on the piano
but that note
for the day
on the piano
but that note
for the day
Wan December sunlight, snow-covered hills,
pond semi-frozen, hollows mucky with mud,
stream reduced to etiolated rills.
Hauling in split wood amid squelching sludge
up to my wobbly ankles. Birch burns quick
like conversation igniting with wit.
Some maple and cherry for dim twilight,
oak and elm for the dreary, frozen night.
Each tree has its own personality
that “speaks” in distinctive, warm vibration
tinkling spine, giving scent, breathing on ear.
Symbol of life-and-death, the spreading tree
makes heart leap in flaming extroversion—
especially at turn of the New Year!
Declare a moratorium on common sense.
Let all multi-millionaires be homeless and hungry for a day.
Let roosters and chickens all have their say.
Televise the parade of Snowmen from Miami Beach
And replace the Super Bowl with the Pleasantville Croquet Finals,
While requiring all players to quaff half a bottle of whiskey before play.
Let us know who grew the largest canine teeth in the USA
And where the most beautiful mallard ducks swim.
Ban all autos from all cities and towns for one day a year.
Give every citizen a Thanksgiving turkey
And every child a full day’s worth of sheer play.
And since a serious note has here been struck,
Open the Southern Border to refugees
From drug cartels, malnutrition, and hunger,
For we are those who set the example
Of freedom in this world—or not?
A Messiah came, spoke of the Father
(with words of wisdom not heard since David),
becoming a martyr like Osiris,
Dionysos, and those who followed Him.
The Spirit-words of the Man from Nowhere
still inspire the Force of Good today
in the gentle hearts of men and women
who follow their sacred, inner conscience.
From where does this bright, inner voice arise?
This Force comes from our meek, caring parents,
who gave us this glorious gift of life.
We are the image of Mother, Father,
from whom tender wonders of love proceed.
A Christian loves the green world and neighbors.
That year it was a jazzy Christmas thing:
bebop in glass, iced sax, funk on the rug,
room vibrating like bell on slant hillside,
parquet floor bouncing like a white rabbit
while wigged-out flakes flounced, flocked to high ground.
Fireplace fatigue was replaced by weed
wreathing nosegay and wiseguy, so she said
to doctor of rhythm taking her pulse
as lights merry smashed kaleidoscopely
on the empty boulevard drained of cash.
And Christ massively there in heartbeat
of ecstatic drumbeat, flipping out cheer
like cherries and brandy to horns divine:
trumpet quake, piano glide, hopped-up bass.
swerving like old ox
in cool air
driveway mucky mud
on windowsill dead ladybug
snow dripping from roof
Blizzard-bound in white:
there’s ecstasy in wind-force,
sudden flake in the eye,
nose pinched red by cold,
mourning dove fluttering,
snow-laden fir branches
slowly swaying in gusts,
wind whirling fate,...
False spring is not my favorite thing,
even though snowbells seem not to mind,
or peepers who sing despite crusted frost,
or birds on the wing looking for nests,
If that little button in the “football”
was angrily pushed for some island
you don’t even know about, and then all
civilization was transformed to sand—
everything turning radioactive,
Early signs of spring:
pale tracks of wandering birds
melted to liquid wonder;
aconite sings its lonely solo
song by a red shed;
a waxing increment
of two minutes a...
Plato declares all poets are liars
because they use metaphors,
yet Plato himself employs
allegories and metaphors.
Businessmen boast of bs profits,
yet such exaggerations are not labeled lies....
Snow melting off roof,
that slow joyous drip
of icicles melting
on Valentine’s Day
when lovers celebrate reunion
as snow and light unite
to produce the liquid symbol
On Valentine’s Day we kidnap,
cuff illegal bad daddies
(whose wives are on food stamps)
who work assembly line nightshifts,
and take them away from
wives, sons, and daughters.