Honestly, I'm a Liar, & Other Balances & Imbalances

May 31, 2011

Jots on Aging

I’m just a step behind the old man

I’m spotting him so as he knows  nothing of

In case he falls.


I walk a step in front of him

So he can see something big to follow

So I’ll lead  and lure, surely a solid jewel

&  follow us  like  we’re a fragile jewel 


May 29, 2011

Blind Pilgrim (Bound To Be)

…but from here; a boxed baggage bin,

in whatever vessel burning

Point on  into blank, frigid forths.

Andever vexed in yearning.


Blind Pilgrims; taxed temporal things

Kinshipbourne, trapped, as my fathers.

Captive on this  course, We’re  bound to be,

Forlorn,  for treks  on farther.





 from many years ago, for  Daddy



“For we are strangers before thee, and sojourners, as were all our fathers, our days on the earth are as a shadow, and there is none abiding”           -Bible, 1 Chronicles 29:15



RKM March 21, 1929-May 29, 1959

For Daddy, Who my hug couldn’t save


Coarsely Course Through You, To Coerce You To Beauty

how Art thou? Do you drink from the deep sink of inspired creations at an art museum, gallery, or maybe a street art fair on a street near you?sometimes?
Do you have something on one of your walls that you could only fall for?
And, can’t help but stare?
It’s an important thing,dontcha think?
It has been from an early age for me.
I’m told that soon after I found my father who had killed himself (the Hemingway), while all the distraught adults who knew & loved him were off balance with emotional & practical adjustments (like selling the house and moving on)
a forgotten first son had got into several paint cans and expressed quite a colorful statement on the backside of the new house for sale.
I was perched high for me
in a pinepitchtree
and waited out what I did
as I watched our house’s back side
where I painted from all the paint cans
stacked out back. Though very new plans
made us move away from that life.
Daddy had died and left that life.
Somebody and something could only cover
that work.


a french girl with hair from the girl in Breathless
was our art teacher that visited
Miss Blue’s 3rd grade class,
and liked my painting so much
she asked if she could take it
for a contest, or a book she was working on.
The blurry greens and blacks,
browns and blues was a ship in a storm.
I never saw it again but
somebody and something could only recover
that work.

still, tie me to the mast.


I must get the next good grasp
still, the next limb up
to see some.


May 20, 2011


I  contend

I can maintain  mainly steady motion,

As a  seastorm wreck  under ocean.

I’ll  extend

My hand humanely.  Mainly obligation.

I must offer up, against the grain,

To dare offer  heart,

That light  from a slat

In a self-styled safe cell that

Will spill and splash

On  still quite a quiet crash scene again.

May 18, 2011

Radiance In A Dark Room

It’s a snug dark room.

When our voices need to pause,

The outside’s  breakers  keep good time.

To imagine our intimacy   in measures

Is far-fetched.  We’re free form

At last.  Our wretchedness is pushed

At  more distant fogs.  Senses locked

At  actual  joy.

In that snug dark room,

Our eyes  down  for the

Radiance  of our need,

The cadences  for our feeding.