOND DAY SPRING

Countryside birds
by the transparent pond
where ice fishers
by the edge of lilies
wait in half-darkness
for you as you
spike your words.

Monday, March 20, 2017

DE KOONING'S DREAM

Embroidered but no longer
diffused reflections to spring
over dazzling blackboards
in fusion of dada colors
appearing new interpretations
of space running codes
covering over the seas
from green blue nature
hearing the cusp of noise
in curious nests
with dahlias abandoned
from various ventures
in pallettes
of action painting.


AT MIDNIGHT

At midnight
on the stage
admitted by
waiting rooms
with transparent
actors by mirrors
rehearse in half-darkness
suspended and marked
by swirls of old curios
of equilateral five star
tables of contents
for the next playbill.


SPRING SYMPHONY

Recommending
a pardon of winter
today's variety
in a chorus
of forest sparrows
expressed to us
on the tall Oak
while I'm playing
Schumann's
"Spring Symphony"
on my radio
by the waves of the sea
outside my studio
awoke in me
amid the breeze
of the human heart
in a season
from another
earthly stare
that in the arrival
of spring
birds are discerning
in the narrow
circular island
within canal
waters stirring
in their second
natured reasons
it suddenly occurs
on the trees
that green gardens
are everywhere.


THE BEAT

The Beat
sees his words
repeat in parentheses
feeling his surprising time
in the Latin quarter
is incomplete
until he flees
like Ulysses
after his urban read
laughing simultaneously
by his audience reception
under the wintry clime.


THE WAVES

The waves float to sail
offering foam in the stream
like our lives dispersing
on this boat to rescue a whale
wishing on a voyage of riddles
to save a humpback
in a wind of treacherous terror
my mind jumps
to Herman Melville as a seer
yet fails to locate
the watery cast-off fish
entangled by fishing gear.
VERDI'S GREETING

You greet the morning
with your verse for us

to have others monitor
with dialogue and chorus

with a certain operatic power
that makes us survive

for it is only in language
that interrogates us

while we strive to discover
what translates

usually incarnates
us to be critically alive.

ROSSINI

After the Barber,
William Tell,

and Stabat Mater
the panics of life

took over your chorus
was there a little language

left at the riddle of your age
in the terror or indifference

of your forty year hiatus
and departure from the stage.


Saturday, March 18, 2017

MARCH WINDS

March winds
tuck at you

from the ocean
toward day break

watching
the hump backed whale

from my kayak
anchored off shore

free himself
from being entangled

by fishing nets
in his twisted body,

a rescue ships sails by
with several hands clapping

at the sea
escape.






THE BACK ROAD

The back road
near a large scented field

Two are playing tennis
another chess

on a Sunday
a few souls are restless

Amusement
seems endless.


STREETCARS

Green an orange
streetcars

drive and rattle
by the traffic lights

You ask yourself
why the hurry

in the muffled dawn
and take a breath.

RESCUE OF A BIRD

Wings flapping
in my hand

by the shore beach's
edge of crocus

in a recognition
one of us will forget

the silent watch
in the sun.

A FOOTPRINT

A foot print
in the grass

on a contemplative day
congratulates us

for getting through
the greensward valley

just to find a flower
for this incandescent hour.


DEREK WALCOTT PASSES
(1930-2017)

Derek loved the sun
even when the snow

was on the ground,
now in poppies and ashes

we remember the sounds
in breakers of the Caribbean

by a first spring on hedge groves
or waking at the last rainbow.




Friday, March 17, 2017

IMPROVISATION #432
THE WALL

The city wall
is scribbled with graffiti

You write
a futuristic poem

about your past
in the abyss

signalling
the anxiousness

of your own
metamorphosis.

IMPROVISATION #431
GLUED TO CHOPIN

Glued to Chopin
in the living room

Georges Sands
with skeptical topics

about an amicable feud
in a lover's diplomacy

as an ambassador
discovers the pianist

resounding with notes
of his etudes.



IMPROVISATION #430
PATER'S DAY

The day is saved
by color

the overly rich furnishing
and the cantata

of the singing
on the veranda

in a long suffering
way.
IMPROVISATION #429
PLAYING  A SARABANDES

Playing Sarabandes
by Bach and Handel

elated in the dance
of a Spanish predisposition

when thinking of myself
as a ten year old musician

and critic
by the music stand.






IMPROVISATION#428
BRAHMS CELLO SONATA

You knew the trills
and reclaimed notes

but all through
Jacqueline du Prey's

recital you
wept in her aura

for the music time
apportioned to us.
IMPROVISATION #427
VALERY'S ECHO

After he views
the circling plants

green is restored
in his consciousness

the frogs disappear
to descend on the waters

stems evaporate from winds
at the pond

as Valery
recites from his echo.

IMPROVISATION# 426
RIMBAUD

Rimbaud with fears
in a feckless moment

by furrows and hills
in the snared shadows

dreams of Tangiers
as acorns fall

wanders from
a recovered rain.

IMPROVISATION# 420
LEOPARDI'S VENTURE

Not knowing
what is expected

on the road of outsiders
feeling excluded

like a cicada
spider or dragonfly

or the parsing unsuspecting
memory in the morning mirror.

IMPROVISATION# 419
GATES

Gates of ruined cities
by the black ice

the world is not
beyond your window

in your apportioned walk
you make haste

in the rain that falls
by the cold river's edge.

Thursday, March 16, 2017

IMPROVISATION #418
ROTHKO DREAM

Seeking a better
frame of history

your paintings
hung up

in recurrent images
of abstract language

in nurturing
colors.

IMPROVISATION # 417
DUCHAMPS DREAM

Cubist dreams
on flashes

in a careless color
from a pitiless thread

its memory
become into scenes

that gnashes
away.


IMPROVISATION#416
FAIRFIELD PORTER

Color field
of abstraction

of a figurative
''Iced Coffee''

your mouth
seethes in satisfaction

in having an object
as a contemporary.
IMPROVISATION #415
CHRISTIAN BERARD'S WAY

Passing off from passageways
in the ballet of France

through pergolas
and columns of curtains

bending into the dance
lessons to resurface

by mirrors with modernism's
frequent swing at chance

motioning with turbulence
in your spiral performance.


IMPROVISATION #414
POET DUNCAN AND JESS

Paste-ups
embedded

in another's existence
more than a few

shadows of perspective
only memory

by poet and painter
outlives its retrospective.


IMPROVISATION #413
FRANK STELLA'S DREAM

In the morning
paint wash

in minimalism
rippling out

prisms
in rapacious

lines
of entanglements.


IMPROVISATION #412
ROY LICHTENSTEIN'S DREAM

Color does not undercut
his pop art

in saw marks
and optic lines

for drawn graphic art
cannot be blocked

off to mimic
his comic sense

brushing back
any atmospheric

wonder at his eclectic
strategic stops

not fearing any geometric
and eccentric backlash.



IMPROVISATION# 411
YVES KLEIN DREAM

Pink or gold leaf
with paint

on a canvas
just sold

in a philosophical void
of sunlight space

you dream on
not having to think.


IMPROVISATION #410
HENRY MOORE DREAM

'' A king and queen"
to a dream unfolding

of Henry Moore
fading

in another clear sign
of an assembled shape

for his dropped off
signature.


IMPROVISATION # 409
ALEX KATZ CUT-OUTS

"Yellow Tulips"
sprouting

or lips pouting
on wood

or on aluminum
frosted for posterity.
IMPROVISATION #408
DREAM ON GEORGES MATHIEU

Multi colored
lyrical abstractions

giving off
a river mouth of satisfaction

shaping
a concentric circle

in your images
by a cortege.


IMPROVISATION #407
BAUDELAIRE DREAM

The same hand
of Constantine Guys

meets Baudelaire
at the museum of his mind

painting dandies
Spanish women

in an elegy smoldering
of turpentine.
IMPROVISATION # 406
MOREAU DREAM

Blurred apparition
of ''The Chimeras''

whitewashes images
of infiltrated watercolors

from hyphenated nightmares
wandering in wellsprings

of art's drawing out
at juxtaposing brushwork.



IMPROVISATION #405
VICENTE'S DREAM IMAGES

Collages in images
in annotated language

at the edges of discs
prisms and tamarisks,

"Green Floating "
the museum walls
deepens the risk of art

unhinged and changed
by dream sequins.





IMPROVISATION #404
JOHN CAGE DREAM

In the biting cold
you came down

to visit the Bonnard
art show

notes flow
on the surface

of memory
over Manhattan.


IMPROVISATION# 403
TANGUY DREAM

Stopping over
to visit Andre Breton

waking from a first light
sleeplessness

you caress the Seine
a river veiling the sun

the hour disappears
in a gust of wind.

IMPROVISATION #404
JOSEPH CORNELL DREAM

Boxes of memorial things
in ballet and opera

springs to "The Blue Peninsula"
in your sea observation

in a sequined theme
whispers in constructions

to illustrate
what summarily functions.


IMPROVISATION #403
CHARDIN

Still life matters
Chardin

here on the grass
by blue pitchers

and zinnias,petunias
in a silver goblet

and prayers for the birds
set here in the garden.



IMPROVISATION #402
IN THE FISHPOND

Ice fishing in the pond
hearing the sand murmur

as a smelt emerges to surface
amid the crossing North wind

of the home harbor's breeze
over a muddy green stream.








IMPROVISATION # 401
THE BEACH

The beach whitewashed
my thoughts

the tide of sea blue waves
to us on the shore

my sun baked eyes
reach out for more.

Wednesday, March 15, 2017

IMPROVISATION# 400
BREAKERS

Waves against the sand
in a white foam

playing Debussy
on my guitar

here along the ocean
of shoals

two underwater swimmers
with snorkels

rise up
holding shells.


IMPROVISATION #399
BIRDS

Birds in a nest
with winds

quivering from rain
in the waterlogged spring

here in the gardens
of vibrations and wings

in the restless air
by the backwash access.
IMPROVISATION # 398
LISTENING TO SCARLATTI

Feeling alive
between intervals

in sharp flashes
dazzling notes

weaving
on drifting waves

that crashes
into echoes.




IMPROVISATION #397
WALKING IN SNOW

Walking in snowy light
in the meadow

among the pine cones
there is a shadow

of a man running by
with his cello.












IMPROVISATION#396
CEZANNE

Grapes, peaches,pears
drape the bowl

in the kitchen garden
Cezanne shares

as he reaches
for his easel

a gust of wind
shapes his hand.
IMPROVISATION#395
DUPIN

You found Dupin's poetry
in a Paris taxi

lost in the height of a storm
decided to study him,

for your thesis
you wrote at the Sorbonne

rather as a wake up
helpless call

to his father justified
your year in analysis.
IMPROVISATION# 394
DU BOUCHET

You read Andre Du Bouchet
after following your steps

at the ice skating rink
crackling the raucous

speculation for your exam
of what his words

cause us to think falling
from a cheeky response.