American Place Ars Poetica Breaking Muse Footnotes Why

Command and Conquer

As I have been going through my recent practice and development of form, you will see a recurring capture of language. To some it may sound like I have some love for the cliche. But, I am drawing from William Carlos Williams here. I want to document the language. Capture the most common and local forms of reference. In my case that’s a southwestern mashup of red neck American English and Mexican Spanish.
I assure you it is intentional and if it’s off putting, good. Then, I’ve got your attention. Place without people is speechless.

2019 Ars Philosophica Ars Poetica Poems

You Don’t Say

Clip, clip
Snip, snip
“Don’t say that”

Stop, stop
“Cut the crap”

On lips
One slip
Could reveal me

Know? No!
Say so
Better, not free

Hide, hide
Words words
“That’s a wrap.”

Can’t say
Lingual mind trap

Say we
Do, well
Then we’re through:

“I’ve heard just about
enough from you!”

2019 Albuquerque American Place Poems

Who’s that?

Hallow’s Eve
Cold and Dark
Scary promises
Sweet and stark

Frightening ventures
Under foot
Roaming hoards
Seek input

From every house
Willing to play
A treat? A trick?
How will you pay?

For every house
Will yield a toll
Toilet paper trees or
Something from the bowl?

“Trick or treat?!”

2019 Poems

“Murder” he cried

“Scarecrow, Scarecrow
if you dare
chase me, chase me
through the ears.”

“Murder, murder
Go away
off with you, off with you
Ravens rave!”

“Scarecrow, Scarecrow
Stuck in dirt
Nothing, nothing
in your shirt.”

“Murder, Murder
watch it now
Farmer, Farmer
will shoot you down!”

“Scarecrow, Scarecrow
Is this true?
Kernel, Kernel
What’s just a few?”

“Murder, Murder
Away, away!
Shoo now, shoo now
please, please obey.”

“Scarecrow, Scarecrow
Just stay cool!
A treat, a treat,
Thanks for the gruel.”

2019 Albuquerque American Place Garden Psalms Poems

Goodbye garden

Goodbye garden
Your time is done;
Late and short
November Sun.

Cut off their heads
and dig their graves;
Before autumn rain
Yields to icy waves.

Last of summer’s
flowers cling;
Removed to tables’
center to sing.

Stow the barrow,
Heat the birds;
“Winter’s coming”
so we’ve heard.

“Want me to start a fire?”

2019 Ars Poetica Breaking Muse Footnotes Poems Why

A poem

A poem
Is a feast for strangers
From the future
A poet is a fortune teller
From the present
Seemingly prescient
Presently misunderstood.

2019 American Place Arizona Breaking Muse Garden Psalms Poems

Finger Thunder

Finger Thunder
Lightning-rod tremolo
Crack of rosewood ripped
From the smooth
glossy finish
of the Semple
Stringy vibrato
Struck by perfect nail
Out of control
Of structure
Rolling into
The beautiful
Rhythms of
Desert whispers

2019 Albuquerque American Place Garden Psalms Poems

Chop It Down

I wish to tear
these mountains down!
Rebuild them atom by
atom in your mind
Every molecule
a monument to their beauty,
so that you may remember
them so long as you may live:

Flaming amber at daybreak;
Violet and sage, wilted rose and orange peel at sunset.

Remnant of catastrophe.
Earth shook her bed sheets
and left a wrinkle on the aeons.
“Quick, before Mars returns,”
let us take a moment to rest
in the arms of her
peaceful precipice.

2019 American Place Breaking Muse Garden Psalms Poems

Maybe Not

As I sit in my car
And wonder where we are
I was wishing we could
Get lost like the beats
On the road, freedom free
Wind and cactus and bugs
In our teeth, gobbling on
The American landscape.
Alas, romantic… til you
Realize you’re homeless
And poetry doesn’t pay
And you never learned how
To farm. Your quaint garden
No replacement for year-
Round bread. Eat these words?
Deaf ears on empty stomach
Too much focus on need
To consume gospel.
The loaves are gone
And the wine?
I gave that up.
Years ago.
“It’s OK.” She says.
My eyes forsaking
This fantasy gone awry.
“Let me buy you a cup of coffee.”

2019 American Place Breaking Muse Poems

Keep Going

Coffee, Hot, Black,
Cream and sugar. I
explain to her that
It is “OK”
I know that fleeting
thoughts of old
dreams make melancholy
the otherwise
pervasive spirit.
It Matters not what
other’s done
or what I Did not.
We are not hungry,
no, quite the opposite…
We are so well fed
that we should burst
with the energy
to reel in the sun.
“You see, I’ve realized something”
Though longing makes for
great sounding poetry,
my real meaning is derived
from real work. No, not
the farm; Citizen poet
Makar of webs, pictures
words, words for words,
we have so much language
we can’t contain it
awaiting on shelves
for our pronunciation
if only we can understand…
“Want to go to the library?”