a get well spell for Richard James Allen

 

come out of a spin

a get well spell for Richard James Allen

 

let the head still

just the world around

it was always spinning

who knew?

 

I hate it most when the walls go

when the floor falls away

heave ho

 

nobody else is aware

how we’re bung

like a wire went somewhere

 

we’re out on the spiral arm

it’s just the universe expanding

 

it’s just like the breeze

to turn a few leaves

 

let the head still

just the world around

it was always spinning

who knew?

 

we’re so many pages

far in the book

don’t look

but someone can read you a story

 

no sudden moves

no ping

smooth the pillow

 

it rings the ears to show

you have to learn

to bank with the bends

 

you have to lean

on a wave

as it goes

 

a warning to us all

that even one so tuned

has such messages sent

 

I speak on behalf

of all island creatures

 

we wish you great stillness today

esperanta serio #419 - la perdituloj

 

 

419

la perdituloj

 

la bestoj niaj virtoj

voku ilin al konversacio

super ŝultro diru

 

milda, okuloj malsupren

ili tiris mian ĉaron ĉi tien

 

la manĝita!

nubo animoj estas

 

nazo al pugo

en mia kapo

 

ho jen la monstro

ĉu vi aŭdis

neniu nomado

 

ĉu ne estas miro

la kono de vojo, kiu foriris?

 

ĉirkaŭ gloro tiel aranĝita

la inda arkeo

afabla pardono

milda

 

kiel estas ni

sed tiuj estis antaŭe?

ni estos denove

 

ili havas indignon

korpoj

kiel ĉi tiuj estas inter

 

per la forko ili malsupreniras

kaj kulero en buljono

neniuj litoj por ili

 

kiaj potencaj stepoj

estas igitaj gluo

 

la perditaj estas de vagado

kaj ĉu ne estas iliaj okuloj

ĉio kial por ni

 

ĉu la milito venos ĉi tien?

ĉi tio ne povas konata

 

 

the lost

 

the animals our virtues

call them to conversation

over shoulder say

 

meek, eyes down

they have hauled my cart to here

 

the eaten!

cloud souls are

 

nose to arse on

in my head

 

o there's the monster

have you heard

no naming

 

is it not wonderment

the knowing of a way that's gone?

 

around a glory so arranged

arksworth

kind forgiving

mild

 

how are we

but these were before?

we will be again

 

they've an indignation

bodies

as these are among

 

by the forkful they go down

and spoon in broth

no beds for them

 

what mighty steppes

are rendered glue

 

the lost are of a wander

and aren't their eyes

all why for us

 

will the war come here?

this cannot be known

 

 

#996 - I like to lose myself in the work

 

28.ix.22

996

3.270

I like to lose myself in the work

for ghost writing

‘in the time of the gone’

 

I like to lose myself in the work

that’s where I like to go

 

to climb the mountains of the mind

plumb heart’s depths

and search for soul

 

I like to do some drowning there

and salt the snout with sea

 

it’s this that

keep a tune in mind

throw in some bright chords

 

and colour!

call it what you will

 

take this down –

I’m busy

see me worrying the bone

 

a game of old habits

fun to go

that’s how I like to be

 

every day the work’s nearer destruction

who does this remind me with?

have to forget myself there!

 

I love to skip and run and play

make a general nuisance

 

am I worthy of the words?

don’t know if I should call it a picture

ask –

have I spoiled the page?

 

of course!

 

I love to be gone where no one can find me

in the picture, if you get me?

please don’t come looking though

 

you should

you could try it too

 

might bump into you here

there’s no intending

 

no pills or potions are required

 

open this window and find yourself

just where you always were

esperanta serio #418 - en ia morto

 

418

en ia morto

 

ĉio konsiderata

 

orelon al la silento

kaj aŭdu la mondon turniĝi

 

unuaj etaj ŝanĝoj

ĉiu atomo ankoraŭ estas

 

sub la farbo

iu malnova civilizacio

 

la formikoj portas veron

for sur la dorso

 

foriris nur la spiro

 

 

 

 

in any death

 

all things considered

 

an ear to the silence

and hear the world spin

 

first little changes

every atom’s there yet

 

under the paint

some old civilization

 

the ants bear truth

away on their backs

 

there’s only the breath has gone

 

 

 

#995 - to be with the Groke

 

27.ix.22

995

3.269

to be with the Groke

more to be pitied than blamed

 

under nose of Groke

by toothshine

the frozen ground beneath

 

because once Sniff made a potion

grew from an ant

 

it’s with faraway bitter

no shadow casts

 

when unexpected

 

you could be eaten by

and for the common good

 

hypnotic, lost

like the beautiful Face of the Cold

 

no one’s ever seen the Groke’s tail

just a hat would send her

 

away into the Lonely Mountains

but nobody knows where she goes

 

and, once, you know, the Groke put out a fire

that was well

 

to be with her is

to practise such a face in the mirror

kind you’d leave behind

 

by toothshine

ground frozen underneath