Category: Blog

New Day’s Harbor 1997/01

1. Peaceful sojourns of the new day’s harbor 2. Portable incandescent borne upon the water merrily in lengths of stream 3. Deprivation of conquest seeks shanty alms from the hillbilly and his ramshackle wife 4. Those in discourse, over templates, have a tremendous disposition towards tankard staffs 5. What strides are missing their foment up against intimate carousing and peril. 6. As mediums, the band may acclimate to the set of tracery arms 7. Into gigues that will spurs of argent chords among the dimension of a personal atrophie 8. As I myself am a pardoned member of an elite artist’s guild 9. I think that each membrance of a poetic prelude can stand with history 10. Against heresy that there will be lapses into the contingent scheme 11. Of involved metaphysics I have decided not to 12. Suppress those fantasies that led me through the dark 13. At night I wonder at ups and downs of brandishing a timely line 14. Coiled this be the braying consumption of elixers 15. That has brought my passage near to my ladies home 16. Her heart beating with tumults of breathy lathes 17. A pleasant scent about ways the air meandering skyward

Simple in dreams. Or so mine seem. Until I awake. And such thoughts can’t shake. I wish to God I could remember how. I learned so low to bow. Each night to get my rest. And in the morning test. Strains of amicable fate. In a soul’s way to consider late.

I miss those diamonds in the rough. Within my way to have enough. Time in each passing day. For a good thing’s lot to say. Still I try my dreams to remember. From flowering May till cold December. Then another year ends. And I’ve grown older again. No closer to a vision rife. More or less borne out of strife. With all the wars the nations wage. Civil in might yet sold for an age. I think that tomorrow will come. And I’ll still be called about a big ego just being a bum.

No, I am not really complaining though. Nor do I believe was Nero with his fiddle and bow. He probably laughed long into the night. As his own Rome fell in the fire light. Never to rise again would be a great big sin. For a human such as I. No, not to make children cry. I’d rather work on a pleasant change. And in my heart, love’s desire to arrange. Till again I prophesied on such. And shun possession of a need to crutch. With exercise of my freewill and mind. Serious in guise, roundabout wary to bind. Myself with foundling love. Lost for days, a winging lonesome dove. Settling down for a spell with me. Some given while, until dawn, when I set her free. To rise away stylized by sky. She’s leaving now, going on her own for a fly.

Alone again by myself. Personally concerned with my own good health. I can usually do anything I set my mind to. Yet these dreams elude me and I am made blue. Nothing seems to stay the same. Getting up at night to start a new game. Watching out my window for folks going by. Waiting for tender memory to bring me a sigh. I have walked the road enough to know. Which way heads down and what’s the way to go. A new day will come and I’ll be okay. For I have made up my mind to join in the play. Of wakeful thoughts that are entertained. By the store of wealth in a millennium’s grain. Judging by the look of things. I found out much about the price of an Angel’s wings. They’re heavier than most and weighed in gold. Made to bear you up to where the thunder God’s are bold.

There’s a heavenly score. Embattled and twixt in the loath of my lore. To speak kindly of such things as need. When babies cry, them life you must feed. Yet why this fear at the garden’s apple. Does a long pony ride bring sweat to our dapple? What men perform their very tricks of certainty. None who’ve ever heard of Athena’s great weavery. For she would surely tear them downs. And rip to shreds their fiendish crowns. Passing lythe out of hand. Numerous grains kept in an hourglass of sand.

An essential Deja vu is superconscious for a moment. Till I realize my instincts are what makes the feelings so potent. Without reason I am grabbing at straws. Chasing a fox and in the mud finding the print of his paws. So afraid at the braying of the hounds. Thinking of a den far away and its more familiar sounds. Growing around in singsong cantabile’s pace. Nurturing and weathering the animal in the race.

Of ephemeral whimsy I am fond. Strengthening for keeps the the permanence in a bond. Rascals and dodgers parade on the floor. Counting the hours golden in store. Infinite slumbers could never be my lot. If I could only awaken in these dreams that I have got. A genuine bed’s rest each and every night. Could no more than hinder my visions’ foundering in flight. They need a dark caress for their shades to grow. Even as Orion victorious in his hunt a great horn does blow.

Poetry oft lyrical in doubling quatrain. Happenstance quoted in a new refrain. A chorus rises to beseech the Sun. Bursting forth in solar flare where Apollo’s horses run. Afternoon’s towers mystical and cherished by the eye. Stealth and quickness to gain the Miller’s rye. Moonlit harranguing of the utmost intense. Come bachelors among us so tary a few gents. Guests of the household with a fortnight’s stay. Endeavour to practice a magic in hopes of a repay. Finite strathing of lightning warp above the sea. Fisherman’sĀ  boats from from gathering storms flee. Choring a crewe of werks come clean. Dusting of a books pages foreboding foreign letters mean

Simpleton Seeking Rhyme 1994/10/26

One and the same and I think of this often. One less nail in the coffin. Got to wonder what cloths he’s doffin’. These clues are out leagueing in the rain. I feel a bit certain it has brought me a deep seated pain. As if I have run the full gamut of my grain. The coursers on the track with a haughty swain. Once labeled legally insane. My how I asked to complain. If only creatively I were afforded substance and did gain. Then I could give a jingle the jangle and let it, let it lap at the harmonious in a fell dispensation of the rains. But I won’t be out there in that maelstrom messaging around in my bi-plane. I’ll be quaffing root beer and chucking pizza inside, in a corner, content, and without want to wane. Never die in bed for want of a tongue to give meaning to a blood red stain. It is something I find as primitive as my want to be found in a name. So no more dropping a shift by taking something lame. For I have found it is a no good old hilarious game. Though it dies early it is not forgotten for being tame.

This good gal I have got has on the goods with her raiment. Mister Bobby really just saps like hoopla about making the necessary payment. But as I can see there is no real telling where they off and went. I’ll win the lottery and none but a penny will be needfully spent. Then I will just go and give where I never lent. I’ll be a philanthropist or like a politician remembering all the babies he’s kissed. Can’t go and wake up in the morning there wanting to be pissed. In fact that bitter little witticism of mine might not even belong in this list.

The seldom gleaned but growing green of indich cud. Creeping along for some ancestral and graymalkin coping mean. A light’s reflection made this out to confusion with suds. Let the pruning gleaner round up a levee flood. Cold wash away the cow’s own barn-red blood.

And so we see it is for this good kid to remain in her trust. And though she can taunt a bit with her outlandish ways there is not a grain of sand that should go bust. So come on enou, righteous and simply, stop that poor reason from being your fuss. I’m telling you so I don’t have to go out on that limb there treating you to none of my cuss.

Thrice I delivered your sayings to the ends that were loose. My livelihood thus made out likened unto a Western flying goose. Some of the incarnate wars dropping their tools and bringing out their respites at a truce. She made up neither a name for the freshet in her locks nor the child without labor on her back in a papoose. But when back it came on the much emaciated bull moose we found he had gotten his stockinged feet stuck in the fecund sluice. We already knew it must have been how the honeybee squeezed a lemon to cure with his nectar and juice.

The queen could hold him tight though at first they were rather attending to something of a boost. The varied and auld diffidence fared its way through. The media and its channels right on out to the news. So I sat around and came up with a song for her I called ‘That Kind Man’s Blues’

They came calling on me, so I figure I had already paid those dues. And you know, I am older now and I understand more of the assignations behind the stemming of the loci and voci proctors in our melodics. And stone’s throw wooing of this foundling and nascent innocence. And yes even its delightful dumbfoundedness in the mete of these so many efforts. Out to know our very own peculiars. Our relaxations, and our austerities. As well we would choose to afford them a good string or two, a few clues. Shifting in these reels I almost feel like the sour in the mash of some homemade fruit-top booze.

Drawn On Some Far Ocean 1994/10/26

Louis lost at such a cost. But what be fate? Must I such paltry affection know? Sing a song heaven long and pray for yourself to understand if it is so that I may have to go and die.

For he is gone. My rightful son. I am to cry for spoils a witless gun and rapping out a force will not have me see her machining out my head. On out there like a drawn and incontinent supply-train of clones.

I am done trying. With all that can be taken for people and their lying. Now that a different set of climes is ripe for my good seed to be sown. I’ll get up and make out flyting one day for a way. Gain my bearing as hawksbeak in acquiescence to brave her ungangly sorrows. Like a dovecoat in seeing to some fair wit just by coming into her grace.

And in this my sentiment for her mystery I say bless my young with a want of the simple in things and the deep gratitude of thanks for the rest given. To those looking for the customary in their own acknowledging of somebody’s need for place.

Yes commence unthwarted by entreaties and brave what levity may become your want of a stiffled hilarity unquestioningly and in quiet. Something labored forth and told me to get my butt on down to the riverside. Where there I gained on a despairing cry of rite in want of what was a new and foundling premonition. This time tourilous in some intemperate want of stemming. Some on the strange for its own more than familiar use. And the river, well momentarily I could believe it was coming down the way for real and my love and I were laying beside it peacefully talking before drifting off to sleep. Comfitted in its lapping current and occasional plash.

Can’t Let You Be 1994/10/26

There are angels disappearing and the devil can’t let you be. There are angels disappearing and the devil can’t let you be. Only the right good son of man around here can set you free. I do hold a belief in a kind and endearing Lord. Travel the same dusty roads Angels have trod before. Ring out the calends with drumming dowel rod accord. And if its some fecund parse of earth that helps us live. Then we don’t trespass with want of our retractions to plod out afford.

I

Is God our own genius wood? I’d listen intently if I could. To the simple young man’s text uttered aloud. To a zealous awaiting crowd. When death its face will show to our ancient55% ancestral dynamo. It can in double helix twists continue to intimately persist in fratyries forma conceive of and consist. It is a masque only fit for portrayal of what the mind does resist. And the morning of our songs rises on this land to rapsodize and5566t l6ist.

Even in harmful animal gyres for what was once bereaved quickly expires. To reach loftily some foreground skyward. With a good heaven for our abitrator and bird. 56556565A dovecoat passerby noticed for his laurel leaf making out the rites in a customary way for the settled beast. Who turned his manes(manse) to the east. Where stands the last blown away blood shamed priest. To think on some old Western religion there was a due. Here troubling our game of ‘duck, duck, goose’.

So for a love of life and a father’s trust there recedes, like new ambers int66666686o the wood, shadows from a researcher’s bust. The long walk on a frequent road to meet up with some of that tireless dust. The old steel mills of Pennsylvania under their guarantee against the blades and axeheads. Unkempt and troubled by the awakened introduction of moisture and then rust.

Hello šŸ‘‹, Hello šŸ‘‹,

A Prayer For Christ Jesus

I sense to bode well

I see to know right

I seek that which is like and kind

So doing I am witness to the acts of God

I find while nature is eternal

So are my beliefs in heaven

I am sown as seed of faith

In the country of my mother

To come again renewed with life

In this way Christ is born, risen,

And lived until he was hanged from a cross

He came to save us from our sins

And we are redeemed by his salvation

His is the kingdom of the Lord

Divined of honor and glory

Through prayer and light

In Jesus name Amen

Offal Care

Offer care at a level somewhere. Above awares, are the sublimns of any lesser importance than the sort? Of matter rooting in its form. Is it motion that brings arc to bow? Those lengthy gaited and hallow strides in the revolution of their quandary. The cross borne plots of matter. Through space in motion. From the gravity of a fallen leaf or water down a stream.

The moon askew in its round from the general hobnobbing of the planets. And then the sol in its fascinating wheel twinkling on and off. By verifying a round succor. But itself triambulating a course of 4 motions or rather 3 motions bearant upon a core vessel.

A keeper of sakes floundering like some new fish on the dockside. And further be the plane in any reaction of numerous flight. Gaiting in volumnicity and stratagem. For some period at a reckon with mindset. And relative conjuncture of paradigm. And orthodox mitering at rite with revelation.

Could the octave and its few scales bear upon representation of the universal colossus? What to praefect the learning aptitude. And settle any qualms against practice and well contained hypotheses. It is a duel tremens that airs the third. Dimey at a mention-duration. Long enough to pick a gait. Long enough to bow under and lay.

The ground strewn in its contesting bouts with revolution(entrofusion). To find some harmony in this epochal. Like ratios of the interning fate. The smallest besmidgeon and the longest tide between ebb and flow. It is some method of emotion at a virile stance with any affection or fertility.

The fuse of consciousness looks for new and different means. To accept or rather digest the influx of such matter with precept in one’s self. Wit’ the rationale at want in garner for report. Some pliable civilized cant with the theros of imaginings making mendicant the hallows or shaded side. Some relative use, some mythic livelihood that grips the conscience by the whole. And then receding as if it has brought a new sketch of the stars to its own focus and frame. At a mete with science, at a core for sure. Yes my indigenous side still hankers for the evolutionary stuff.

A diversity of intentions has the watern soul, in converse, in sure measure, and to smart with such dole of the indicative and thoughtful process allured. A cohesion of spirited trains in the mirthful respect for one and his cohorts. This acclamation in encouragement for the pathos of the mind. How seek it, I, with cant equippage at the outset in the paranormal array to lay against it. Meditative states of robustness and boundary. The eternity space of marques thrown near to capsize on the shore. A prince of the heathen starside village.

The reinforcement of historical credence drawn by not langouring, not smuggling the mishap of a fallen dawn. Does the baroque cavort upon a surface or is it more a wheel milling of the course in its figure and number. It would seem the motion enrapt of self and charmed by offspring. To look back estrailing on some dremarian conquest of the exhibitionary mien and liege. It is curious that a revolution enkind could be left here remaining in odd sorts of spiel. In odd parts of a fused wheel. Or spiral or snaking filibuster of its coil and mane. The freeweight accumulation of firth and bow.

A last handled paying of the homage to any mentos serendip that escape the beauty of the rose and its stone in a messianic attempt to bridge the gaits. With cross-reflex inter-temerities of an awry muscular flex. And the Saint of a lock and bar counting up his cultural whereabouts with his head like a man.

On more than one mission at once. A mark skanse his halidome. Raising in shape like a stand before the new days rising sun. A penchant for non-vehicular movements, read to all like a list that fate is no worse fare. For a better common good than one who’s tune seems strong enough, but fails in its distant recoil and falls too often like a limb to the wind or other such disparaging weathers.

Familion from 2014/12/23

Familion. Fidelity foment of a lady. Frequent financing of our fair flight. The practice and the folly. In measures ironic and full of trepidation. The pick axe anti of torque bucket quest. And the pull of favored feat.

There is not another semblance in the stand entire that does so have the errant and his regard. This is nonsuch to charmers. And graduating braids in the average set of hands. To go ghosting the breaker with watery eyes escaping. A mark of touch and the rich sleigh.

The rogue martyr and tramping bunks. Catching a road haulage pitch by. How come you to your book of pages be got. Where ur he with of you more. Your reach in a candor and sithence affected. Set of sheep’s passes. Scene of mutt hotshot and boys in the barley. A room for the dogs and ditch cat for our next miss.

Any pathetic tourney in the bailing wire. The holy booked sooth of hydroxy. A worldly trips besty. A vesty sure and victim’s ta thea sport in the sparks. No ordinary tapir in the aetherio to ya nare. No Sir! Shaw’s a luxe and pitchy wheat hour’s proof.

So to begin within the dream of a rational authority. To qualify the moot matters of hoopla. With the goose stalking actuators of a clucking box. How’s that for the hoity toity baker man hatchin’. Do you think his will be, the plea, of quarter or truck? Maybe yo and hokey macks so pot.

The vanir and muley links are downtown clowns. A real mistookin’ breach of decorum. Ta skir your sourpuss a bit quinty too shaken. And should show you out of your frock and band. Let loose thee pucker and shwee.

See and sense and have a good carrying on. In your livelihood and longevity. In your relations and shape of things. For we are two simply in the comp desmense. Of alacrity and extemporare of the pewtin’ flower. So miney and mim to set thee aver.

I am nascent and no such divergent. Either from the converse or counter. What maybe called fun and games. Will in the wide ring of eventually. Become the ordinary and the norm.

So avail me the right to forethought. And I shall bring you to the awareness. Of an accustomed geste. Be sure I have only to term the rain. And to frail press of what crows. Really so free of the matters. And a dissertation come round to this end.

K

Kilimanjaro, Killington, the big K. Food as stepping to the big time. Skunked out. Goes further. On a VW microbus in the 70th reign of an old codger. Tramps and homebodies make exchange out of turnovers’ throe and the gauntlet of an idle caste into cold lounging Thebian Democrats.

Reading up on the precipitous designs of some Wintertime haunts. Slave papers of the Federalist broadside. Truth be knowing, or rather the persuasive glam disreputers of the qualm surfieting backdoor of proper sensibilities. Peradventure amongst the conquest of lies. Those suicidal trappings of almost or not quite good enough. Maybe you had better. So don’t try that again.

If the length of day in a given season’s countenance were to get down to business. Were to propitiate in the realm of constancy. Gave up the number of lost sheep to the sorrows of the shepherdess. With her spirits in ascension and the night offset by the relative darkness of unconscious knowledge. A way of precluding the alms satiety of being prepared by the wellness of sleep.

A manner of exercising in the house of dreams. Finding those functional and elavating nuances of the word and its relative frames of reference. Resulting in the accents and conditional quality of those terms patios and divergent. An open door to the daybreaking ahead.

The Eastern primacy of having gleened proper rest from the depth of field accomplished in an eight hours long bedstay. Drawn through quarters fit for dream reveries and lowdown decisiveness of consistency. The morning dew and those dramatic urges of the spiritual cast into the hourly sands making their way through the glass of a welcome night’s keeping.

When the day remits the progression of a rising Sun to the congress of what is a lot like kicking up the dust to make hazy the gathern light. Between blue morning and rosy Sunset the mind does tend to its weal. The body also must have needs gain its impetus. Extending welcome to those things of worthy exercise and the accomplishment of works.

Emotions on the side of the heart that turn the tide of physical constitution and earned completeness of an otherwise foundling figure. Also, to make a day out for the good and fulfilled, there is the quest of spirit. Be it a blessing of the Angels for their God or a recouperation of over exertion in the field of bodily rigorous and doubty awareness.

And of what does this stem? This mindfulness of those things advantageous and fruitful. Contemporary in the continued state of peace. Willingness determined by regularity of gait and foment of thoughts upon the sharing of the family tide. A moral aside and the rest of passive entities in the later days rank and file comprehension of those things learned by craft and given to care and by lore of rote.

I will save my chiding of the unresponsive diaspora for its own sake. Let the post know that there are refutations upon the score of the leaden weighted waters. That there is a scism and a stigma between the feats of Mother Nature and those unnatural tendencies to try and make propitiate an unyielding religion.

To worship a God in heaven to me seems the best way to surrender my soul to the rising and falling tide of a practice made out of prayer. Moving forward afield and very far in the daily processional of time and its capacity to make out the liberal turns of its touch with human agency.

Within this church of the earthly matters. This proud Mother of the legions of Earth. She is many faces of beauty and familiar discernment is her vast memory of the way things once were and how best they might also be brought to fruitfulness once again. By the limn and deskry of her peace, her nature, her clear ides of the middle path.

That is no onus. I say the mark of a fool cannot too long go without the notice of its parentage. If they in their role remain faithless know that the condition is really much worse. It is not truly that they are alack. It is really rather that they are a quire full of many consuming beasts.

Out of my earshot and ready to stop the presses until they and their paper tigers, their paper and fire, is just as quick mete with its remove. The word, you sense, is an old and humbled matter of typical things. The reason for liberty in its experience, for exercise in its creative measures, and for conclusion in the leading tones of its more impractical discords.

It avails all, none the less, in the simplist way to stem from praise, from fear, from experience, and from the storying tendencies of repeating its understandable means. By occasion and lesson and to a considerum at bouts with speech in making acclaims outright unto statements of desire and want of beauty. The commiserate levity bound in an incorrigible manner of a culumny to wit. Baubles of that which betides in the carolous fallacies of too much to go by.

The futile judgements of prayer. The tried over and crass notion that what becomes is at best a state of the estranged and lucky. The beat and the dread. The devil and his folly. Mi thinks a ring like that is hands down shared by the many over the few. The parallel against the spoil of loath. A lord beknownst unto sound commitment of conscious, current, and glad triage of days. Port of call and beck of downs respite lacking dodge.

Within the realm of most folks the ‘raison de etre’ is a unique concept. It becomes clearer when one realizes, when one is coaxed, when one is taught the understanding that we have a good hand in our own fate. That we are not bent, that from birth on any progressively inclusive means of raising our spirits and our children and ourselves out of the primordial soup of time manifested and life encapsulated instancy.

A system of relating one to another or in a group setting a cast of players in the guise of costume preparing and acting out the nature and elavating the notions of a determined and estelliate sense of meanings. Through the agency of its players in the most capable manner of an acquired practice.

We are not alone in our cosmic interplay of good times and hard fate. We are simply being taxed by the efforts of those others whom will not just take care to take care of themselves and out of the business and livelihood of a regular and empassioned crewe of conceivably infinite beings.

Whether we are looking straight to our fore or we have compromised our situation. Must we be bid our remove at least? This unto the general condition of consensus values. That it can be ellucidated upon and we can believe in the ability to think for ourselves. Let us seek out confidantes and have the need for a mutually resciprosperous call to respect ourselves and others in an equal and well tempered conservation. Called for as our very same individual and personally attributive existences can go on and continue to prove to be true unto ourselves, our loved ones, our community and the nation.

World renown is best left to the ages. The tide of folklorico in the histrionics of a plaintive tadoo. Given to the muse and welcome unto the uprising of youth. Gerrymandering of the suit. A gilded splinter left haywire. Finding relief only in those same sands of time that the hourglass itself remains to continue to behold.

Cantus Abilis

The shade, the winning link. The one that the presses chose to go by. Whether a lemon still belongs in the tree or is it now got for the white picket fence as well. Taking part in a long and ornately drawn series of parades. There in the flight zone of the aviary and the walker of clouds. With the amalgam and the parlor fan. The frequent restitution of query.

The choice to be dishonest. To what purpose and to what ends. The spectrum is rather broad. One could simply choose to look out for another. Then again one could actually be trying to frame a loose acquaintance in their own feats of death defying grace. The relation with God whereby prayer and supplication along with offering and petition are led up toward the alter of receiving the divine into the heart, the loins, and the mind.

Somewhere like the chakras. Less mottled though. Really giving to each other the plea of dissemination. In the step taking, in the free exercise, and with all the tenderness and care that a loving set of open arms could give you. With these precepts in the rational field of change. Whereby no trespass is survivable in its own unnecessarily divergent and nasty want of a constant state of quarrel.

The need to make it out to change comes upon us again. It asks for the familiar. That which is in its essence a turning of the ephemeral charge. Blues and sunshine yes, but with the impression that not all will stay the same. Day by day through much seeking and in making out no such feckless saltiness in the take on the universal and its broad ocean swaths. With the rivers and currents both breaking up on the shore.

Long on the road is the way of the kenning song. The certainty that a jackdoe or her friend the muledeer can light up the marquees and spotlights on this man’s new run on the long Broadway. Walking with the sides and asides of the bully tom boss lumber yards. Inimitable given to the pathos of the tourists and scapeys. A penchant for the abased tonality in the transmission of freeweight and dummy’s bell.

Continuum, inertia, and perpetua. The glad free former in a gladdened gait of highstepping. Along the wickets, along the thickets, in the pitch and keep of the very blossoms’ troe. Down lengths of animate forested path. Fortunate as the believer in her garden. Looking over the lost crop of apostates prudent at the death of their pig. Does he still need that ring in his nose? Must his ears remain on fire and will he ever see straight so much again?

I must be sure the laggard slaggard aces remember their five finger discounts. So much for the name of fire. A supposed fallow light where the tramps have to excuse the trees from burning, the animals from dying, and the human flesh from conceiting itself and say please let it all in. Slating up karma and reciprocity for devil worship. Earth body disease point lye. The inquisitive lie. That must break the bough from its wise, from its nature, from its instinct.

A broken West heisting its own satisfactory course. The ride pig and her hustle in the slave yards of the forgotten sonambulist ditch. Stray dogs barking, braying with mules, howling with the wolves at the moon in the mid of night.