the hat on a scarecrow

“”Nobody to talk to. Nothing to do. When one has nothing to do, then is the time to correspond with one”s friends.
You perceive, then, why it is that I write you this letter—it is on account of my ennui and your sins.”
from “Mellonta Tauta”, Edgar Allen Poe
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I’m all for the metaphors that pinpoint elusive love.
I’ve a butterfly that lights right upon you like
A wild bird will dance onto a tame wire.
Random (?) and skittish, lovely luck of above.
Odd that the hat on a scarecrow
Has enough shine to ensure a lure enough
to bug and bird alike,
To draw, and not repel them,
Their wings aim down to light.
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“She’s gone, he’s gone too, and in the darkness; heaven and earth hold hands, the hands that loosened for a moment.”
from “The Piano Teacher’, Elfriede Jelinek

Tribute

It’s likely/ It could be
That when Leonard Bernstein,
At his piano bench,
It was very late when he…
In a creative trance,
Had opened an envelope
From Stephen Sondheim,
And started to work on
A musical phrasing for
“There’s a place for us”,
He eyedropped a gold teardrop
into a test tube, & heaven reacted,

& now can make me ache
20,000 late nights after

Deliberately Happen

Today, like an odd day way back when,
When it got way out of hand
When Kings and Queens would pretend
And everyone around them would play along.
Today, It could deliberately happen.
A scenario would act out just so.
I’d start it, & let it go.
I’d make it go, and all characters
circling like satellites
would play along too.
Then, It got way into hand.

affirmance

A straight and steady wave rolls in,
Seems dull white as might a beam of lamp light,
To splash and settle over doubt
before the poll’s in.
It’s both calm sweater cozy,
It’s storm weather crazy that might
send you off ;
A campfire’s coughing light.
I did swear
Where the needs there
Fall to knees
& call the seas for
A straight and steady wave that does roll in

Renewal

It’s the quicksand edge of a rain squall
It’s a sick man on the ledge of it all
It’s the shore shifting in a violent fright
In a midnight storm
In a maybe might/
A long winter before the glint and glimmer
of words onto daybreak’s birdsong,
When enough renewal’s been suffered to,
Enough burning and churning and yearning
has been laboured through

Veils

For a fog moon to furnish imagery
for a folktune where god wears a gauze skirt
and her veils are gauzy also
and she makes a mind wander
and her beauty as a gypsy
clouds all misery
loud with clarity
as a harsh sun must show one
the world scoured over.
We would want again and miss the mystery
Maya makes the sky.

Sketchy Sanctuary

Some seem to see the floor of the sea
as a sketchy, yet effective sanctuary.
They’re thinking, I think, that it’s tucked away
good. Could be quite quiet.
Would be you’d dream good there.
Sure, it goes that you must breathe much slower.
Sure, bluegreen cracks for surface lightening.
But, You’ll see that jeweled fishes,
Stilled with witness,
Flee at the softest flourish.
And bets are..sandbeds are busy with movement.
How can my dreams take when I’m floating awake?