headline

lust always comes first
it is the law of gravity
and inertia that follows
is scholarly
and would be boring
if you could escape it

pain always a breadwinner
hurry you cant delay
the news of your demise
published just today

love

traveling

some another monday
perhaps in the middle
of a week that was lost
in a wine mist
in new orleans
perhaps that was washed away
in a shower
in a soap smelling pas de deux
that segues into a cool
walk during a sprinkle
on a dutch summer day
by the lake
with the windmills
and the bridges between
the places you didn’t mean to go

afternoons trying to make
the keyboard of your laptop
roar like a grand piano
watching the planes
leap in and out of schipol

ah the fruit and the cheese
on the train going through antwerp
on the way to paris
with vin ordinaire rouge

by hamburg the ennui
has a hint of lust
holding hands in our sleep
turning to smokey smelling whiskey
an hour away from frankfurt au main
playing with the letters of confusion
so as to spell a better word
so as to spell a happier moment
so as to write that really good poem
on some another monday

the don quixote bar

sitting there alone with all the pretty words

rotating a golden rumitchka

with silky cold of tarnished vodka

all the pretty birds have flown

darkness becomes frighteningly large

another siege of solitary pillow

discovering how huge small noises can sound

trying to narrow down empty space

to what can no longer be called alone

trying to hone down too numerous words

arrow prayers into expanding distance

hope like waiting for an echo

from a night soft as black silk

with tomorrow like a cliff too far

rock-hard and real but tough to see

under rule of empty stool

closing time is here

vodka chicken lips

i roll like a sloth over land and sea
i am not lazy only compromised


rung tumble slumble
foolish word mumble
i am an advanced agent of a dizzy government


overlooking that laughing land
i have just stumbled out of
i want to laugh and
i am so loose


i know that all things are loveable
especially that all too nervous dinner
that not so long ago was worth having


but now presides over the future
precarious as a long drop

different

1

a day with the sun like a large room

a big bright place where leaves rustle

work is an hour of intense conversation

at the end of which i step out the door

and the next room is dark

2

puzzling views of letters glowing in the air

words spelled backwards hung there in confusion

when the breeze blows there is the dank hint of mildew

mold in unseen corners traffic lights changing

with the metallic-electric click of switches

echoing hollowly

things scurry close by but hidden behind shutters of darkness

my pockets are full of shadows and pain

which can be spent to buy dreams i can’t remember

the change comes back always more than i spent

and time has no visible motion

the night is an endless conversation

held alone and in silence and i

shaking my head

find the day has gone

and taken the door with it

GOOD NEWS - THE RINGING OF THE BARDS

TIEL AISHA ANSARI HAS POSTED A NEW RINGING OF THE BARDS AT LIFE, DEATH, AND GOD

inside me

i have a flower in my pocket
i have a question in my mind

i have a splinter in my awareness
i have an alter ego
who has left me

a message
in a bottle
floating hopefully
in the pool

on whose surface i gaze
hoping her reflection
will have lingered there

lazy as a smile
cute as a wink

you

it was for you i did everything
you told me i could earn it

all i had to do was work hard
that i could make it right
that i was wrong

you taught me that things weren’t right
you taught me tears and pain like bricks
i had to carry and place just right
so that everything would be better

that the world was wrong
that everything had to be fixed
and that would be my responsibility

tired in my sixth decade
i still love you

confession

talking became like butterfly wings
and the colors got written down

The words were bricks
mortared into place
some walls shined with light

others were dull
he shared them with people
and tried to understand
the mystery of taste

he hid behind the walls
and examined himself
sometimes he just tried to hide

safety is color until you paint
words until you write

letters (Russell Sonnet)

the alphabet of love
exists in deepest nowhere

with it we write novels, plays
carve letters in trees
form the syntax of whispers

it is a kind of prayer
the litany of the letters of your name
it is the stage behind the curtain
where movements happen that no one sees

letters penned from the inky darkness where we wait
hopeful with desperate need
to spell each other’s answers

to questions we lack
the alphabet to ask

consciousness

I am who we want
It was all a mistake
which this is better
was that architecture
what was my mistake
we are not real
we are only each
others imagination
touch my
Corinthian column
I am in serious pain
We do not see
We are each others jokes which
We
unfortunately
take seriously

Waiting (Ghazal)

Dark water runs away in the sunlight
Sad man thinks he has seen you among light

Shrieks and laughter in the yard are calling
Can your hand touch when morning craves sunlight

Breaks are braver than you know, by mercy
Mosques, churches, synagogues search for one light

Barely knowing what to say son turns from
Coffin lid, patient, hid one face from light

Russell’s mind shrieks questions, answers don’t come
Hearts and wrinkles smooth prayer in the numb light

beautiful

i had a dream of breathing dream clouds
not the death hard face of
go to work every day dad -
a swirling day of light and joy
with all the confusion of
happiness you can’t stop or control

the music is everywhere
i’m surrounded by it
a whirling dervish
i dance all day
bright blue breaks through
and i take to the sky

soaring through the brightness
warm waves of day
surge around me buoy me up
gentle as a caress pleasant as a body
carrying me on bright hued winds
a bird of drums and fifes

i’m dreaming a dream where it’s good to be me
where fault is not in free to be

busy day

first day of rain i’ve seen
and less people not so many people as the hotel
but all these people want to talk
how is everything how was everything how will everything be
i took a can opener but didn’t have to pry very hard to get some milk
had tea while the phone rang
phone calls a lot of phone calls
a regular oracle at Delphi you know what i mean
wistful to watch pictures who were all those people
especially the ones that looked like us
you know the smiling ones with the real familiar faces
not a care in the world simply not a care
felt a little robbed maybe even mugged
felt like quiet violence had taken place
sat and stared trying to stay out of all the talk
talk goes on you know since they come over to see you
but then they get started warmed up competitively telling stories
they know they are well-meaning crazy about being nice in fact
but their own lives are what they want to talk about
so i just sit back and the day goes on
almost as if i was still where i am missing

on seeing things in motion

flowers in a turbid vase
battered and ruined by being there
so beautiful to see
so dead and dying
so what they are not
and so what they will be

many finches feeding below the tree
at the hint of a cat
they speed to the branches
which now wave to me -
a large green hand -
i wave back

yes you‘re right
i needed to smile again

Grand Efe

the waves are blue and crystalline
the sun permeates everything
the sand and the smell of salt
are a possible universe

the waves gather light and air
and splash the eroding rock with it
everything is awash with the fact of beach
and the day is too brittle to carry cynicism

world of silence

many languages
exceptional silence
hotel lift

hourglass beach

she grabs her slippers
adjusts her navel
says i am a jeweled toy
hungry for despair
we - as is her wish -
do not talk about it
there is little
in that brittle manicure world
that is up for discussion

i am the dog of old wrinkles
my loose flesh
seems to shiver in the sun
the light hides the truth
the cicadas sing
the agean sea crashes softly
a horsefly bites my ankle

the litany of time
is quietly chanted
over cards and beer
by picnic table swimsuit old couple
at the shore
of the narrow measure of sand

arf

trick dogs of the past
dance to new music

get up and move to it
someone wants to slowly sway to it -
sway away into vengance and despair

tears are always waiting
bursting forth from edges and corners we turn
when light blinds us
or darkness lies about its comfort

we sway to subtle hums of hips -
pleasure to pretend against pain -
pleasure that gnaws bone when flesh is gone

clap your hands and slowly spin
we are the skinny trick dogs of the past

initials

show me the night sky
where darkness is your rib cage
and echoing within
is the pounding of your heart

i know that thump
pushing that blue liquid
carrying things jumbled together
like love hope pain
and that gathering ball
of strands of distrust
anxiously tying themselves
to your youthful thoughts
dragged kicking and screaming
into that silence and darkness

i know in that deep dark
you could show me
your heart
and i could see those letters
carved in it
as if florescent
and so i show you yours on mine

Party

love was dead
it made me sick too
pug shrug ugly
past tense dreams
i didn’t have any chance
selecting

where was hope
i hadn’t seen it
a long time
lonely me
my dice time again tonight
i found you

we watched eyes
but we found your belt
stars twinkled
breathlessly
putting my hand racing time
we both gasped

secret now
secret forever
this was our
only chance
this was our only real hope
still got caught

painful

the wound sits sullenly
seeming never to scar over

in my white jacket with
mirror on my forehead
i take out my pen

to look for its history
a deep pocket of hurt –
imbedded alternate reality –
in a shallow layer of skin

scratching my case notes
on oversensitive paper
like a photo of a sigh

beauty maybe is skin deep
but ugly is a cosmos

blade blood

all this anger drifts skyward as a flaming ball over the darkness of the city night
down below, just above the skyscrapers, sits this dense cloud of raining sorrow
the French horns of screams add a hollow solemness around the buildings
that ephiphinizes nature’s calm acceptance
of right and wrong as existences of equal entitlement -
a place for everything with wrong at the head

oh i am sorry i cannot make this better
i am, after all, just another stupid human
stupider than most because i see what is wrong
and can do nothing

what, i wonder, does it mean to be human, to live in this mess,
behave like trash, and treat each other accordingly
yes i foul myself because i am a course man
forgive me, find in what i say some hope i cannot see

find us a way forward
find something that is not a logical extension of me
find it in your heart to forgive me for writing about it instead of being there

Darkest daylight

Even in the daylight, you see, I’m haunted by shadows.
They follow me, remind me, tell me another dark secret
just as a hot body promises with perfume to be a flower.
I stumble under this weight, even at noon with the sun on my bald spot like a crown,
trying to disguise things by making them shiny.
Trying to make this foolish person laugh when there’s nothing really funny.
Trying to make sounds that will echo in the dark and, at that time
I will know them alone by their real names.

Dark fingers can be seen at the corner of things holding on, waiting,
dreaming of the sadness and surprise day will know,
will know soon enough, will stager unable to cope with.
These are the dark fingers we feel inside when, on a hot day we suddenly go cold.
This is the darkness we know as inevitable as that parallel universe
when death closes our eyes and the only light, albeit bright,
will come from dreams as the light we have wrapped as a package
in this profoundly dark and impenetrable paper
is the only light that can be seen,
can be found anywhere in that permanently dark room.

There are no corners in that room, no walls and I wonder if the day
with it’s shapes and turns and rooms and windows
has any idea of what seamlessness the dark contains.
The dark contains the noisy, shiny day as keys clatter in my pocket –
can the day contain the dark
or is the universe grown too large to tolerate such a travesty?

you

you are always who i wanted
you of the long stair
thousand houses of a thousand cities
teaching chameleons disposition

teaching me not to blink
but I must
and in that moment you are gone
leaving hurting eyes that are red and dry

i must climb the stairs
or return to the street
and so i climb
praying

that je ne sais quoi trace of perfume
that empty air still following you across a lifetime of a thousand rooms