#1674 - some people

1674

5.213

1.viii.24

some people

 

are in their heads

 

nor outwardly

 

you wouldn’t know

 

some are deep

way past

 

some heads have that hunted look

trail off, over baubled

 

things of other ages crowd

 

just there

you could try to knock

 

the ache is often in the head

though sometimes neck and shoulders

 

there are some

breeze in the treetops

bright windows

 

in some there’s not a soul

 

it’s often a very fine line

 

some heads are their own carnival

some heads are just bung

 

then there’s get on with

 

others are over

some go down

 

some heads nod along

or bob

or weave and duck

 

do the scaffold roll off

or head-in-a basket

fast cannibal’s tea

 

day comes up like a lottery

you might follow along

 

are we forgetting the freshly washed?

 

the crisp head spun

 

the dear departed, heading off

 

there’s no sky for this sun

 

words fail to find what’s here 

#1673 - all around the day

 

1673

5.212

31.vii.24

all around the day

 

these treetops

 

imperfect forms

for which words cast

 

so all look up to see

 

go gently where the wind was

go easy with the rain

 

it was summer round the corner

but the bones weren’t told

 

one set out for the day that was left

it was a traipse through

track unravel

 

all ahead of ourselves

let me say

 

we’ll both go on

 

better than any secret this telling

among the treetop stars

#1672 - in a corner of the dream

 

1672

5.211

30.vii.24

in a corner of the dream

 

our twinkle kept

 

ornaments incandescent

this is the healing here

 

as if all along we nested

 

something rampant

windfall in the moss thereof

 

dark gone out like a tide

 

though day would break the spell

 

tiny writing

a record kept

 

no one will ever read

#1671 - first light

 

1671

5.210

29.vii.24

first light

 

was a Sunday shone

 

the curtain cracks

moon motes spun

 

gentle with the all first seen

everything still to say

 

was round as a pancake

sweet as jam

 

what was this?

and

why are we?

 

the legs of the track

take on day

 

first light held

a wizard’s sword

in the first bright rays

 

here were galoshes

shining past mud

 

treetops gathering to breeze

melted like butter away

 

abrupt with the forms

with the lines

 

from which we would loosen time

 

there weren’t the words back then

 

it was always that we’d get a job

grow up, decide

keep faith like cockerspaniel

a King Charles

 

call it fate

to forget all these questions  

 

we were always bound to forget ourselves

how the world was once first lit 

#1670 - a wobble on one's axis

 

1670

5.209

28.vii.24

a wobble on one’s axis

 

every picture is two pictures

every word is somewhere else

 

we sleep beyond ourselves

vanish in a page thought set

 

we’re testing up the springs

time lost

 

wend a long way

relive

 

morning all pyjamas

flag flown far

 

each ache of day

is shone

 

by courtesy of sky

ears pricked

 

night is in the burst bud

the pill white moon’s own bone

 

little zephyrs

tell spring on

 

a wobble and

we’re here

#1669 - on the occasion of Bugs Bunny’s 80th birthday

 

1669

5.208

27.vii.24

on the occasion of Bugs Bunny’s 80^th birthday

down a rabbit hole

parable for our times

 

I’ll never mix radish juice and carrot juice again

                               – Bugs

 

 

rabbit? duck?

whose season is it?

 

little lippie, senorita

he barbers the Elmer salad head

 

it’s ‘kill the wabbit’, with Valkyries

but the wabbit lives

 

leads us from wilderness

   to laughs

 

needs simple for ubiquity

 

wants boxed carrotwater

 

open Sarsaparilla, Saskatchewan

in Ali Baba’s cave, nor Pismo

wrong turn by Albuquerque

 

greed will not undo our flaneur

 

leads Martians up endless stairs to drop

 

arm wrestles with Yosemite

a mockery of guntote

 

a thwart for the unthinking

 

tangle of ears at times

 

the rabbit turned into a stick of dynamite

 

a frolic against mortal peril

turning the home inside out upside down

 

ever calm except in the case of

Cecil the Speed Demon turtle

 

if you can’t beat em

blast em

 

rabbit is a perfect victim

 

abracadabra and hocus pocus

it wasn’t the rabbit at all

 

no wonder I’m so sleepy

 

snaps baton in favour of a paw

to whom the whole orchestra bows

 

uncollars a tenor

turns him blue and purple, green

 

all by gesture

what’s up doc?

 

the concert hall collapses

 

and just while Marvin blocks his ears

 

some banjo notes to finish

 

this rabbit saves the world

 

up against raw anger

laughter always wins