I Love Your Crazy Bones

Even your odds and ends.
I love your teeth, crazy bones,
Madcap knees and elbows.
Forearm and backhand
Hair makes you animal.
Rare among things.
The small of your back could pool rain
Into water a man might drink. Perfect,
From the whirlpools your fingers print
On everything you touch
To the moons on the nails of all ten toes
Rising and setting inside your shoes
Wherever you go.    








                                 Barton Sutter      












....           

THE INSTANTS                                                 

After last night’s rain, the world begun again—

                                                    you know what I mean, you have been here often—

I go to the window. For a moment the world

                                                    is my only backyard, such gold as I have seen

enclosing saints’ heads in medieval paintings,

                                                    illumination surrounding every flower.

 

This summer I woke too as a child

                                        after my long fall into sleep, black rain

which never ceased until my eyes could open

                                        first light an expectation without words.

 

You remember this. You knew the same morning.

                                                    I’m four years old for both of us right now.

The window runs with gold. There was a time

                                                    when morning was enough for everything.

                                                              Peter Cooley

it's beautiful and sweet to taste

The Bees, the Flowers, Jesus, Ancient Tigers, Poseidon, Adam and Eve                  






Huh! That bumblebee looks ridiculous staggering its way

across those blue flowers, the ones I can never
remember the name of.  Do you know the old engineer’s

joke:  that, theoretically, bees can’t fly?  But they look so

perfect together, like Absolute Purpose incarnate: one bee
plus one blue flower equals about a billion

years of symbiosis.  Which leads me to wonder what it is

I’m doing here, peering through a lens at the thigh-pouches
stuffed with pollen and the baffling intricacies

of stamen and pistil.  Am I supposed to say something, add
a soundtrack and voiceover?   My life’s spent

running an inept tour for my own sad swindle of a vacation

until every goddamned thing’s reduced to botched captions
and dabs of misinformation in fractured,

not-quite-right English:  Here sir, that’s the very place Jesus

wept.  The Coliseum sprouts and blooms with leftover seeds
pooped by ancient tigers.    Poseidon diddled

Philomel in the warm slap of this ankle-deep surf to the dying
stings of a thousand jellyfish.   There, probably,

atop yonder scraggly hillock, Adam should’ve said no to Eve.








                                                      Michael Hudson
                                                           aka :   Yi-fen Chou












.....

The quality of your thoughts

 






With every stroke of the alphabet,
I search through cyberspace,
Looking for someone,
Whose face I do not know,
Whose complexion I do not care,
Whose money don't phase me,
Whose culture I don't mind learning,


But whose thoughts complement all my senses,
Even the ones that make me feel good from time to time,
Leaving me mesmerized,
Thinking about the feelings of yesterday,
To relieve the moments of tomorrow.


////




As far as I search through cyberspace,
It never ceases to amaze me,   Each time I look around,
And scroll up or down,  I get nothing but psychological script,
Parading in style like madigra on a mockery band.
Yet as I continue to navigate the cyberspace of thought,
Where the temple of great minds just might flourish,
It brings hope knowing that I can find someone,
Whose thoughts intrigue me,
And whose wisdom illuminates me.






I try to entertain the thoughts that fulfill me,
And see what I can get from it as it moves me,
Like the stories  the horseman tells,
The flying balloons of the sky where married couples kiss,
--Scattered like pigeons,
Blending  the blues like the rainbow,
Waving the wind goodbye,
As they disappear in a cloud.




I search through your thoughts,
  Looking for comforting words,
(You colored me with nice prose,)
I then realized that kind words can bring joy at everyone's end,
So I control my words in respect to those at my end,
So that they experience the same joy like everyone else.


//////




As hard as I try, I can't convince myself that time is of the essence,
There is no time,   But there is movement,
Like two end points on a map,
The distance traveled is the time I'v spent looking for you.

Trying to reach you on a higher level was of course my first mistake,
You live your life like a bird without a niche,
Looking to make a home with a branch that ain't yours to house,
Hoping that a strong wind helps you out along the way.



The tree leaves falls, Forming a path to follow,
And as they turn into rich soil,
The environment becomes the habitat,
Ah, But not all relationships can flourish there.




/////


Then I realize --maybe I'm not aiming high enough,
So again, I bring my sentiment one step closer for your love to be felt,
And there you were waiting to welcome me,
You knew it all along,
  Had I tried hard enough,
I would one day elevate myself,
To a place where great thoughts are once again valued,
And that we would finally meet,
And be able to communicate,
Beyond the cognizance of any visionary sense,
On a lower level,
Where association of culture  thrives in relationships.


Mold us, bond us into the one we were meant to be.




......   the poetry thief lifted this from a comment stream
           while researching the song  Autumn Leaves
             and lost the thread and thus the name of the poet








]
.....

aligned we are to corporeal reality

THE INTRUDER                                                    ACROSS my book your hand augustly reaches—
Thrusts it away.
I turn impatient to the window, watching
The tossed trees’ play,
March sunshine glinting on a chilly rain-pool
That snow-banks frame.
A lusty wind comes gusting on its errand
And names your name.
Captive, defeated, having striven I yield me
To thought awhile;
Letting the sunlight on the roughened waters
Bear me your smile;
Hearing the mischief-making wind that named you
Question afresh
If spirit find in spirit full contentment
Only through flesh.                              Grace Stone Coates                               ( eloquent voice from Montana circa 1921 ) ....

something sort of personal

haiku                                    




hear cicadas hum
sitting on a bench with you
laughter fills my heart










   from a geologian poet






   

mennonite poet

      








                    The Lamentations)                                        








The oracles were false, misleading

The crown has fallen from our heads

Baby, I got the hard time killing floor blues
My sins have been bound into a yoke;
they have come upon my neck

                            ____________

In iron lung, and skull balloon, oxygen, like sorrow,

in the brain of the willing villain, of the reluctant hero,

death whispers, come-go little sorrows, come-go little joys,
when comes the Glad Day, golden girls and boys,

the zillion vanities of vanities, blown to zero!

golden dreams like lies, bad air and history,
how fares the world good people? Our prophets, too pissed to pee,

angels, are ye somewhere standing in the majestic mystery?

Chattering on helium, forgetting to breathe, I beg, bugger, borrow,

and still the wind's whistling lilli bul lero

don't know how it goes, what it means, don't know what I think,
whatever Revolution my head had — a little wind, a mighty stink.








                                            Larry Nightingale














....