We must Hide our Joy

Without the kids, life was a cockpit.

sitting hair on grass

the great ape lounged while we watched

his back to the glass

Spirit Level II

We were children riding bicycles
Toward a dark wood, pennants
Streaming from our antennas.
Electronic tethers to the solar plexus
Made me feel a little sick sometimes.

We crouched over a black high-heel
To see what it had to say.
Uncle Joe came up and laughed.
Do you expect that shoe to talk to you?
Embarrassed, we said no although
It sure seemed like that shoe had news.
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Boy, child, lord, what am I?

Amygdala Jones couldn't help putting feelings at the top of her tdhu list.

solace of salmon

solace of salmon

salmon, seattle aquarium, originally uploaded by DRheins.

upward we swim, up / en mass toward the light and warmth / coho consciousness //

REVISIONER

(((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((())))))))))))))))))

Memories of Zimbabwe

Africa Recalled

Recollections of African friendships

Last night I sat in the half-dark of the theatre

watching and listening to Black Umfolosi;

seeing the ghosts of yesterday

moving silently in the shadows.

Moyo, Mangate, Takawira, Msikavanhu;

so close I could almost touch them

- almost hear their breathing.

I heard the voices calling from the stage

echoing louder than the distance of time;

bringing past and present together

in one loud dreaming moment.

Matambo, Ganza, Bepete, Chapurinyemba;

all ghosts from the distant past

- fleshed out by the men of today.

Colin Gordon-Farleigh © 2000

Winter

There's frost on the pumpkins And snow in the trees The lonely cries of a flock As they fly overhead in the breeze. The leaves are falling The air is crisp and cold The heat is turned on As that blanket you hold. All of these resound with what's next Autumn is a beautiful time of year Winter is coming and coming soon But there's really no need to fear. Spring will follow, just like before The flowers will grow once more The sun will shine, the birds will sing And new life will appear for everything.

Little Boy Blue

Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn;
the cow’s eatin’ Jello, the sheep are readin’ porn.
The chickens are a cackling, what they’re sayin’s really bad,
and if this is just a dream it’s the worst I ever had. please continue reading...

Static Adventure

Time for a taco party, playboy.

The King and I

Elvis Presley in his army uniform lowered himself out a hotel window and jumped down to a shallow balcony to speak to thousands of soldiers on the waterfront. “This is tense,” Elvis said. “This is queer.” I had to give a speech about Elvis. I climbed out a hotel window and lowered myself to a ledge outside the floor below. I tried to open the window behind me. Locked. I edged over to the next window and got in, falling over a convertible sofa that was upside down on the floor. A sign inside the door said, “Room reserved for owner.”more

His head is spinning with the theory

Between each gig; all is lost.

A gaping hole of anxious self-pity

A drain where once a reservoir stood

His life is measured in monthly cycles

Of moon and Mr. J.P. Morgan

Where once he toiled to change the oceans

Now he moves to follow the flood

It rains with fury this dark Tuesday morning

He works alone in his cosmic man cave

Seattle glassworks mildly smolder in the tray

Francis Francis stays red, hot and brewing

Amygdala Jones

...swarm this story for your spleen, worker bee!

She’s leaving home, Bye-bye
Sang the Beatles in sixty-five
It never used to make me cry

That June endless rain
Mercilessly soaked the days
And robbed us of summer evenings

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09/09?

. . . . . .

A Poet's Blogroll

I click on the links.
There's nobody there.
They gave up the ghost
and hide in despair,
for once they were...