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Another selection of comments and pieces inspired by other’s blog posts or blog comments. (We orchestrate…..)

NOISE

Prayer,
confessional,
creed.

God or Godless,
we ramble to ourselves
within our own bone cathedrals,
echoing with sighs and curses.

There is a completely soundproofed room
in some MidWest University.
No one had yet managed
to spend more than 45 minutes there.
Hullucinations after a few minutes.

We are not designed for silence or darkness.
We bleat and howl in our own jungles,
bleat and howl….

GIFT

This body,
This world:
A gift from a million suns.

NIGHT RAIN

A rain of words
puddle the page,
tongue-mind umbrella unfurls,
tastes flicker neon image,
dream world,
dream world.

MIRRORED

To see ourself reflected in the smile of our love
Is the only mirror should be allowed
Not the rotated smudge of silver window
Nor frozen shadows unbemused, inanimate.

—-

SQUALL

Whose soft words
Sweeping through
My mind’s cool edge,
I wonder?
Sound of distant rain.

Sound of distant rain.
Something seems forgotten:
Cool emptiness,
A taste of sorrow.

A taste of sorrow
For no reason
That I know.
Mantra of compassion.

Mantra of compassion.
Wind and rain
Blowing away
Ephemeral things.

—-

A CAST FOR WORMS

Well better and betterer.
Words for worms!
( Diet of Worms?).
Worm world.
Worm holes.
Cast about, Charles Darwin
( worms, his first love).
Lumbricus terrestris.
The name itself
Segmented, wriggling.
Beneath us all.
We, at last,
Their own dinner.
Earth to earth,
Tasting earth,
Making earth,
Loving earth.
Our Masters,
Squirmy worms,
Fast food,
Slow food,
Love food.

—–

ART OF POETRY

This hybrid birth,
a form of archaeology,
digging as science,
the science of digging,
the art of concealing and revealing,
building and collapsing, that is ,
constructing,
hybrid construction,
a constriction of possibilities,
a constraining of maps,
quantum thisness and thatness,
leaving more out than in,
making a point,
missing any other view,
poetry: the straining for meaning
without even pretending success,
e.e.cummins and e.e. goins,
a vowel,
a vapour,
a string of pearls,
words making doors,
doors opening,
sutras,
stitches,
hints for hunters…..

ROBIN

Looking back:
The world-
Bright, cocked eye

—-

GRACE

A small thing
Is not the same
As an inconsequential thing.

A loud voice
Is not the same as
A voice to be followed.

In one second,
In less, even,
The world can be born
Or can disappear
In front of our eyes.

Each person made afresh
Each to see what can be seen
What can be sung.

No wrong notes
If we do not know the tune.
We shall diminish and wither away
Jumping to conclusions.

Falling skillfuly
Is called flying.

Stumbling elegantly
Is called dancing.

Moving gracefully
Is called living.

—–

PERCEPT

Plum saké.
Too much
Slurs the mind

—-

METRE

It has presence and voidness.
It has frozen processes,
exited time,
become apt, concrete,
paradoxically gone.
Here
and both there and elsewhere,
but only inside
does it play a tune.
Lithophone,
bone music,
skeleton key.

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CONVERSING WITH INVISIBLE FRIENDS
It is not infrequently that I find reading someone’s blog I become word-filled, or at least taste the winds of wordage. A spontaneous thing, a few lines cast down in appreciation or conversation. I have begun collecting those that pleased or surprised me under the above title. Some are complete in themselves, some just torn pages, sketches, notions. But amusing, I hope. A bouquet for my muses ( you lot of screen-lit waifs and strangers, mind-readers, mind-sharers, an osmosis of muses).

1
DREAMING

Caught in this hammock,
Dew-wet spider web:
February day
Dreaming of spring.

Night now.
The world calling low
Down my chimney:
“come out, the clouds
Are fast and glowing pale.”

2
JUGGLER

And what’s a man without his shoes?
A cold toed dancing monkey,
off balance
and drunk on gravity!

3
TINNITUS

It must all end thusly,
stopping suddenly,
like thoughts do, like life does,
as boredom or something more inviting
takes the stage.
A nice touch,
like hearing a wash of bar-room gossip,
or a sudden rush of fragmented,
incomprehensible telepathy….

4
TOO SMART

Stepping over cracks,
papered, glued.
Names for emptiness,
even clever emptiness that a mind can leap.
One by one
we shall all disappear,
finding everyone else,
who have also disappeared,
wondering how that,
how that could possibly happen,
how that could possibly happen again,
again
and again.

5
MUSED

The poet fights to get out,
is slapped down with a gritty hand,
that then too,
turns into a mudra of revealing.
A nonchalent hide and seek,
footsteps echoing in silence.
The maniac down the corridor titters loudly….

6
LILT

Speed and convolution,
locomotive breath.
Delicate pace
with careful tongue.

Disallowed,
my comments,
strange,
syllabic apprehension,
jealous machines…

7
ASIDES

Underestimated, the value of brackets!
They packet up thought and expression,
more similarly to thought and voice,
than more highly regarded punctuations.
I am all for brackets
( I shall make a placard,
and stand on cold corners
(with a small dog and rattling can).
(and I neither object to brackets within brackets
(though a sniffy grammarian might grumble)).
They are raised eyebrows and slight smiles.
They are knowing ness and by the way ness.
They are signposts in the significance
and waywardness of a train of thought
(we are now off the rails and improvising,
(mouth moving, brain aghast)).

And by the way,
the jewel of your words has a certain ring,
engaging,
wed to the world
(punning though,
is the sign of devils
playing with idle hands).

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