Compassion Confesses the Compass

Hallelujah


South

slow time, ticks the fast day,
with all the entrepreneurial human type,
& thank the Good lord for it,
too.

public radio gave me the song,
just a sizzle of a tinge,
'nough pitter patter to kick rocks,
feed up, slurp joe, take a photo,
write a poem, talk up with a day walker,
& feel it Good & all.

West

coast lies here,
in truth it lays,
salivates a salty mongrel breach on
the shores of the end of land above water,

casts dreams whirlin' through skin
like a lost fish hook string to the moon,
spars with salmon, gives & takes life.

spruce trees grow big sways, a whole
rot of moss, lichen it's akin to,
all kind of wood, where this alls how
effects the people.

North

conglomerate, sedimentary tractor scuff
of a wheat bucket sack o' potatoes
at the base of rocky towers so jagged & fine -
where the cold migrates to, where the solitary
etches of hearts find families in tufts
of season & long stories sewn up tight
enough to keep warm under.
too wet to live in under a tipi.

East

Oxford! New Oxford!
or it must be Englands New Jersey
shored up an itch shy of the Carolinas
blue mountain shambles & Appalachian
strut fonts with button up teachers,
maybe equal if not more coffee than North,

all rung out like perm pressed swim trunks,
power lines in the rain, Jewish bagels,
the newspaper, classical history,
& a whole host of stone
built educational arguments for the sake
of it.

Allen Ginsberg I know at least -

      never been east.

Hallelujah

Romance

- i like to walk,
          if not sauntering
          or shuffling,

clay cup with handle,

- you might say, "a mug,"

in hand,

with maybe a dollar & 50 cents
or more or less in the pants
pockets,

& bounces the cup off the
pocket & shakes the coins
in a jingle that rings as you
walk

- Romance
      

Contiguous

      Merit     Merit     Merit,
that's words.
with & without history.

- New History ^

to be merried

eloping with day -

      

             comes on early,

         noon spent by 12:01 -

         spent zest on morning,

         cost ten fingers to the mingling tunes -

         pressed snooze at 5 minutes per buzz

             from 7:30 - 9.

            cup of coff.

            bucket o' home press juice -

          out on a zing.

            came 'round that marvel,

       up in foliage,

       St. Helens yonder,

       past industry,

       past Sauvies Island -

   - St. Johns bridge -

            Old camera shop -

        searched up & down the 

        used to be familiar streets.

        outfitted grandpas Old cameras -

        "they still make film for that one"

                 - (polaroid)

           in & out a few doors 

         glass & metal browsing -

         Anna Bananas for afternoon cup.

        Saga, you gotta'

        New York,

        Portland,

        in the city,

        at peace.

Bending

in the scant dribbles of soft bursters on prickly plants.

              Oregon is no Arizona.

birds fed full on plums,

              only the library left for the bums,

                 (& the church feed)
                               .

home coming king

going through warm springs.

zagging under a tipi.

    Native drumming induced -

- ( looking at all horizons ) -

over the radio waves & to the woods,

where the high desert meets the forests of

Mountain Hood

  at sundown -

poems names themselves after speaking

       Fly fishing the river of time

              Wildlife -

                 imaginative sparks abound in telecaster 

                 hair,

                      boyhood, birds...

               stand on frills.

                      

                    I am an old man now,   a soul,

                  a young poet of 22,

                  my poems come from the world i see,

                  & we share.

               there are old things in places,

            mixed in with the birth of new ages 

            & technological upheavals 

                                           that

                                              uproot

                 the past like a monied frenzied land lord

             with a building full of poor artist tenants

            who are the wood, brick,

                      & stone in water.

             "but that building has the best views of the city"

        - remarks Air of Constancy.

           his paintbrush comes to life, breathing in

           coastal mornings dim flutters of fog & light play,

           horse hairs bounding in

                 strides of colour,

         - the gallops of once.

           there is a licking of the lips,

         a peacefully possessed wink,

     & a thick swallow -

       " that is where the coyote meets

  the man with the raven on his shoulder"

             said old bark

             to new yap.

        you are easily florid,

     an Olympian aesthete

      of early morning,

      late evening,

           shivering & sweat.

- Curb Appeal 

               

Once, Twice, Thrice.

                               Curvy trunk!
                            Curvy   trunk!
                                  Curvy    trunk!
        
                        morning.

                             Pine pile.
                             Red dead.
                             Cone pieces.

                         morning.

                                 gentle frog.

                                Curvy   trunk!
                              Curvy  trunk!
                           Curvy   trunk!
          
                        morning!

_______________________________________________


Riding out,

sky drools heavy,

 the dropped jaws at Calliope's daughter!   ( ! )

- a gingerly poet on fire while pours buckets.

Riding out,

pelting parades on rain fly. . ..  .. .  . .
 .... .   . .   .  .     .    . .  .   . .  ...  ..  .. . .
. ..    .    . . ..    ..  . .. . ..... .  .. . . .

dad yawns ;

       hopes Sisters gets put out of flame,
  
& none more go up.

_______________________

                 meanders Deschutes.
          no deer in the feed grass.
              flat red earth -
   till the mountains.

          drops off like hatchet split,

                     Palina peak
                     Palina lake.

       this all back in Oregon.
   Livin' there now.
        

Jimmy

Anger he smiles tow'ring shiny metallic purple armour.
Queen jealousy, envy waits behind him.
Her fiery green gown sneers at the grassy ground.
Blue are the life giving waters taking for granted,
They quietly understand.

Once happy turquoise armies lay opposite ready,
But wonder why the fight is on.
But they're all, bold as love.
Yeah, they're all bold as love.
Yeah, they're all bold as love.
Just ask the Axis.

My red is so confident he flashes trophies of war
And ribbons of euphoria.
Orange is young, full of daring but very unsteady for the first go 'round.
My yellow in this case is no so mellow.
In fact I'm trying to say it's frightened like me.
And all of these emotions of mine keep holding me
From giving my life to a rainbow like you.
But I'm a yeah, I'm bold as love,
Yeah yeah.

Well, I'm bold, bold as love.
Hear me talkin', girl.
I'm bold as love.
Just ask the Axis.
He knows everything. Yeah, yeah.

Old Wood you New Growth

The life of an arborist;
         an induction into the scents of timber.
Residue ruining all clothes you own -
Learning to rake, climb, scale, cut, chip, trim, sharpen, tie, prune,
& move as nimbly as Robin the Hood.

Wide Open Universe

      in a whirlwind of color -
   a river of splash -
         conceptions in hatching visions -
   The phrase of modern man -
" That's pretty out there..".....
who sees the figures dancing in warehouse windows
in the cities of a thousand tribes,
& remembers Rome -->>>--------->

Hurley Daze

There was an earthquake last night at ma home.

Michael Hurley keeps playing his songs here.

Tom Robbins is telling me a story.

Sun.

at the social gathering

the shadows became strands of hair,
bobbing like apples in lively tombs of water, & seasonal enigmas of rhythm.
prospering has little to do with you for now -

walking alone has little to do with me for now -

it's just the quirks & tides of catastrophe & birth -
but you sweet artists are seasonally whole, in rupturing, and molding with saps & salves & torrential rains, in which bathe & tilt & swim in the rich fields & currents of life in sound.

always is not so elegant as hope is hoping to witness, & yet all awaits you in the amber resonance of morning embers -

in that color scheme, that pallet of heat, there is nothing but a warm morning.

Consecration

school of soft steps,

deer jitterbugger.

is that perfume i am sentsing?

up tattoo lane is a fortnight, a bakers dozen, & a blue moon decision for performance.

                  welcomes the ink, the soft undulations monitoring happenings like a hidden stellar jay over the plaza.

some months, some days, some ways exalting in glamorous sweet romances, of rose hips &
                                                                                                                              woman hips,
stark fir, fungus remnants.

sweet archetypes of western talkers, who knew so much about jazz & the blues,

because,

things are more the way they are now than they've ever been before.

the Poetics of Long Visions

i went up North.

         i cried upon that way.

    that grand North,

              under Cascades,

           twisting

 oracles of orienteering.

Mahalo

Fair trade,

     hoof clippings off of horse hooves sits the lawn.
pesto sauce boss poach egg leg dusty mouths, cantaloupe, calliope jazz treble.

sun amp, tube amp, ruckus camp, ampersand, blessinks,
            paging, paging, paging,

Frank Fairfield & the migrant workers, living upward in Yakima, that's my Dad, that's me,
that's face value,

that's gone______________________________

The Story of Under

Under stands.

Understands the cosmos,

Under the cosmos,

Under stands the cosmos.

Feet bare, brine hair,

Under stops at the owl of Point Madison.

Under stands at Point Madison.

Understands love.

Under stands,

over.

For them

Them who are my favorite thems, they are gems, and with them gems there is aint' no us and thems, only us, only right now we are holding down two different realms of the North American continent.

For you my dearest lovers, Troy & Melanie.

http://vocaroo.com/i/s0Xm7LyfvA9Q

Get after it

hello john, hello olivia,

       this is tortilla flats here,
blue gum chil'n,  brush boom leather shoes pilot gogs & tites.

 - old mendenhall they call in my dreams!

Tears! the size of ice bergs come out of winters polar eyes,
    
      a cup of coffee shakes the shivers & ice shackles off fur and clothes.

Glaciers man, Glaciers.
Alaska man, Alaska -

        Titan country

titan trees,
titan mountains,
titan water,
titan
   men
and
      tantric spruce women -

of course the men are spruced too.

Jet engines all in a whirl, wood
grain spoon, bear meat and bear oil,
sockeye milt, eggs, meat, raw & cooked.

L-E-A-T-H-E-R

i'm wretched, sappy britches butt,
smells like beer, mold, sweat,
old socks, tobacco & rain.

PSHHHHHHH       PsHhhhhhhh

      - Shucked out in the tent,
it pours all night.

This country growls, until you growl back.

Lived on a glacier, 21 days. My hair grew out.
Bit under the lip by mosqozitos,
that's the only bad part.

Northern lights, silky green in the linen sky, skeletal drift ......
....
...............

HEY!           OLD WAYS!

Over here,                                                     & here

                         & here.
The teachings of a thousand years of moss, a thousand of eagles, a thousand tides and celestial out-posts like sunken ships, spring yarrow, and high brush cranberries.

                GOOMPH
 
         - berry blood

       Shagank!    - trout man

land slogger,
peak peaker,

I see you, i love you, you are my friend.

Sink in your shoes

Oh thank you -

           Woody,


  Guthrie.

- for your trembling fierce warble of the fearless road laid like a goose egg song for the people

Oh thank you -

         Mr. _________

- for your presidential incompetency and incalculable inability to calculate, which has left that great depression in the accounts of the story for all of the school children year upon year

Oh thank you -

            Robert,


    Zimmerman.

From that great every mans land,

            Hibbing,

      
     Minnesota.

- for your frothy boilings that spilled upon a nation like a sand man sprinkle and opened the ears, whose path is direct to the soul

Oh thank you -

           Mr. Allen,


     Ginsberg.

-for audaciously drooling vulgarity into every phallic and vaginal nook of an adolescent country in a nuclear climate of sexual and imaginative oppression of freedom.

We recognize senior Jesus,
and dearest Lou Tzu,
and the great Buddha,

all are in the belly now,

and each have laid a hand upon

the knob of the door

_________
I                I
I                I
I                I
I  ()            I
I                I
I                I

Actors and Actors

Who would desire telepathic monogamy?
    what Disastrous insight should develop of such segregation?

                 The Godhead is not an oracle, nor a fountain of wrath -
  
it might be yet to be found out still -

S-T-I-L-L

                 in a suitcase trunk pack
                    pannier basement
                               attic,

an orgy, a tussle of grope,
a mess of open envelopes sending
and receiving -

Who would be left to gawk?
Who could renounce a sinners truth?

       certainly not the mail men and women,
   certainly not the minstrels,
certainly not the ones behind the veneers of confessionals
and desk jobs and countertops
across the plains and less plains of our land.

Milk curdling fat,

a sinner will know what he has done -
as an actor will dance the stage -
as in Greenwich village,
a small molecule of subversive tender radical
naked clan folk prophesying an interpret

R-E-A-L-I-T-Y.

All the while,

the most common folk waltzed the days through eyes

in the seats of the crowd and the audience of the cast

and acted in such a way that made actors act.

Plain and Simple

Sure a Moaning

there are captives of the land -

                  they are speaking all around.

billowing up, sideways through californias

dark nights,

sweeping above the railroads and rail cars

and industrial ferment of rust,  singing

deep baritone stones of whisping rasp,

of steam power and coal -

yearning in the cloudy plays of the dark theaters of

open country sky,

playful as the trickster -

making soft demands -


Honor the dead for whose life has been wealth,

whose speech is a prayer of the heart,

as quiet as the wind.

Magic Tricks Kid . His Story

Through such
                       s
                    n
                o
              i
             t
           a
        v
      e
    l
e

We could not sleep,                                                                                                      high
                                                                                                                                      ^
quilted disarray and everything we ever lost we had gained - coming in fast and         ^

Crashing thunderous bellows, the lads and school boys bustling chain link and wood

chipped baseball fields and candy eyed romantic eyes for the longest hair.

Flashing in the arms of morning, brewing awakenings for the limber and taught kids leaning

out of the bed extending, mind craving, the coffee of a whole third world keep the first world show on

stage -

How the trip.....

walked up stairs in sleepy afternoons and rubbed its hands together,

pulled all the drawers open successively bashing, loud, crashing, thunderous -

Wearing out...

Sit down. playing chess, riding the trains to and from town -

shuffled through the marbled hallways with slick shoes shuffled slick, tweed, staples clack, phones

hang up and ring again. Out the window the poodles hair do and dog don't disobey -
          .        .
   .                      .
.                            .

Write me a song -

show me how you know that bird -

pin - point what you cannot say -

what are you afraid of?

Awake of the coffee, silt brown tongue -

       toes wiggling  -  naked  -  abundant  -  sharing  -

curse the blessings and bless the turbulent curse of blessings

Sip Deep

Exotic - Diverse
       blessed our animal children of men & women
  find no sorrow in the generations,
             folding chapters
     becoming paper.

Folding and rolling on the floor - understanding
    
        i know nothing -

i look in the mirror and see the wall behind
   me
i am a room in a room in a room
     bending and folding a higher power
like a receipt from my birth -

     and it comes to this -

There --------> is everyone ------->

      
   and there ^ is no one V

   <---- with a heart that flutters between its lips when it speaks,
and its staircase bones and gourd belly _

they starve -
they are ravenous -
they stave off disease -

welcoming the treacherous -

Of course we are mad!  Men! -
by and by and try and try and time and

AGAIN,

the moon is waxing,
the cheek bones are waiting,
we are invoking,
      peeling
      unraveling
      weaving,

systemic yesteryear.
systemic tomorrow.

Grow long you empathetic variables,
  
      You, are beautiful.

HEED THE HOLY

Biggest Sire

don't matter no much bout what day tis today -

     sun skims lightly parade down misty drizzle lane,
lowers growling bowels casts warmth -
     1 part rain
     1 part sun
     1 part noise

what wild animals roam here -

from up there to down here

Shhhhh Peel

poems of yesteryear:

brains trip on aurora borealis, squawking
at topsy turvy relationships between our homes
and the other planets.
revolving evolving reptillian mammallian
under water clouded in crisp sun awareness.
celery stick stimulants and peanut butter opium,
incomparably comparable.
____

mornings gaze, tip toe ways, out and in through a monument called window,
a monument called eyes,
a monument called ears,
a monument called nose,

a daffodil rose.

to sense is to touch is to feel the taste,
the body the body -

a feathered quill.
______

Rain -   in this play all the actors are the script writers. Noone has any weapons but
stand sit and walk like obsidian daggers on the carved shelf of a bone.
the collaborative kinetics of the whole rooms voice, blood packed veins and sweaty
feet. The long house and cross cut boards of our bodies. unblinking eyes closed.
no fretting in communion, adapting to the prevelance of the variable.
relating relations and endearing adversity to more than we previously imagined.
centered in frivelous ambitious acceptance.
__

breathing tea                      cluttered ground
      barefoot shower
                  every few letters
        in front of the stove.

a valid day.

That Past Curls

Oh how i remember that night which through you came,
frazzled grilled egg hair boiling coconut corn cornel and violin bow fray.
under a stalking cap of gold and maroon, and bundled in warm clothes and your home town.
  The streets glistened in the snow freeze crunch and silk silent ice.
we shuffled and slid, wholly gay, under the misted breaths twisting from our mouths,
laughing, laughing, laughing -

how you knit your wool and i sprawled and threw gushing ink on the pages of a new journal -
 as i soon would be in silent meditation over ten days to pass-
as soon we would become, on some washed and blessed night -

and you knit your wool and i sprawled and threw gushing ink on the pages -

and up so late we stayed moving through the cold and broken heat,
listened to sequin rainbow rain drop jazz and drew dreams -

and then it was cold and you went to sleep alone, and i the same, because we didn't
know if the other half wanted to sleep with us.

and we sleep cold, and you got sick after that night,

and i went to meditate for ten days

                           =

A Trilogy of Sincerity

in a rose-quartz twist,
a petrolglyphic hack,
with primate tools.

i n d i vi d u a l l y

sit, sat, sut, the daily pendulum
burns new freckles on our skins,
and we kiss receptively, lips,
to the pores of the constellations,
lying, chanting, climactic climates
of our sensory mutualism-

unagreed, disengaged enough,
to be tangled in a revolutionary
meeting of elongate limbs-

some sexual exhuberance, swimming
in the dark corner of the eye
where a lamp bleeds the sun from
a chord in the wall,
and we sweat in the undeniable
house of winter-

interrogating one anothers souls
so gently that we laugh and wrestle,
and are perplexed at what was said at all,
and laugh some more.

theatrically imbibing,
we are undying,

in a spectacularly glowing feild
of the tallest tales and whales
and pelican beaks-

and all the while,
floating away with the
thistles of some undying dream

becoming alive


1.

in the belly of a cricket tide,
grass hopping after the worn season
of the chestnuts that fell in acres,
under the umber sky,
to the ochre floor,
that sing to bare feet -

this is not lunacy

2.

cracking a shell of egg white,
i fell in love like yellow,
and hooted in the ear of the train whistle,
and thrust and churned and ejaculated
and lay like midnight,
and was fulfilled and unfulfilled,
and burned endlessly through
the tunnels of flesh and greetings

3.

please, and when you say sloppily drunk
i lea
      n
and c
        o
    l  l
  a 
     p
      s
 e
and day is dead,
and sleep leaves ambiguity, desolately straggling
in the tracks of tomorrows ghost town,
and i'm there, on the platform,
where we meet,
and the station growls and rumbles,
rusts and sighs,
i am dissolving in a gutted stream
of the best that can be________________________________________________________________________________________

Tell the Story >->------->

Growl Prowl Trowl

   - shuvel smoke-

liquid ink,
     
        lyrical like Dale Wasserman,

scuttle down track
scuttle down track

swim upstream
swim upstream.

      there is a boy for
 which bed is not a time,

and who dances & kneels legs crossed,

     laughing,

the aproaching trains whistle snaking

  up the tracks.

Wake Cake

Agoura Hills California:

of all the portrayals of the wise leagues,

gandering at tufts of luminescent moss,

startled and alert,

         Oh dancer, come dance,

cast the line,

pristine wilderness fish of native america

come bite into,

the shorter history of snaggle tooth bill

and the cow boy trout half smirks -

     Yank -

when you feel the bite,

know that a new america

is being born.

Traversing the Big Sur Body

Star bowl

Lunar sea

Last faces 

of the

burning pines

King Louies'

lookout

tall grass 

shrub sway

oak grove

summit

switchback

switchback

switchback

climb climb

summit

Hawks,

birds jabber

humid bloom

paradise

pink flag

trail gods

shhhhhhhh

thdump

thdump

thdump

walking stick

lean

over under

over under

Sleep by the road.

Americas burgers are like fish bait but the free and the brave ain't brave enough to pick up a lone hitch-hiker after dark.

Tear Kelp Water Smiles

An ode in the depths of sincerity, to all of you I love so dearly:


       a simple nectar sustains,
climbing trees.
     enough sleep to dream holds us awake,
  swimming in smiles of water between
our youth and humanity -

we love each other

Athletes and Aesthetes

    i see you go,
      like trying to be a ghost,
in the bus station of men,
  draped -

you just might not be seen, 
   being ghost-like.

fleeing on softer feet,
   i am watching,
oh so ghost-like.

Hunting Grounds and Monarch Mating

Sun sending, eucalyptus spires, trunks,

    preserve upon the west cliff,

waded through the succulence and dust,

 gravel tasting bare feet, collecting dust.

  Chase the bite, bite your' pursuer,

flying, fluttering, sinking in flails of coastal belch,

thousands of monarchs making love in the red wood mist.

     Santa Cruz caleafornia.

scent.