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Seasonings

Seasonings

 

Winter was hard

Not because I was cold

But impoverished in

Other ways

 

The white was too much

Too tall, too unusual

For me, anymore

 

I live in the southern part,

Now, of the state

(Okay, a northern state)

And don’t expect such

Walled-off weather

Often, if at all

 

It was anxiety; I took

A pill, and pretended

That would be enough

 

Now spring is here

I wonder which came first:

The verb or the season’s

Name

 

I could look it up

But I’m not sure that

Would tell me

 

Ancient stories, after

All, have variants

 

Winter and summer

Are, as coined by my folk-

Literature teacher,

Hilda Kring—they are

Characternyms

 

We know what they

Are because value

And form make sound

Thar tell us

 

But the other two,

Spring and fall, might be

Named for what they

Do—or what we do is named

For what they’ve done,

First and longer

 

We’ll, I’ll spring

 

Then you and I, we’ll

Summer (because

We know what

That means), and then

 

Let’s drop like leaves

Of fall, onto an Earth

Softened by snow

And ice, dew and rain,

 

And the gentle

Wearying

Of all other

Seasons

 

 

(Hilda Kring was a professor of

folklore and folk-literature at

my college, while I was a student

there; she made the term

“characternym” for names of

characters who sounded like what,

in depiction, they were, such

as Uriah Heep in David Copperfield

–and maybe Copperfield

himself; she requested someone

to publish this term for her and to

her credit–and here is my try,

“characternym” from Doctor Hilda Kring)

Cosmology

Cosmology

(who we are, materially)

 

I look away

Not always with my eyes

And I think

 

I cannot see my thought

I cannot see yours

Though I might fancy

In the expression of your

Eyes, your face, your

Body lines

 

That I know something about

What’s going on inside

Of you

 

And if you want something

(Hopefully good) from

Me

 

And I can become

Frustrated knowing that the

Container of my thoughts

Is simply this body

Nothing more

 

How do we get together

How do I get myself

Over to you

 

Maybe I don’t

At least not for now

Somehow electric thought

Remains inside flesh

And form, which

Move if my synapses

Are moving

 

For the better day

When we can do better

Than this to have,

To hold each other

Null Island

Null Island

 

It’s busy but does not exist

Zero-zero for map-keepers

 

Center of everything and

Nothing

 

Ever have the feeling?  If so,

There might be some real

Estate for you

 

Real?—well, estate as in

Old echelon of society

 

This one’s all yours, since

No one can possess it

 

Yes, mine, too

 

 

null-island-2

www.atlasobscura.com

 

Null Island is an imaginary island located at 0°N 0°E (hence “Null”) in the South Atlantic Ocean. This point is where the equator meets the prime meridian.

(source Atlas Obscura)

Work in Process

Work in Progress Process

 

Blank page awaits

No, it doesn’t wait on me—it’s a

Blank page

It doesn’t do anything

 

But I do

When inspired

Wait—must I wait for that?

 

It’s a process, you know

Discovery and meaning

I might not have just now

 

I might have them later

When in composing

Something happens

 

It’s here—hang on, it’s

Coming

On the way, I’m sure

 

And maybe with regret

I’m late waiting for Godot

The sun sets on my day

 

But wait—the

Breath of day is ending

Yet exhale and breathing-in of

Night is more inspiring!

 

 

(Waiting for Godot, a play by Samuel Beckett)

Mother and Father

Mother and Father

(on hearing five of the Solomons

have sunk due to rising sea water)

 

Once and once again

There was a child

The child is Earth

And we are her protectors

 

We are the parents

Of the Earth (earth and

Air and water)

 

For our children

Whom we leave

The planet of our future

Favoring Neighborly Respect

Favoring Neighborly Respect

(greetings with a sigh from USA)

 

We’re not all like Dwayne Wade

Canada is our neighbor, deserving

Of respect

 

And you are liked

 

There is enough to contend with

 

Fire, life of First Nations, economy,

And government—correlations in

USA

 

Antics courtesy of the NBA are

Neither needed nor liked nor

Incumbent here

 

We are friends—maybe we will

Match our amity in action, as

We do in many things

 

But, as with national songs, a

Kinship should be lifted,

Celebrated, and served, O

Canada:

 

The land of hope for all who toil,

The true North strong and free!

 

Thank you for forbearing,

From your friend

Jazz Mass

Jazz Mass

 

Syncopated praise

Offbeat words and rhythm

Liturgy and litany

We have our ways to get

Involved

 

Invocated presence in

Bright colors through the

Music that we see and

Feel as well as hear

 

All are especially welcome

Here, for come-as-you-are

Takes new meaning

 

That which is not day-by-

Day is especially

Welcome now and here

 

It’s all right, though, the

Day-by-day folk are

Welcome, too

 

Everything is solid, yes

Though with haze

Around the edges

A cloud of unknowing

Truths because all of

Us might not know

What note might be

Arriving next

 

What might be played

What might be heard

 

What might be

Received from God

Snapping fingers,

Tapping toes, humming

As if the tone were

Sitting right with us

 

Because it is

 

And we might be

Changed for this time

Of many times—6/8,

4/4, 5/4, 7/8—however

It Gospel-goes

 

Out of the blue

Out of the blues

 

 

(a contemporary form of

Christian worship)

Rain Today

Rain Today

 

Rain today

So I pray

 

My friend who has a daughter

Who fast-slips like an otter

 

For sister whose new store

An on-line hope for more

 

For colleague who needs work

Through academic murk

 

For brother in show biz-ness

Clarity with stars’ fuzziness

 

Dogs next whom I park,

Cats who never bark

 

A world of tender faces

Food and all home-places

 

Peace ev’rywhere prevailing,

War mindset starts failing

 

Help us now, our God,

To like us when we’re odd

 

In knowing how to love—

Hand inside pray’r-glove

(going west, going east)

(driving out)

 

Misty Mountains, Pennsylvania

 

I travel west on I-76, and it is there:

The Lonely Mountain

 

Higher and set apart from the ridge

That falls away, behind

 

A dragon set atop, searching for

Prey gone to ground

 

Orcs lurk below, ready to battle

Dwarves who stand ready ‘round

The deep tomb of their king at rest,

Diamond earthstar guard upon

His chest

 

I see these shadowed and

Foreshadowed parts of epic

Because

 

Tolkien, the literary mentor, first

Saw his

 

 

(driving back)

 

Rainbow World

 

I drive east on a four-lane reach

Of road, not an interstate so I

Have concerns to watch out

For local traffic

 

It has been raining, now mostly

Stopped with dark clouds in

The distance

 

Yet there must be a band of

Spectrum light somewhere

Because before me is a rainbow

 

That, against grey background,

Shines with every ordered

Color distinct and bleeding

Into from each other

 

Purple into blue into green

Into yellow in orange into red

From blended shades

Between

 

It arches, and I see both ends

Where it leaves the hillside,

Arcs before my car, lands on

More dimly-toned earth in

My direction

 

Of course, I think of Irish

And of argent pots inside with

Their own hills, sun-colored

Coin

 

And the folk who keep it,

Minding with angry magic any

Interloping

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