Saturday, July 12, 2014

4 Seasons Of Love 


 


In the Autumn
Things Were Revealed
 I Fell
Abrupt Unconscious






In the Winter
I Felt Things Settle
Accepted My Rhythm
Slow with No Hesitation





In the Spring
I Found Friendship
Sent and Received
Without Trying





Now it's Summer
I've been Flung
Someplace Good
Unexpected

Thursday, July 3, 2014


"it's nice that you keep the radio on..."
 dad dad dad
what is it about those pragmatic-romantic men from that generation?

Tuesday, July 1, 2014



Dad preferred the lowly marigold. 
He liked them for their color, unfussiness, and constancy:  
"You just throw down some seed; and no matter what those little buggers'll live."

Yet,
people insisted on gifting him with roses.

Bushes he cared for until he couldn't.
Coming into the house.
 Shaking.
Hands full of blood.
Tears in his eyes.
Swearing at the "goddamn roses."

Roses aren't simple.  
Only beautiful at times of brief blooming.
Requiring a lot of attention and work.
For a few exquisite buds.
 That needed to be plucked.
At great risk.

I'm not sure he ever enjoyed them.
They had been given to him by people he loved.
That made them something to tend to.

He'd have filled the whole garden with Marigolds.
 Had my Mom let him.

He would sit on the porch in the bright sun watching them.
While drinking coffee (1/2 sugar, 1/2 black).
Smoking the cheapest cigarettes he could find.
("because, hell Babe, it's an addiction...not a pleasure")
Having unending private conversations with 
his long-dead best-friend and brother, Larry.

He never mentioned the Roses 
but talked about (and to) his orangered favorites. 

I wish I had filled the entire garden with Marigold seeds.
 During the night.
When my Mom couldn't stop me.  
Just to see his glee.
When they started coming up.

They both would have know it was me.
He would have laughed in his wicked way.
She would have muttered and cried in her kitchen...
but let me get away with it...
for him.

_______________________________________

It's your birthday's coming up.
This color keeps coming up too.

I want to take him walking here.
Find him a warm spot.
Make him a nest.
 Let him bask like the lizard he was.

Thursday, June 26, 2014



"If I have to ride this train a hundred years
and all I drink is my own tears
I'll not kill for you or on my own
  singin' 'freedom is where you think it is
but there ain't no train to Stockholm''

~Lee Hazelwood

Clip from the Swedish special Love & Other Crimes (1968)
from the album Cowboy in Sweden (1970)

__________________

Lee's the one and only psychedelic Cowboy.
 
Pacing.
Lyrics.
With that Voice.
 *swoon*
__________________
 
 

Thursday, June 19, 2014


"I had a dream of my own
Just walking out of my home
And going I don't know where to sing beneath the stars

Your whole life lies ahead
It's just around the bend

So when the sun is coming up and you go
And there's still so many things you don't know
Don't you look back, I've no doubt that I
Will see you on the road

When the world's laying you low
Why don't you let me carry your load?
When things get bad you know you have a friend
All along the road

And I would love it sometime
If you would walk at my side
Going I don't know where to sleep beneath the stars

If in your life you need a hand
Reaching the promised land"

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

been
"Now I see the secret of the making of the best persons,
It is to grow in the open air and to eat and sleep with the earth. "


now
 
"Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,
Healthy, free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose."
 
 
going
 
 "I am larger, better than I thought,
I did not know I held so much goodness."



Sunday, June 1, 2014



"No doubt very few people understand the purely subjective nature of the phenomenon that we call love, or how it creates, so to speak, a supplementary person, distinct from the person whom the world knows by the same name, a person most of whose constituent elements are derived from ourselves."

-Within A Budding Grove-



"Love is a striking example of how little reality means to us."

-In Search of Lost Time-



"If we are to make reality endurable, we must all nourish a fantasy or two."

-In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower-



All that Proust...






Thursday, May 15, 2014


“Merry is May-time!” said Bilbo.
“There is a long road yet,” said Gandalf.
“But it is the last road,” said Bilbo.


Sunday, May 11, 2014

spring snowshowers are a good time to write letters in cursive


once a snowflake fell
on my brow and i loved
it so much and i kissed
it and it was happy and called its cousins
and brothers and a web
of snow engulfed me then
i reached to love them all
and i squeezed them and they became
a spring rain and i stood perfectly
still and was a flower

~winter poem by nikki giovanni