Showing posts with label the green notebook. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the green notebook. Show all posts

January 6, 2014

Untitled

the detritus of the day
rubs into the brain
dirt ground into a wound
you rise through
  swimming to a surface, yet 
another surface

coming back

shed one skin, reach out, one hand
second hand, pull up, breathe
struggle against cramping
atrophied muscle, again and again

around each corner another street
rising to each surface, washed down
by yet another wave

it is what it is
the return –
everything both the same and different
you get up to fall
but you always fall forward 

June 23, 2013

Schizophrenia

you are building your own cosmology
out of broken tinker toys
assassinated meanings and logics
shells assembled from broken words

meaning for you is private
and that is a problem

you are a self disappearing
            behind a kabuki mask of anguish
defiant in your personal finitude

waiting

there is the gravel shore of a grey lake
with no horizon
the water blends to the sky

and you’re out there in a rowboat
screaming
but there is no sound
no movement

and we’re waiting here for you

to come back in

January 5, 2013

Untitled

Black as - what they say, ink? -
late.  I take a little detour
windows down, top open,
roll up on The Captain's Locker,
pay too much for booze after two a.m.

I miss the turn the first time;
it's been awhile.
I'm surprised at all the cars,
then remember I was always surprised
  by all the cars,
  a parking lot jammed and stretched back
  winding along Hillside, a little up and down
for its twist.

I have a bottle beside me on the seat.
A small one.  We're older now.
I caught your porch out of the corner
    of my eye
I had to turn around butt first
in the last drive and cruise it again.
You weren't out there.  Of course you weren't.
You don't smoke anymore.

June 3, 2012

Untitled


one single thing
like a fist held aloft
like a shriek to a thick empty sky
            gray over a cold green field
like hunger
like a hand grasping air
one single thing

I can hold a single thought in my head
            amongst all the noise
one single thought of everything
before it even slouches onto the event horizon
nascent humanity, long under
fear’s dark hand,
roiling forth
into one single thing –

the thing that can’t be spoken
  or even considered
lest the walls of the castle crumble
and we are alone

February 22, 2012

Untitled

          a point
coded, dark purpose
the very air is dark purpose
          it’s death
we breathe our own demise
it’s the food we eat
it’s the liquid we drink
it’s the fucking air
the soup we swim through
          is coded
“a” for anything you care to enumerate
“b” for the bullshit
      that clogs our nostrils like wet sand
“c” for dark purpose hidden
      in plain sight
like the cop at the funeral
he’s always got the bosses in mind
         
      code
birthed in thin air, now studded
with barnacles, ghost ship
  slips, fading ever toward transparency
into another form, can we ever
scrape it clean
and wash it away
   

February 21, 2012

Untitled

a moment still
things as they are
a sudden stop, stillness
a certain sparkle, depth, clarity
warmth.  not frozen, but alive

a moment you stand, eyes connect
to great distance, you
see everything
& it is not separate from you
the thing as it is
the thing as it [idealized]

perfect
flawed
transient
immortal

it doesn’t permeate you
it expands & erases you

at the end of forever,
the next moment

October 31, 2011

Colors are Transmissions

“colors are transmissions”
    you said
“transmissions from somewhere else”
you always crave transmissions
from somewhere else
shortwave radio broadcasts
rife with the chi of center earth
public access television
from deep in a rainforest
snippets of exotic musics
  raining down
  dust from the stars . . .

you sit tucked into a corner
your face pressed against a small window
wanting another street
          magical, luminescent
          other

you would leave your room, go
  down into that gray street,
have someone stake you bus fare,
  if only you knew where to go

October 23, 2011

Untitled

an audience recording of The Feelies
somewhere in Germany, sometime in ‘88
you hear air
  distance
  split
those kids singing in those accents
jangle like seltzer
          bitter
broken disassociated split
at the back of your head like nostalgia
but not nostalgia, the gnaw cold
  and the jitter, and the jangle
  code deep
  a face of vertigo

coming out, the other end of a
very long sentence that has
long ago abandoned recognizable
grammar, subjects and objects
cartwheel over each other
  it was, at one time,
  a happy reel, I suppose

October 16, 2011

Untitled Autumn Poem

fragility of sun filtering
back through tall, weedy trees
made explosive by gold autumn
          I will never see that light again
          in exactly the same way . . .
          at the same angle
          with the same foliage
          even now turning brown
          & driven groundward by wind
the branch precariously balanced
since last winter stays, but the day comes
when it is thrown down
when even that which is permanent
is thrown down

- to come around again
different, or the same
a series of notes played the same
on a different piano
a keening harmony shifting
melody around it,
always coming back, the same
different and everything
with this day a point on the arc


July 11, 2011

Plato, the Poem

shadows on the wall, he said
you don’t even see the thing
shadows of puppets in firelight

blink, rub your eyes, blinded
stare straight at the sun
feel the full burn of the light
until you can see, really see

then go back down
into the prison of night
swim through darkness, blind again
even the shadows are gone
even the consolation of the lie
  is invisible

  he said there are two phases
    of blindness –
going from the dark up to the light
& going from the light down to the dark

before you call a man a fool
you best know
if his head is full of darkness, or light

June 18, 2011

Untitled

one of the things you know
is wrong
guess which one
  laughing unmediated through
pages of old newspapers
pregnant with an ancient spirit guide
who does nothing but sit around
  and smoke cigarettes
while your dread grows younger
& the man of your dreams
counts off the days on stubby fingers
  (you don't know where the count
    begins - or ends
the thing that is for sure
is that nothing is for sure
dancing like a prophet
singing like that last thought
  that leaves your head
a dollar or two buys consolation
but your wallet is empty
and the sky closes around you
like a mistake

April 25, 2011

Untitled

when shadows
spell, breaking
across blank
dismembered bodies
from behind clouds of code
  & rhetoric
mommy-daddy-me
bought in currency of fear
. . .

the sun burns across the sill
take, pen in hand, and write
burning sun and driving rain
howling wind and bitter cold
sun burns today not tomorrow
break through, break through, not true
     the pen is in your hand
     write a new story
     of birds on a wire
     God on the mainline
watch it disintegrate before your eyes
and one small brick collapses
from the weight


March 2011

April 7, 2011

Untitled Spring Poem

weed greens in lot
jumbled with naked black sticks
river runs high
puddles on pavement
adjust to more light
more light

and so it turns
the bully plants bustin' out
the complex grasses yawn and stretch
toward sun closer

it will be farther
but now it's closer
near, far,
round and round

black mud at edge of asphalt
broken rock
spangled wet leftover leaves
there'll still be cold rain
but we stretch, relax, grasp the warm
  to our cores
for the most part, it's here


March 2011

April 3, 2011

Untitled

from my hand
to your paper
as if that's all there is
your equivalences
are pale cold death,
shadows of value, not value

there are other ways to live
where the sun shines, and it is warm
and this warm is not the same as that warm
and this day is not the same as that day
and shadows fade instead of reduplicate
  forever in the coal gray dawn
  of greed and fear

you count this
one, two, three
as if that meaning is real
It isn't.
My one hits here, yours hits there
pale yellow instead of blue
It's not the same
It's not the same


March 2011

November 11, 2010

Veteran's Day

25.

Veteran's Day
fades to red white & blue dark
   this the
   celebration of the betrayed

   (does the phrase
          "cannon fodder"
   ever truly go out of style?)

yes
  they are on board

  what chance have they been given?

raise a glass
to the pebbles
beneath capital's feet

give them shitty steaks
at Applebee's

they didn't die for you
they died
for what you will die for

October 10, 2010

Fall Festival

20.

today summer broke
wave receding from the shore
Labor Day weekend
scouring summer's beach for what's left

clear friendly day
weightless day
you can breathe the air
and walk the sidewalks
          of Germantown uncluttered
          by shimmering waves
          and translucent
          weight

night settles in
beer & drinks on the porch
shyly, sound travels better now

re-tune to G
approaching clarity of age, nostalgia,
loss - but for now
welcome September


23.

fall comes in a rabid jackal
hot winds sweeping
across foreshortened day

up Dixie Highway from Radcliff
in the armpit of Fort Knox
up past the fort itself
          limestone mass
            rising
          from scorched grass
          alone
          perimeters visible & invisible
          nothing
          you can't sneak up on it
not for all the gold . . .

brush the river
girls! girls! girls!
Rivergirls, Red Door, Syn Den
south end strippers
one lone chopper out front
and the heat banging on -

             in the end
what wears you down, as much as heat,
is the roar of wind & machines
           to cut the heat


24.

today was shorter than yesterday
tomorrow will be shorter than today
and it will be that way
for a little while

once again in heat
that requires three digit explanation
the expansion of dark
doesn't dawn on consciousness
just looking to breathe free

but already
at the back of my mind
longing for the lengthening day
for another spot on the wheel
St. Paddy's Day, Easter
pitchers and catchers report
Thunder, Derby

dreaming of the last snow
before the first flakes fly

October 3, 2010

Summertime Blues

Whee haw! The new Blogger editor will allow the typographic stunts in my poems! Below are some more poems from the summer we just closed out.

19.

your trumpet loop refuses to fade
an annoying bit of immortality
twisting lopsided
into the dark beyond the window -

one hears of tropical violence
violence in shimmering white concrete jungles
or on the banks of brackish creeks
  run low and dry
machetes hacking limbs
nines & AKs hosing down old storefronts
shotguns and shovels
loamy soil back in the pines -

the trumpet clicks on in the dark
the projector's broken
the film's skipping it's sprockets

          - but the present will not be
                                     rewritten
by a broken trumpet
and misaligned shards of memory


2.

"old rust" breathes cold with
   a shudder and a roar
mariachi & electrical pop

it's a rockabilly night
a knife blade
shakin' down
horns & yodels at cross purpose
          define the dark
                    other side of streaked glass
           air conditioned night,
        mare -

sure, it's a retreat
sometimes you gotta cocoon
         without expecting to turn
you live
to another brown day

          as
a blade rattles against the neck
steel drift fade out vaporizes


18.

this summer's been tuned to E
but played slow, broken, & incomplete
verses can't latch onto choruses
choruses drift off into nothing
   split through with
   metallic tastes and cramped styles

broken, sprung
wrong in ways definite & imprecise both
just wrong -

a dream of gray-green fever
which burns, leaden,
but doesn't consume
& all the air conditioners
rusty and toiling
won't take the edge off this
broken tango
this three part invention in E
which never lives, never blooms into its nature
but will not quit


14.

it's good to get out of the heat
cold windy sun
clouds sprint by the opposite bank
as clear, clearer than day

giants walk the earth
clouds the beards of
         weather systems
things larger than
   specks human
   politics forgotten
a weather system wipes you out
brushes you off the globe
you may care, like the spider crushed cares

hunker down, sun's down now
water foam waves
branches spearing leaves white against the wind
tucked down just out of the wind
close, but safe


9.

hello, then!
the grass grows thinner, browns out
sandy, sandy pine
gone white
clarity in the air

who knows
what runs in the clear pines
"Take to the mountains," he said,
"if the government is a problem.
Make them come get you
& then shoot down on them
from high rocks."
          not the same, perhaps
but mixed oak, maple, birch
pine
provide cover

white nation, white nation
curtain drawn, it's here
it's down the street
"no one gets my gun"


5.

hey peacekeeper!
what'cha packin'?
           Ford F-250!
           big-ass knobby tires!
           Armour-alled!
keeping America
           safe
for bumper stickers and petulance

           haters
behind every bush these days
"it's not you, it's
          the bosses"
but at what point
is imperialism? at what point
blood sacrifice
to a V-8
and the right to
live life unexamined

semper fi,
blade of capital -
when do you take the blame?


September 5, 2010

The Outbox

Another compendium of half-formed ideas . . .


Hit the North! (Redux)


Bonus time up north! Another week of virtually perfect weather up out of the heat. My my!

Nice and quiet this time - just Sharri & I with mom & dad. We spent a little more time cruising the countryside, checking out little places we haven't seen been to before, like Christmas Cove (above), Mission Point, Good Harbor Beach, and a few other places. Dad fired up the party barge and we got most of the way into the southern lake, and at a much more relaxed pace. We also spent a little more time tearing around at full speed in the powerboat.




Not as much reading this time, either. I did pick up Ted Morgan's memoir, My Battle of Algiers.

One of these days, I'll spend more time talking about Up North . . . just not right now.

All in all, a nice mellow end to the summer, especially given how annoying August has been. The summer has a whole has been a tad bit more annoying than I would like, which is kinda a drag, since I spend the whole year looking forward to summer. Oh well, onward and upward.

Here's to an exciting fall.



* * * * *

In Rotation

Sir Richard Bishop: All Strung Out
Mahler: 9th Symphony
Various: Dirty Dirty (featuring Son House, Charlie Patton, Charlie Poole, Cliff Carlisle, Skip James, Dock Boggs, Yank Rachel, Lottie Kimbrough, Blind Willie McTell, Frank Hutchison, Willie Eason, Memphis Minnie, Washington Phillips, Homer Callahan, and more)
Ennio Morricone: Crime & Dissonance
OST: The Limits of Control
Shostakovich: 5th Symphony
The Milkshakes: Live from Chatham
Various: Psych Funk 101

* * * * *

Blame the Government

There was a gag order dropped in the Roger Clemens hearings, so we won't be subjected to the annoying media circus as much as we could have been. In the short time that they were allowed to speak, both Clemens and his lawyer made a clear outline of how they were going to run this in the press: it's us against the government. In other words, Clemens wasn't going to try to plead ignorance (a la Barry Bonds), or attack his opponents from his morally superior perch (a la Lance Armstrong), he was going to join the Tea Party in running against Obama.

It's the government, people. They want to take away your guns. They want to build mosques in your backyard. They want to take away your income by taxing you. They want to let everybody in the country. They want the socialists to take over. They want to marginalize and persecute the good Christians.

They want to put Roger Clemens behind bars.

God, guns, and a free Roger Clemens. That's America.

On one level, I do agree with the faithful: we have no business trying Roger Clemens for lying to Congress. Congress had no business wasting their time investigating PEDs in sports. They have much more important things to worry about.

* * * * *

Summertime Blues


I recently re-read Jack Kerouac's San Francisco Blues. The basic premise is that the series of poems are short bursts ("choruses") of blues, with the final line of one poem leading into the next "chorus". The poems are limited to fitting onto one page of a notebook small enough to fit into Kerouac's pocket.

The poems themselves are a mixed bag, and I have no interest in even approximating Kerouac's voice. I am interested in the notebook schtick, and I like the sharp, jagged rhythms of the best of the blues poems.

I'm going to try to scare up 75 poems or so for next summer. We'll see how that goes.


7.

hotcha! State Fair time in the old town
the natives are out
  flashing displaced graphics
  and hysterical edge
  life during wartime's perpetual state

  one dimensional
eyes of jungle cats
"look, she's gonna pop right fuckin' here!"
off to the side
rivers & tributaries
gently swirling backwaters
there's a pickaninny in that case, over there
Kentucky detritus collecting in puddles
  & eddies off to the side
filtering into the rivers
throbbing thick blood behind the temples
anger just below the
hysterical above


9.

hello, then!
the grass grows thinner, browns out
sandy, sandy pine
gone white
clarity in the air

who knows
what runs in the clear pines
"Take to the mountains," he said,
"if the government is a problem.
Make them come get you
& then shoot down on them
from high rocks."
          not the same, perhaps
but mixed oak, maple, birch
pine
provide cover

white nation, white nation
curtain drawn, it's here
it's down the street
"no one gets my gun"


13.

edge of town used to be
Wendy's & The Flap Jack Shack
up over the hill
from sandy orchard & sparse grain

corn's imperative barely met here
by narrow wizened farmers
Eastern European Catholic features
sharpened by wind & struggle
         up north
         isolation subtext
growing's a struggle waged alone
wheat not corn
cherries and apples not grapes

the damn wineries came in
grapes a spreading fungus
cherry trees displaced, brittle, dead, cracking
new tasting rooms run by old farmers
first the corn, now the grapes
in Gills Pier
Polish saints protect us
from the modern world

Once again, effing Blogger wipes out all my typographical stunts, so you'll have to wait until it gets published to see the final versions. [UPDATE: the new Blogger editor allows different kinds of indents, so the poems above are in their actual forms]

And by the way, did you know Indianapolis Colts owner Jim Irsay also owns the original scroll from Kerouac's On the Road? Gotta love Wikipedia.

Oh, and more on the state fair in an upcoming post.

* * * * *

The Reds? Are You Kidding Me?


Well, my Tigers drained all the drama out of the AL Central by collapsing around All Star break instead of at the end of the season. They're playing okay baseball right now, but at ten back, they're not catching the Twins because, unlike the Tigers last year, the Twins won't fold. For the record, I don't see the Sox catching the Twins either, Manny or not.

But, what's this? The Reds in first place? Sure didn't see that coming.

As they say, stay tuned. I would love to see the Reds deep into the post season.

* * * * *

USA! USA! USA!

If you are sleeping on the world basketball championships, wake up. "America's B Team" is playing some of the most fun basketball you're going to see for quite a while.

Basketball traditionally breaks down its starting five into specialized roles, and anyone who recruits an all-star team generally defines the roles, and then finds the best players to fill those roles. This version of the US National team went with the best players, regardless of position. As a result, it's a team full of guards and small forwards, with Tyson Chandler and Kevin Love being the only big men on the team. As a result, you've got Lamar Odom, normally a 2-3 even though he's 6' 10", playing center, as well as Andre Iguodala, Rudy Gay, and Danny Granger, all muscular 2-3's, playing power forward.

I see the mark of Kryzewski on this team: he's trying to really establish himself as a basketball genius, not just a motivator of young men. He's trying to go to the logical extension of the Bob Knight defense-first school, pumped up Nolan Richardson-style. This is an amazing chance to see just how exciting defense can be.

It's too bad that Rajon Rondo didn't work out for this team, but if you turn the rock over and can't hit jumpers, the international game punishes you even more than the American game does. On the other hand, I'm glad they gave Eric Gordon a chance, because his inside/outside game goes well internationally, and his lack of a mid-range game doesn't get exposed like it occasionally does stateside. Kevin Love also does well in this set up, since he's more than happy to mix it up physically with anyone you can throw at him.

Overall, the defense is breathtaking, but the offense will make or break this team. They are currently undefeated, but now they're playing for real in the one-and-done round. Catch it if you can.

* * * * *

Uh, Starfish?

So, I'm thinking of creating an animal metaphor to represent my truly enviable attributes to the world at large. Let's see, I could be a strong, soaring eagle, or a powerful bear, or a graceful deer. I could be a sage owl, a proud lion, a faithful hound, or an inscrutable cat. I could be a showy peacock, a bizarre giraffe, a timeless elephant. I could be a slimy lizard, an indestructible cockroach. Or I could be a starfish.

A freaking starfish.

To be fair, the Tea Party didn't choose this metaphor for themselves. It comes from a book written by Rod Beckstrom called The Starfish and the Spider. The idea, in short, is that decentralized organizations are stronger because you can't kill them by cutting off the head - hence, the spider v. the starfish metaphor. This idea could probably as easily applied to Al Qaeda . . . and it does make sense.

You can follow the metaphor out to its logical conclusion. A starfish is capable of surviving and regenerating lost limbs, which makes it a uniquely durable organism. But if these "decentralized" organisms have superior survival characteristics, then why hasn't evolution determined that more of these types of organisms would end up higher on the evolutionary ladder? It seems that maybe nature prefers centralized biological systems after all.

Not trying to make a specific political point here, just pointing out the obvious.

* * * * *

More Rhetorical Genius Courtesy the Commonwealth

“Many of these mandates affect small business owners who don’t have the resources to hire an army of lawyers and accountants to comply with all these burdensome regulations. The more time small business owners spend pushing paper, the less time they have to focus on creating jobs.

That would be the representative of Kentucky's fourth, Geoff Davis.

'Cause, you know, if it weren't for all that paperwork, these people would be out there pulling jobs out of their asses.

* * * * *

Chamber of Horrors

So, this is old news, but I've been avoiding talking about the Chamber of Commerce because they make me crazy.

What's with this "crisis of confidence" bullshit anyway?

There has been a lot of chatter in the news about how the recovery has not translated into more jobs. The Chamber of Commerce essentially says that business owners are sitting on their money because of a "crisis of confidence" . . . which, of course, they explicitly blame on the Obama administration.

Now, "crisis of confidence" the kind of talk that should drive the stereotypical self-sufficient American superman completely nuts. If you have a "crisis of confidence", then whose fault is that? What kind of wimpy psychobabble is that?

There are obvious alliances between NGOs and political parties - unions and Democrats, the Chamber and Republicans. Ostensibly these NGOs will align with the party that will do them the most good, and it is understandable that they would be semi-permanent alignments given the philosophical underpinnings of the parties. Of course, these NGOs will campaign for the political parties that they are aligned with. Maybe I'm projecting here, but it seems to me that the Chamber has become more of an advocacy group for Republicans than an advocacy group for businessmen. Unions always seem to work for the best interests of their constituents, and to the degree that those interests are addressed by Democrats, unions work for Democrats. The Chamber seems to be working for the best interests of Republicans, and to the degree that those interests match the interests of businessmen, The Chamber works for businessmen. That may seem to be a subtle distinction, but it's not. The fact that their stated primary purpose is actually a secondary purpose makes them untrustworthy. Sort of like Fox News, if you know what I mean.

And besides, the real businessmen know that the best time to make your move is when your competition is suffering a "crisis of confidence".

* * * * *

That's it for now. I'll do the Kentucky State Fair art post next.