pilgrimage both linear and circular

I Went Back                                                     






     

I went back
to my old home
and the furrow
of each year
plowed like
surf across
the place had
not washed
memory away.

-Archie Randolph “A.R.” Ammons






















..

TONEPOME

All vowels expressed in all consonants! Being expressed in materiality! Love is a house and groceries. It can all go up in smoke. Absinthe is wormwood and rots the brain. Bring back temperance's temperance. I should change my name to temperance. Drinking alcohol is like putting water into your car's gas tank. Women need to learn 🏫 for themselves. At Evergreen we see them trying. The Taliban should watch the videos of Evergreen rioters Fuck the state. Fuck the family. Fuck God. All that matters is controlling the women. They used the library as headquarters. Three of my books are in there. No, four. I have none in any library in Afghanistan. None in Haiti. Three in Japan. Five in Hong Kong. None in Africa. None in Antarctica. Nonee on the moon or Jupiter or Neptune. JADL will colonize Venus in the name of Mars and have a son in Pluto named Plato. A whole platoon of preening pretty parents partying partially martially as if their associations were societies for Soviet erotica. All is in error except my vocabulary announces that there shall be a new regime of the nude vowel for which we budget all or nothing. Being is vowel laden. Nothing is not a number. Our days are numbered with knights of Malta and officers of the three banana chieftain who rule Samoa for a theological anthropology for which there is no apology forthcoming and no future. Everyone is a springboard for Venus and the elves of Mercury the selves of Saturn the stench of Uranus the galaxies explode like the trillions Obama has left us in debts. Trump arrives with a dust pan to clean up the tattered pantsuits of the middle aged women whose scent was pure think stoned turquoise mayhem and Georgian Gaugemelas from the Ganges call forth ever new Fauxcahontas who haunt us with used cats like carson's golf swing after stale Stallone stalled Stu's return and then along came JADL to bring back the future of history in Mr. Media the women of Fox have deserted her for food and stamps of Ida Lupino.








                                                  kirby olson
















.....

no returns

Joachim Ringelnatz

           translated 

            by

Bernadette Geyer

BOOMERANG                                                                        

Once there was a boomerang;
It was a bit too long.
The boomerang was cast,
But never did come back.
For many hours the public throng
Waited for that boomerang.

BUMERANG                                                      

War einmal ein Bumerang;
War ein weniges zu lang.
Bumerang flog ein Stück,
Aber kam nicht mehr zurück.
Publikum – noch stundenlang –
Wartete auf Bumerang.

.

pedestrian tonalities

     Street Musicians                                                                              

                                              

One died, and the soul was wrenched out   

Of the other in life, who, walking the streets   

Wrapped in an identity like a coat, sees on and on   

The same corners, volumetrics, shadows   

Under trees. Farther than anyone was ever   

Called, through increasingly suburban airs   

And ways, with autumn falling over everything:   

The plush leaves the chattels in barrels   

Of an obscure family being evicted

Into the way it was, and is. The other beached   

Glimpses of what the other was up to:

Revelations at last. So they grew to hate and forget each other.

So I cradle this average violin that knows   

Only forgotten showtunes, but argues

The possibility of free declamation anchored

To a dull refrain, the year turning over on itself   

In November, with the spaces among the days   

More literal, the meat more visible on the bone.   

Our question of a place of origin hangs

Like smoke: how we picnicked in pine forests,

In coves with the water always seeping up, and left   

Our trash, sperm and excrement everywhere, smeared   

On the landscape, to make of us what we could

                                                  John Ashbery

......

introspective array

Twelve Poems                                     

A balloon
is going up
filled with problems.


When I think
of the thought
machines


I whistle
softly
to myself.


*


Self


In my pale
face
is a grim


mask,
but I have
to laugh.


My arm
is a bone —
I


love
it
so.


*


a red
tin pan
of tan
doom


*


Gravity
pulls
me
down


so
hard
I
can


only
say
my
name.


*


"When my head
goes too fast
I get out
and walk."


*


The evil eye
is ridiculous,
but it exists.


*


Personal


I'd like
to keep
myself


out
of this. . .
this. . .


whatever
you
call it.


*


It's too easy
to say
yes,
now—


difficult
to think,
say,
now.


*


I get
the idea
I can die
anytime,
then
I forget
it.


*


When a tree falls
on your head,
it says yes
or no.


*


I walk
you walk
we walk


through
each
other


into
our
selves




               Larry Fagin     (  +  May 2017  )
















....

a continuation of the Red Rose

Car Peur, qui toujours tremble et craint,
S'en va de toutes parts et vient
L'huis clos, et méfiante écoute,
Tant Malebouche elle redoute
Et n'ose pas ouvrir la tour.
Mais la vaillante Bonne-Amour
Qui les siens toujours réconforte
A grand méchef ouvre la porte,
Malgré tout ce que Peur en eût.
Si Malebouche alors le sut,
Nous n'eussions pu pour rien au monde.
Mais Vénus la belle et la blonde,
Les clefs volant, hors nous a mis.
Ils sont près de moi tous assis,
Et ma douleur s'en est allée.
Dame Beauté en recelée
Le doux bouton m'a présenté;
Pris l'ai de bonne volonté
Comme mien, et tout à ma guise
M'en sers, sans qu'il y contredise.
Notre heur nous goutâmes en paix
Sur un beau lit de gazon frais,
Tout couverts de feuilles des Roses
Et de baisers nos bouches closes.
En doux transports, en grand déduit
Nous passâmes toute la nuit
Qui trop tôt, las! pour nous s'achève.
Au matin, quand l'aube se lève
Tous deux aussi sommes sur piés,
Bien contrits et bien ennuyés
De séparation si vive.
Mais Beauté se montre attentive
Le doux bouton à ressaisir;
Malgré moi je dus obéir.

  




      Jean De Meung   ( 13th century  )












....

Not A Pantoum

You stroked my left hand and held it.

I brushed your cheek with a palm.

The blinds fell from the window.

And my feet were over my head.

This is how friends make love.

 

This is how friends make love.

My feet were over my head.

The blinds fell from the window. 

I brushed your cheek with a palm.

You stroked my left breast and cupped it.

 

I stroked your face resting on my shoulder.

My feet were over my head.

This is how friends make love.

The blinds fell from the window.

 

The blinds fell from the window.

This is how friends make love.

My feet were over my head.

My face brushed your cheek and I kissed you.

 

My feet pointed to the stars.

And the blinds fell around my head.

                                    Lisa Katz

....