Embers

Wake up…
Take bath…
Have coffee…

I don’t remember seeing you compare roses
To a song I can almost bear,
Turning my face to a moon
Washing, washing…to distraction.

She came after my bath:
no key for the apartment –
so I had to let her in
explain it was not secure for my things

Or someone else’s heart break.
Unlocked, unraveled with the sun
A progress I cannot meet…

Outsound, films, Laborfest…
so, there’s lots doing
and there’s always poetry.

All the facts is not enough
Contest context cornet context
The disjunctions between contexts
And more for interpretation
Is needed.

I called her on the bus to her writing group.
…told her it was in 16point,
wished her luck today, and let her go on her day.

On the News:
to make the use of deception
in order to persuade a woman
to have sex rape…is to say
all men are rapists, including me,
since we are at times deceptive
in our gender relations.

Gathering together pieces of a consciousness
Always having to ask
What’s out of bounds?
Continue playing, paying, parleying
The linguistic soup.

Rule number one
Is: the rules change.

The area also has buses,
Helicopters, environmental justice,
Black folks, along the way,
Offering coffee in book shops,
Jazz memories, jazz tomorrow,
Open hearts
And ways to handle regrets.

And every day
I have to learn how to write, again.

As Cinder-ella stains the windows
Adds an ache to the song
Repents and burdens
I withdraw into my cobwebs
Quivering to the sound
I cannot hear today.

I know what the news is:
The weather is cold.
Stay inside.
Leave the radio on, off, on.
Ashes, ashes, all fall down.
What are your memories of childhood?
Do you still listen to the voices in your head?
Will the electricity last till Wednesday?
Are the poets allowed to unrest?

I don’t know which parts of my journal
Are poetry or preface.

Postscript: Some lines of the poem
point to a world
that is inaccessible
to necessity.

Some lines of the poem
point to a world
that is inaccessible


Peter, this may be my favorite part. I sometimes wonder how any writer, or artist, reaches into their own psyche and conveys to the observer an intelligible piece of our existence. Good job with this one.


Les

I've had a few conversations with poets I respect this last week on that permeable membrane between art and life. Seems to be different for all of us and seems to be a difficult transition for many. Focus on when you can write and when you must do something else so that you can write when you can. Etc.

Thanks for visiting,

Peter