Tag oran
What do we knowof truths down under?Messages from You, Paternost,are dried by wet thunderon vellum furthermost. You sing as You like; it’s wewho shrink the breeched whaleto drink-sized pinky hell,the rant of things gone staleknelling vacant the sailed. Who made … Contin... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
A blood lid lowers on a full moon far west,glowering the arc with a heavier mass,a glutted, drunk and drowning blood feast.Last night I dreamed my Yesterdays wished megodspeed – childhood pals and first girlfriends,college peckerwoods and old bandmates, etcetera … Continue readin... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Even when things are sweetly vernalours is a lonely land, what’s presentand blooming looming too withthe absent’s emptying low tide.The young oak in the front yardhas dropped its leaves and budded out,its shade grown wider for petuniaswe planted round its … Continue r... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
In the old lit, a king spent All Hallows Eve on the mound with the lord of the sidhe,learning where lost treasures were bound& hearing old stories of that sacred ground.Come Christian time, saints raised heroesfrom the dead to speak of … Continue reading &... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
If the God ceases to be the way ofthe zenith, he must fall secretly. — Liber Novus Not writing many poems these daysbecause its precinct is so spare:the unread medium of turning’s gaze,a breath fatal noctal nickel air. Shadows are … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Hello Kay, I hope I haven’t disturbed youin the low caul of the ages, dead now perhapsor simply gone from all reference in the tidesof living time. Long time no speak — notsince that September night in 1981 whenyou tore … Continue reading &#... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
1. Not lovebut art. Rare dazzle ofthe highest hour. Seducer combinghis black hairunder the boardwalk. He who obeysby violating love. Arrow barbedin glowing ironfalling gorgeousto the sea. Gilding echoesof love’sfutile shout. Solitary boatrocking on ablack lacquer tide. 2. Not artbut … ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Walking gets me near wild mind.It suggests that pace and rhythmcan flush the full embrace,returning the poem, if onlyfor fleet moments, to thegreener vales of pagan grace. But I walk home to resume my day,forfeiting every awe I’ve gainedbeholding edges … Conti... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Jung thought Christian law might completeitself accepting the lament of the dead.But that would mean refuting Historyfor a lighter scan, more bladder, less nail.A sacrificial lamb of a different colorto bear the summed misery of latter time,returning the dead from … ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Cold as loveless fuck in Florida tonight, 24 degreesat a full moon’s five AM, lustral Brigit now white waste,the sundered Arctic casting long its vortex wraiths.The wind picked up midafternoon with titan gale,Edmonton berserkers of ripped-wide sail, tensingand frenzying my … ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Joint to joint of it, sinew to sinew … The places I dream paint a landscapeof griefs near and far, labored andpuckered by the dead, the lostand what was too barren to forget.My two brothers often, one long dead,the other … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
I’ll never understand dreamsnor will I ever write a poemall the way through. But eachkeeps inviting in its old voice,high and fleeting on cold reachesof thought. A pale face drifts bywindows séanced in frost.Her call foreign but familiar.Perhaps translatable if … Continue re... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
It seemed like awful tresspass — showingup at the dream’s workplace with my lateststudy journal of blackwell truths in hand —:Ole Mary Dolorossa (my boss and mother,sergeant wife & Goddess too) tookand flipped its pages saying Huh,flippantly or flappingly I … Continue r... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
I doubt I understood Jung all that muchthose first years of getting sober and diggingdown into the vast cathedral catcacombsprawling beneath my Sober Townbut my thirst for what he pouredinto modernity was almost a drown:Devoured four or five of … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Down by the lake there’s a two-acre wood lot where trees have grown for decades, surrounded by blocks of houses older and new. Who knows, maybe it was part of the old pine logging camp or a later resort … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Sitting at an AA meeting where we talked about practicing these principles in all our affairs I chewed on a dream from the other night like some raw dog flesh, pith or marrow of dead truths told flush, harrowed … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
… Nearing death, one doesn’t see death; but stares beyond, perhaps with an animal’s vast gaze. Lovers, if the beloved were not there blocking the view, are close to it, and marvel… As if by some mistake, it … Continue reading U... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Summer’s height and might, throb-tide, the sky like a sea entranced by its own drowned thrash, beyond potent and expectant in each souse and throb. This hour, late dark, full-mooned, never sated enough, balling the humidity in its black … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Als der Schwarze Tod übers Land zieht, bleibt den Menschen nichts als beten. Wer von der Pest befallen und wer von ihr verschont wird, bleibt den Menschen ein Rätsel. 1348 ist das schicksalhafte Jahr, in dem die Pest – nicht … ... mehr auf literaturundfeuilleton.wordpress.com
Summer of ’45: A cold June in Paris, leaden and heavy, the rain too stringent with the dead, their bulleted stead. A ghostly citadel. Not much food left in the markets and street cafes, no gardens growing in bombed … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
I see us walking down the quay with our remaining burdens— a bundle of clothes, a trunk perhaps, scant-filled with dowried dreams—: The ship wallowing at high tide like a matron crying for midwife, distending her welcome to us … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
A cutting too long in water, its cup overfilled, a lusciousness lavishly stilled: The kiss after midnight fatally swilled. Who knows why such fragrance dies here, drowning so late in enchantment, rapture become weight, drift become sea. Seals are … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
I haven’t a dream to lift this lid but still the hinges creak in water. I sing it from the vale of time green as lawns on latest afternoons, in light that angled, sickle-prime to moons arising to haul … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
As usual I write this to you standing near your memorial — faded, your time in this world and as my brother etching into stone, living memory lost, joined now in the vast receipt of the dead — stones … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
They’re with us always in the rainy season, piling in magnificence and malevolence up and across astonishing strokes of sky. They are neither of a measure or deity our level human thought could ascribe. Even when it doesn’t rain … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Long ago, in the early years of journaling & patching verse together it came to me that when the real leaves you homeless, there’s always the surreal. It’s the American Way though I didn’t know it then. I was just … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
It’s too late for apprehension, the change is now behind the times. It’s taken root and wickers minds in heat and storm and surge. It shadows what we quicken like the haunted pair dancing outside the bar approaching dawn. … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
I have more volumes by Charles Wright than by any other poet except maybe Rilke: Never my favorite but always up there, I’ve read his poems for thirty years. Time now has that solid thunk to it, the apparition … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Here’s a skull now; This skull hath lien you i’ th’ earth three-and-twenty years. —Clown gravedigger in Hamlet, Act V, scene 1 He is a ghost, a shadow now, the wind by Elsinore’s rocks or what you will, the … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
I’m trying now to live downside the fall. That part of the miracle play that continued after, no rubes to enthrall or sins confessed, no organ note’s gold cross. I sing the charring heft of breezy afternoons after blazing contrails … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
There is only this moment Between dust and silence A goose in flight over water Brother, all I have of you now Is a wilderness of pauses Where you stood still Whispering This And took the picture (Twenty times … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
I’m still waiting for my past to wake up. Long stretches of it snoozed the afternoon of my earlier life. I sense I missed something in class, the part of the instruction which taught how to number spirits. You … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
The destructive blue and the white belong to the same fire. — James Hillman, “Alchemical Blue” If alchemy turns memory into soul then what is that pool at about this hour thirty years ago, its morning much like today’s, … Continue reading ͛... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
The ghosts are filling up the square that faces Congress; they have an air of past griefs mixed with present woe so prescient the marchers almost glow evanescent, frail candles in grey skies whose flicker out forever flies. … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
1978, a cold afternoon’s walk by the Spokane River and the totem pole on Canada island, relic not of the native population sent packing to the res but of the environmentally-themed Expo ’74— paint almost fresh, the stacked faces half … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
This time of summer, afternoons kilt white with clouds, upsurging Picts in blind swelter— a hundred Fahrenheit of surge. I swim the mounts above the day’s commute, a seal evaporate whose eyes bore not on heaven or beyonds but … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Doors are opening; the dead unhengethemselves from near-to-monumental timeand issue in their flitter-whisper-synewhat poets equate with perfect rhyme.There’s my brother Will who diedlast April, clear as those last monthswe shared, his vapor almost halcyon:But who’s that walking next to him?He’s … ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
I have touched many shores in this voyage, wakened in many beds, turned and discovered many worlds blooming inside these wounds. The bucket I pull from the well today brims with a lucence found only once, at only one … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
New basis. Forget history or progress. No more extraction building up what never will sustain. No more faith in powers unseen. No more walls for privileged shires. No more bail. No more hope. No white sails. Tear it … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
As tail goes I got it I suppose but not the way these rubes step on each other’ toes to gawk. Not by a drowning mile. Someone’s gotta work the rear but this? My salmon head lopped off & … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
