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Monday, June 25, 2012

Fast Day 264 June 24 2012 {Jim Dandy Morning}

Jim Dandy Morning

When I woke up this morning,
was unlike any other day...
when I opened my eyes,
I felt the blue go away;
and this was Monday morning
when the landscapers come
with the yell of lawn mowers
barely heard above
the cacophony,
the symphony,
the consternation,
of the leaf blowers.

Noon-day demon far away,
leaving on a jet airplane,
slipped past the TSA
with my sorrows in a bottle
in his carry-on bag:
in a little toiletry bag,
with tooth brush and shampoo
and all the meds:
grey lady zoloft,
blue niagara,
and sacramental
vicodin there, too.

Why the jet plane? Why the bags?
Traveling in his submarine,
Noon-day don't need no suit...
he's hip...
ready to boot!

When I come home, his brother's there
come from the TV,
come from the air!
yelling the business,
yelling the news!
yelling the weather,
selling smokes and booze!
using fear that maims...
selling disability claims!
using fears of health...
selling schemes of wealth!

Weak morning shine,
oh, weak daylight!
tepid water'd-down sun...
weak tequila sun...
like some star was drunk last night,
did something really stupid,
and cannot will the paparazzi day...
cannot will the day... away.

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Fast Day 263 June 17 2012 {On The Road Again}

The Early Path

On The Road Again

When the brothers and the sisters, having
heard that Paul was back, back, back in town
they ran down the road to the Three Taverns
which was the venue for the camp meeting,
where I was a roadie and got scale:

United in a bond of common faith
we lived in peace and love and harmony:
no distinctions of power or fortune,
in the days of heavy metal martyrdom;
and I set up the amplifiers.

I drive the bus… I’ve been the head roadie
since the band split up and the elder James
stayed in Jerusalem the Memorious;
Paul now plays reggae in Illyricium,
and breeds Friday eve confusion.

No canned heat and  no coke to wash away
this growing season of tombs and monuments,
that disturb our dreams and forget the great
times – like Ovid in his sorry exile:
back when all had wicked chops!


Saint Paul is the focus

Ovid  - the poet who was sent into exile somewhere on the Black Sea coast

Thursday, June 14, 2012

Fast Day 262 June 10 2012 {A Friend To Thee}

Pearl Millet

A Friend To Thee

I'll be a friend to Thee,
unlike the wheat I'll never be;
on level land,
on high plateau...
where wanders my emmer soul.

I'll be a lover to thee,
unlike the rice I'll never be;
slowly swimming
Afric, Asian...
ancient grasses of the plain.

I'm the modern age to Thee,
rustic millet, no longer free!
orphan cereal,
homeless smile...
where old graveyards feed the stile.

emmer - a form of spelt
homeless smile  -  there are gaps in it: discontinuous and uncomfortable
stile - a turning entryway to an area; the feeding of it implies a good deal of use.

It is paradoxical to me, as I am good and bad to Thee, and our relationship is complex.

Late getting this up, because I was in the 1940's.

Saturday, June 2, 2012

Fast Day 261 June 2 2012 {God Speed The Plow}

God Speed The Plow

I am the Buddha, Buddha  of Bamiyan
and I am fully cooked,
in marinade Afghanistan…
being re-incarnated
fast ‘s any man…
into Kabul Smokey Joe
who kick the gong…
stepped on a land mine:
Smokey Joe is legless now,
Cokey Joe is fine…
legless in Bamiyan.

I am the Buddha, Buddha of Bamiyan
and I was much destroying
by the Taliban…
but that don’t stop me,
I just go downtown
get me an old .44
from young dead Man;
Smokey Joe is legless
but I got my head
got it together… in Bamiyan!

Now you see me! Now I not there!
Bamiyan boddhi sleeper
vanish into air!
like a hermit praying
back in his lair;
get me my pick-em-up truck
search high and low
Buddha Joe is legless now-
ain’t that always so?
legless in Bamiyan!

The Plow is a metaphor for the Crutch.

Bamiyan - site of the great statues of the Lord Buddha destroyed by the Taliban 

There are references to the Opium in Afghanistan and its effects.