INVENTIVENESS

Intuitive with inventiveness
with the painter Soutine
of imaginations awareness
in a resonance inspection
of windswept colors
in a landscape perspective
with phantasms of memoir
escapes a sustained language
from a direction of corridors
near Paris' hemispheric roads
into a canvas of a print
magnified as a river's water lily
always asking for art's abstraction
drawing us in a simulacrum
intertwined of enlightenment
of roseate creative juiced delivery
expression spills alive
by wellsprings of consciousness
of an exiled satisfaction to survive
in his modern tunnel vision
from exposed fractured lines
with a proxy experimentation
in Chaim's living jonquils
immersed from expressionism
fulfills a career's perspective
seeking a human heart
of unique recognition.

NAGASAKI GRAFFITI

Jazz riffs are heard
from an appropriate response
on a distant recording
as dirty bombs fall
into dissonance
from a parachute convoy
of the reconnaissance
pouring a rain out
of the ghoulish sky
like skin splotches on a terrain
molted by burning out
of nature's devastation
flows from whispers
of a mechanized plane of Hell
into palms of flaming ashes
over fluid swirling over
the rivers cinematography
as a one remaining poet
journals in Nagasaki graffiti
on the city walls.

T.S.ELIOT AT ROCKPORT

It is to the rocks
at Pigeon Cove
watching the cormorants
and not to the monotonous tide
at St. Ann's sandbar
that will salvage your name
it is to the ocean
and not to the fluid borders
that will embroider you
by the stones and surf
in the morning mist
of your mineral waters
that will anoint you
from the anchors
of the tourist boat from Boston
through a water song shadow
that will offer prayer
to your conscience
in a cup's communion
and it is to the silence of the eagle
perched on the harbor dock
in the windshield of the sun
that will lock your eyelids
into your torpor of mind
familiar though a threatening storm
that will save the whole sky
in a flushed warm August dog day
of a fevered heat wave
that leaves your conflated memory
in language by a daybreak sentence
and why ,T.S., to make any sense
as the birds chatter
and the clouds scatter
why does it matter, T.S. Eliot
by the parking lots of visitors
with their mirrors of the past
that enfold across their own corridors
as Gloucester maps are lost on bridges
and are caught by the lone sail
down the hills by the rails
of the last train
that sought to visit by the dunes
or pursue a wanton shadow
of days that are narrow
as you kneel by your bed
hearing the northeastern wind
confessing your sins
it is not by the clocks
in the town
or ivy that descends over dales
as you watch sailors and wives
gather seaweed and snails
while you feel at church
only the nail scarred hands
search a sequence of designs
walking now on the beach sand
knowing as the noon bell rings
and a choir sings
inside you believes the face
of a memoir is being composed
and small birds are clinging
to Evergreen branches
by the muggy rose garden
to pardon us  all in grace.

THE SUNSHINE

The sunshine is over the ocean's
Pacific maritime and meridian
in times of fleeing
from being captive
on land locked thoughts
in barricaded awareness
of turning deep salty waters
from continued Malibu fountains
into the wine of hidden lives
as a poet moves his motioned lips
thinking over unbaptized showers
or strolling in a promenade
by a parade of mountain swallows
climbing greensward green hills
putting out hours of perceptions
from trembling fountain fingers
in papers of apocalypse words
from gestures buried by time
for cinematic tomorrows.

GLOVES OFF

Gloves off
not to boxed in
to any class
or classification
between irony's innocence
of shock waves of a Beat's
language within
a foreign tongue
reciting my lines
of unwritten ocean rhythms
time captures my island voice
transfigured from intonations
sensing the extraordinary
as I play solo alto sax
in a gig at midnight
with the blues of angels
filling my house
being caressed
by daybreak kisses
scratching my initials
on the trees of quivering trees.

NO ADMITTANCE

We could not admit
the dawn sky
on my open boat
returning to he wharf
of my home harbor
to anchor in the summer air
as the cirrus clouds
uncovering chimeras of light
plays with the farthest horizon
with an unexpected silhouette
of trout fishing by parting shadow
of a labyrinth return
hearing the sailors
from the Azores tell tales of exiles
gaze on alembic hours
when my heavy eyes glaze over
passports and u turn visas
from maps and vistas
all over the voyages seas
hearing all the nuances,accents
silences, in scissor half speech
id's, forgotten photographs
love letters to dead end roads
labors,recommendations
by sharp lettered questions
in the hunger for sunshine
the air engraves us in memory
as in the chords of my guitar
on the silver rocks
by beach combing journeys
along foreign market places
on the backstage
of an extra in a nearly full house
at slow rehearsals near cold lofts,
amid abattoirs of immense secrets
among the awkwardness
of passer by crowds
in towns and villages
but never a stranger
to words,canvas or friends
in the belly of the earth.

FOLLAIN'S MEMORY

His body refuses to mortgage
or reinvent experience
of shade or shadows
since his words began
by the breathing on the river
Seine when waves coil
the objects of his memory
looking out of the window
of high school where he writes
to reinvent each hypnotized mirror
of each moment as he raises himself
on his chair to quote his parchment
like oracles lost in time,
now he remembers word miracles
by his favorite garden chair
when he gathers in his language
as a thirst for paradise to share
a poet came by egrets
near the daybreak butterflies
not wanting to answer
to the summer foliage
in a caressed rhythmic voice.
Jean Follain,
bending the french ear
at the fountain
of an aroma's buzz
in sauntering
by the dragonflies
and birds
with the white plumage
he forgets to love
all bee hives
in the sting
of so many others
whose memory
is alive in Paris
like Mallarme's survival words
yet misses a venture
in his brother anniversaries
every other day
by the sea blown waves
he will even invent snow kisses
to survive what he craves.