a new post even

wowzers Batman, a new post even! well, to be honest, still in a zombie fog after a long night shift, with overtime. was scheduled for more of the same after this coming week, but asked for a vacation (still to be approved). So hopefully i'll get some time to recover and add a few more posts, to reach that 100th post status soon.

Half Tones To Jubilee - accepted this poem in Dec. 1995. i assume it was printed, but can't recall for certain.



THE SINS OF AN ENTIRE GENERATION

we washed the sins of an entire generation from our souls in the dark california fog
upon the black rocks of the little sur we memorized the flight patterns of the speckled gull
it was a time for living
we were believers in dreams

we were hawks waiting for wings as we waltzed down dusty salinas valley lettuce fields
in the ever shadows of the sugar refinery we hunted for secrets that had no formula
it was a time for living
we were inventors of dreams

another gap

todays poem is from September 92. sort of on subject for the local weather lately.

not much - other than loads of overtime - going on. it'll be a bit before i get a day (or night) off at the papermill. most likely 6 days or so. thus, another gap in the posts will occur.





WAITING FOR A RETURN PHONE CALL BJS

1 i wait. mist gathers in dark valleys, as if smoke from the pyres of dreams unobtained.
2 i wait. rain whispers poetry in a language i cannot translate. i wash my face in the thick water. no magic exude.
3 i wait. somewhere you walk beneath rainbows. dance under warm skies as if an elfin dream.
4 i wait. decades amass. continents are born & die. we converse in languages that have no syllables.

post before a silence

on my one day off here, between a run of overtime, so i don't expect to be able to update again for about a week ... as i have at least 6 days awaiting me at ye olde papermill, those wonderful 12 hour shifts we have all come to love and adore... well, some people do.

today i offer more 92-95 stuff. one of my prolific periods ...



I CONVERSED WITH THE SHADOW

1
i conversed with the shadow
until it lost substance
under a trapezoid light

rats ran incognito
down the alley
to trash can cathedrals

hobo with an umbrella
nursing the nectar of inspiration
sang songs of a more beautiful america

2
upon the highway no longer travelled vagrants wait for the messengers of god
bare their souls to the angry winds of disenchantment
confess sacred sins to the woolly mullein

upon the highway no longer travelled miracles wait to be translated
the wind exhales songs i have wept in secrecy
only the dead & dying seem unwilling to hear

3
i carry loose change for hookers
as if i were judas
the morning after

i wear the rags of damnation
into the temples
of gods i have forsaken

& i offer the blood
of dreams that have failed
for an america that never existed

a montage type poem

more 92-95 stuff. a montage poem, sorta in a semi-prose mode.

a warmer day today. more like autumn than early winter, which is what yesterday was like.



SEVERAL JOURNEYS TO DIFFERENT CITIES AT VARIOUS TIMES

1
star spangled sunrise
captured a cache of sunlight in her laughter
shuffled marked cards knowing the deck had no nines
- laid the warn cards face down upon a Naugahyde table
turned the ace of hearts from the pile pile as she watched saying :you need the nine of clubs for the ten of diamonds."
- knowing there were no nines
her laughter as a ray of sunlight through windows curtain in black clouds - soggy to the touch

2
no father poet waiting in the rain to escort me to the journeys end
the wind chewed discarded manuscripts
& the soggy skies sucked on the exhaust pipes of giant factories

i stood in the shadows of a garbage bin counting pennies as the priest passed
no souls to this tuesday
he danced across puddles
i thought i could hear laughter dripping from her rosary beads
surely it was a time of miracles but i was distracted by the aroma of hookers behind the bus terminal

3
ate the cardboard pie with a plastic smile
thought of a warped samuel pepys as i attempted notes of significance in a journal that had none
fumbled through greeting post card & bubblegum trading cards in the lobby
read month old magazines with coupons clipped except the Rosicrucian were still looking for a few good men
gave the waitress smelling of southern comfort a dollar tip that was worth a whole dime

4
studied coffee stains in the upholstery
studied the sound of rain on a plastic green patio roof
- goldfinches in the rhododendrons - elegant as carl sandburg

steamed carrots fresh from a square foot garden
wild turkey mash
on a broken coffee table four books of spanish poets murdered in the civil war to free all men from such a simple thing as tyranny

blind lemon jefferson from a scratchy record

studied the liner notes smelling of tobacco certain it was everyones biography
studied the sleeping corner of the sofa with a resolved placidity
- & wondered if the great father poet that not not come to escort me worked within such disadvantages

summer poem on a cold Oct. day

Sherman - what have you done to the Wayback machine? it seems to be stuck on poems from 92-95 .... oh well, we shall explore a bit more, i suspect .... this is a summer poem, for a very chilly Oct. day .. oh well. some of the formatting got lost in "publishing mode". so instead of spaces - i inserted some "-" to mark what was uspposed to be a triple space ... doesn't change the read, just the look.

not much here, just relaxing and waiting for the overtime onslaught to begin.



THE HEAT

Sherman - what have you done to the Wayback machine? it seems to be stuck on 92-95 .... oh well, we shall explore a bit more, i suspect ....

THE HEAT

the heat - upon which sweat dances down chins - demands attention
night whispers of melted margarine & a moon that stares as the one good eye of god - upon the ignoble suffering
three in the a.m. & i piss into a toilet bowl that knows no berryman the porcelain as cool as pineapple in the fridge - but i do not caress it - rather stumble back into a torture rack of a bed - rather wrestle with sleep - it is victorious & slips out an open window - taking with it what was a faint breeze
the heat - upon which curses have no affect - demands attention

a few days off

another from 92-95.

a fews days off before another overtime marathon at the papermill. new (or potential) buyers waltzed through the facility yesterday, in the middle of a major crash ... so we poor and humble workers (and so unimportant we were not told who these people were until they left the facility) were covered in wet stock and gunk, as we tried to unplug the secondary headbox ... oh, such fun is limited to the really special, you know. no word at all as to their impressions or anything. after all, i guess, they are touring the whole Weyco containboard division, so our little piece of the pie may not be all that important enough to impresses (or not).

anyway, hope to get a couple of updates posted before more overtime and night shift arrive ....


SLUDGE IN SEWERS

1 sludge in sewers we once navigated
2 i examine discarded treasures
3 tires missing tread
4 mattress missing merely springs
5 distracted the book of ancient chinese poems goes unclaimed
6 as does the glitter of gems in a cracked mason jar
7 but i hoist the remains of an old baseball glove
imagining it belonged to rogers hornsby in his st. louis prime
8 unable to snag falling dreams i return it to the dark water
9 mosquitos sing the operas of wagner in my left ear
10 rats dance as if fred astaire between broken crates
11 & i photograph the magic of it all
with the liquid films of my heart