#1093 - the lost days are precious

 

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1093

3.363

the lost days are precious

 

no clock to catch

a world in pyjamas

 

here’s the flinging of the towel

dive in

 

with only such lines as come to me

windfall, unhunted

 

all we do is nothing here

it’s not even a place

 

no watch now

why fidget this?

 

but gild my cage

on just such days

 

lie low

 

take tick from tock

take a tip from the stillness

 

pre-gird

 

well one might even encourage a breeze

 

and so set out to fail again

knowing I’ll go on

knowing I, among the millions, must

 

still wear the Christmas crown

esperanta serio #510 - spiru ĉi tie

 

510

spiru ĉi tie

 

ruliĝu en etan pilkon

 

tempo estas tiu silento

vi tenas al via orelo

vi skuas ĝin

sed nenio

 

ĝi flaviĝas

ĝi krakiĝas al flamo

 

ĉiam kvin minutojn

preter matenmanĝo ĉi tie

 

falu tra la fendoj

eliru

vido de la maro kaj ĉio

 

turnatingrimpu supren

benu la demandon faritan

 

ĉi tie en vero

plej bone spiri

 

 

 

 

breathe here

 

roll into a little ball

 

time is that silence

you hold to your ear

you shake it

but nothing

 

it yellow

it crinkles to flame

 

always five minutes

past breakfast here

 

fall through the cracks

come out

view of the sea and all

 

twirl of reaching

to bless the question asked

 

here in truth

best breathe

#1092 - two poems - best of all possible & don't know

 

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best of all possible

 

it’s every morning

wake from scratch

ache over in

another childhood done

 

gold is the sunshine everywhere

so summer it is now

 

it’s all that’s passed yet in a dream

 

wings in the stillness are yours

 

the very few notes to begin

 

come clouds

I dare your worst

 

 

don’t know

for godsbother

 

don’t know if I’m getting anywhere

or if there’s any point to it

don’t know which way I ought to go

 

they said ‘tone deaf’ and wrote it on my card

they mocked

I, tail between my legs

know that pitying look they give

 

alone with my mess

or shelf of self

 

airport pulp

pot boilers

then the pot boiled dry

 

and what’s the point (?)

anyone would ask

but there’s no one around

 

just me

follow down this slippery pole

and will there be light at the top of the well?

 

not sure whether life has been some kind of error

or if there is correcting

 

know just a bit of what I don’t

and there’s much terror there

(no gods at all required)

 

so I set out to fail again

 

who knows where I’m going with this

(what a comfort if there were just someone along)

 

all I can really possibly be sure of

is if there’s anywhere to get

I’d better get going now

esperanta serio #509 - unua suno

 

 

 

509

unua suno

por ĝeno de dioj

 

ankaŭ supren

 

devis esti flugilhava

 

ĉiumatene

ne duoble la sama

kvazaŭ stelo venis vokante

 

tra traboj

kie mondoj

estas polvo

 

ĝi brilis la verda folio

ĝis turniĝis

 

ni estis kun ĝi leviĝanta

 

provis ne adori

sed ne povas esti helpita

 

kiu divenus, ke ĝi igas mortema?

 

ni ĉiuj devus preĝi por pluvo

 

neniu noktampolo

ĉi tio estas briloraĵa kaprico

 

lampo por la pridemandado

tre aparta vitamino

 

ni tenis ĝin ĝis blindeco

 

kiel luno kreskiginta oro

antaŭ sia tempo

 

ĉu estas novaj por diri?

jes! ĉiutage estas

 

 

 

 

first sun

for godsbother

 

also up

 

had to be wing-lifted

 

every morning

not twice the same

as if a star came calling

 

through beams

where worlds

are dust

 

it shone the green leaf

till turned

 

we were with it rising

 

have tried not to worship

but can’t be helped

 

who’d guess that it makes mortal?

 

we all should pray for rain

 

no night-bulb

this is tinsel whimsy

 

lamp for the interrogation

very own vitamin

 

we held it till a blindness was

 

like moon grown gold

before its time

 

can there be new to say?

yes! every day there is

 

the work in progress - some pictures of a picture on the way

#1091 - lost in the lost part of the year

 

27.xii.22

1091

3.361

lost in the lost part of the year

in the country after Christmas

from / for the dream diary

 

begin in a dim shack

play ping pong

on the block we lost

dim for diminished

 

roll from an ache

 

trying to play

always for points

it is a brother

an argument

or absence of

 

how this means nothing, never did

I know I must escape

through the gone garden

was orchard once

now grown over

could take cover

and out through not a gate

 

above the bush

further than remembered

and a bridge wasn’t there

but you cross

 

then now declivity

 

Dickensian industrial

glimpse of the gone

built grime

all hard hats

call the next shift

 

walk on and out

like a gallery – of Venice

quinquireme vista

sea sparkle

bright

 

how the harbour works

a way through ages

gleam towers

 

look again and gone

 

it is dusk they begin

day other ended

 

far in paint and time

past words

 

it’s often just as with waking

fill a page so you see

 

look out

from the dreamt

glint glimpse

 

wondering is it all must

 

where from?

 

how to do?

 

this was never a way back

this was always and ever just the way on

 

comes on with all the singing

one often mistakes the first light