This poem was retrieved from old stuff. From 2005.
It is raining
I can hear your drops preaching to me
Falling from upper realm to lower realm
Drops wrapped around all your messages
When one splashes I stop to listen
It is raining but not hard
Can I stop now?
Where is my ground now?
Under me or up ahead
Feeling my feet thumping
I am rounding second
With one eye on the ball
One on third one on home
As quick as an insult
Can I stop now?
It is thundering
You shudder my lungs clean of soot
I breathe it in and shake it loose
By stamping feet or howling
When I can but when I cannot
You thunder me.
Wind is whipping
I have to keep on moving
Me among the millions
Of disrupted scraps of spirit
All directions in their turn
No lighting on sill or porch
No peeking in lit windows
In my ecstatic eddy
The wind whips me silly.
Can I stop now?
Swinging from tree to tree
One eye on each horizon
Dodging every furry fear
Noise enough to hide inside
Can I stop now?
Stars are falling
From the sky you and I recall
Like the change from old to new
All around us orbs of snow alight
Like leaves drifting out of season
All stars fall now.
Now I can stop.
Art Man who will you paint?
anyone out there who looks clenched
are the eyes as cold as you want?
or would you like them screaming
like cold breath in a cold car
on a frozen beach thinking
passion and hell where are they?
Writer Man will you bring out
out from the real that is six inches
deep everywhere all over our country
half a foot frozen in resting
and you need to dig it up to get
what your page sits so still for
deliberate steps turned into Reasons.
Music Man in a basement full of
started pieces and partially redone
pieces in boxes stacks in liquor boxes
never sung outside of your mouth
verses far far too too many to play
dragged out all over the country
hanging in the air frosty.
My Christmas spirit is crashing fast. At this point I can't wait for the end of January...
Customer Service for a mail order company at Christmas sucks! ......The little voice is getting harder and harder to keep under control. If I don't let it speak here, It might get loose and cost me my job.
I am sick of getting yelled at! Below are examples of the calls I take and how I wish I could deal with them.
I have been yelled at because we ran out of ______. Fill in the blank with any item that was promised to little Janey or Johnny for their gift..........What the hell were you thinking waiting 2 weeks before Christmas before calling to order, and how about letting Jr get a dose of reality....you don't always get what you want!
I have been told at least once a day that I am ruining some kids Christmas,because I won't let the dead beat place an order on an account that is already 6 months past due........You should have worn a rubber....we wouldn't be having this conversation.
For every idiot that complained about having to be on hold forever just to pay their damn bill........Go to hell!
You could have mailed it, you could have pushed a few buttons on your phone and had it done already yourself, but you decided to just stand there and listen to our festive holiday music instead of having your check/debit card ready!
To all the customers that call to complain about an issue that happened this past summer....Seriously? You waited this long to call and complain, couldn't you wait another month and not call at our busiest time of the year?
Customers that order/call on their lunch break......If I want to listen to cows, I will visit the farm. Please refrain from eating during our call.
Management.......If you send me one more email telling me how far ahead projected sales are one more time......well, the little voice just might tell you were to go.......
Company keeps making more money, but I'm paid the same wage I was paid to do this crap last year.....When raise time comes around, it better be a good one. A big enough one to make me forget how much this jobs sucks this time of year.
To all the customers that are yet to call. Give me a break. I didn't loose your package, I didn't screw up your order. I didn't cause the problem........all I did was answer the phone.
Merry F***ing Christmas!
Picnic
Step from new from
picked peeled baked
from honeyed spiced
and half-swallowed
to paper-thin secrets.
I need to be
at that beyondish
tree you see tower
inside your mind
as a new poem
pulls your trigger.
Like going out
from cooped up
from steel light
to a hole in the head
from grape to wine
and back again.
Did what I was told
couldn't do it without
a mast of fascination
a hull full of hesitations
a cabin where eyelids
could not be sealed.
Falling into that place
where short-sighted
meets far-sighted
it went by before
many times actually
was that supposed to be?
Who is the fisher
of the bare-chested facts
the bottom-feeding hints
who is baiting the hook
that will pull me forward?
Far from death as possible
will you bet your life
bet on our mistake
too impractical to stay
going to take a break.
Miles between nostrils
a glancing blow
the mouthful of babes
hair all chopped off
between ears notes.
In quietude of picnic
I took all the clothes I ever wore
burned them in a dumpster
sacrificial mathematical
what's left is whistling.
Barnstorming
balance requiring lobed silence
taking off greed left apexless
between strings left echoing
my folly
waking and tossing out a dare
day's end before full rising
interestingly tugging at the ear
hysterically
like blossoms in the dark days
shortening and concentrating good
dried and potent in our centers
insensitivity
hymns too fast and too loudly
overwhelmed by piano and organ
amplified in frantic answers
assuredly
firm and artfully thoughtless
the beams in the walls and roof
of the day's sanctuary of conscience
commonly
standing in the doing of holding
heartful conquering of an angry
purpose dug into even hands
dug into even more even heels.
If what I said
was what you expected
then there is no fun
for either of us is there
and we might as well
sing.
This day more than others tired
did not grasp the swinging door
entrance and exit nose to belly
tried as hard as a door can try.
Can't breathe for a moment floored
the cook sweeps the broken dish
I am the cashier forcing a smile
another bowl of pasta on a new tray.
Can a whole deck be lost in a card
a meatball lost in interest
can the actors act so silly
the play is done behind a curtain?
Our pot as yet unglazed unfired
will not be shaped by any past
pair of hands on any past wheel
but is a future form of learning clay.
20 November 2009
Hyannis
we thought
doubt not.
not finished
list the hours of the day left unlucky left
famished.
can't start
squinting more us than the moon being missing
in the dark.
and not
whose cold bed is this anyway mine or
the cat's?
will live
the title of a book we both will write someday
is Give.
oxygen
for the length of a traffic light we were both
there again.
20 November 2009
West Barnstable
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