Out of some undefined desperation foot after foot to the little pond for some kind of respite The bright blue sky weakens overhead Despondent to perceive the giant cloud looming I turn back watching my shadow disappear before me A bright bloom of light taps me on my shoulders turns me around The sun peeks through beckons me join it in its descent into darkness saying, “wait” Entering into the cloud like God seating himself on His throne And the beautiful charcoal of the proud only serves to contrast so much wild brightness its fringes lit in white fire Fixed eyes remain peeled to take in such piercing radiance Now knowing I never stare straight into the pure, generous incendiary sun Only in such special tainted moments can I witness glory with my unabashed human vestiges Thunderstruck, I gape at its brazenness as it proceeds through a feathery chaos irradiating every wisp Light on light on light wafting and pulsating My jaw drops and I softly exhale a silent joy In perceiving the blue sky revealed as a dazzling, ethereal, secret green sea And gaze in wonderment at the world flipped in a wink into some vast oceanic kingdom As off in the distance some cute puffs cheekily sport ruddy pink
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I go to the edge of a Great Falls cliff. I go past the velvet crowd rope, and climb.
I climb up and to the right. It’s hard and fun.
Some children stand from where I left. They want to follow; their mother needlessly objects.
There on the next cliff are the feet of a ne’er-do-well. A green sofa chair supporting a baseball capped loafer gradually comes into view as I reach up my hands against the pull of the cliffs and gravity; he casually leans over and lends me a hand.
As I regain my footing, I find myself in a wooden tavern and get a hearty meal for myself.
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scurrying about “I’m Lost,” he said He tripped field to field countryside to countryside galaxy to galaxy “Here I am: lost,” he said There a garden grows
I Knew Him, Once
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…
Riding my bike down a tunnel near a stream. Another bike comes up beside mine. It leans into my path. I veer closer to the stream. It cuts into me. I fall into the stream. The bike rider is a baby elephant. A lost baby elephant.
I tread back, with bike in tow, towards the beginning of the tunnel in order to climb out of the stream. It’s going to take a while. I’ve forgotten how long I happen to have been biking in the tunnel. And the baby elephant, it needs to be taken care of.
-
Went skiing with Brian. It was a pretty good time.
I tried some of the black diamond hills… umm, glad I made it down alive, but it wasn’t that bad.
We ended up finding a great hill “the sidewinder” pointed out by a veteran skier. Made a poem out of it.
We happened to go the evening that did there own winter Olympic’s opening ceremony. Just as we were deciding to call it a day we walked out and into the preparations for it. It would take place at sunset. We got to talk to the organizer and cameraman beforehand. The organizer alluded to the person who wanted to do it on a bit of a whimsy and build the 1 story torch device with his special knowledge of pyrotechnics. The cameraman was a laid back victim of circumstance of duty. Long lines of volunteer skiers holding torches from various hills took a long, peaceful time getting down their hills. Once they all got down, the main torch was lit.
Overheard:
“You suck the fun out of everything: Funsucker!!”
“Monica, overcome your fears!” (In a tone implying she should be excused from braving it) “I already did.”
Skiing with Brian, Overheard
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I blow upon your pinwheel soul The cattails bunch and swoon gently, easy The lone sailor upon your vast lake delights in his full sail The clouds hurry across the sky The mountaintops receive the lightest touch of icy precipitation Meanwhile, the fish swim, pondering your depths, undisturbed
Blowing Upon Your Lake
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Oh, Joy! My broken piñata heart
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Black forest creek churning neath your roots encircling me with your lofty reach toward the heavens the lavender cloth of the universe revealing your tender touch the high–vaulted ceiling of your branches wreathed in the fairy–lights of the cosmos
Numinous Twilight
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Upon the advice of the sage Who under–valued himself I followed my instincts to my grandparents’ graves The largest orange ball I ever saw lingered, staring, sunsetless on the horizon I found myself in a vast tundra snow anonymizing the headstones and realized I would never find them I found myself amid the shrubbery Gazing at a statue Some ode to summer I first thought of Daphne the cruel beckoning of innocence Her regal repose, fully human rump reclining atop a vined column a jump–rope of flora in her hands changed all that I thought of Fragonard Where snow buries graves Here, it was petals of the season accentuating her flowers As white stone escaped from the black barnacles of time in spectacular bare shoulders and graceful arms Oh, gorgeous stomach Oh, flowing, robust curves Oh, folds, enfold me in every part Oh, neck, throbbing with life whose pronounced crook speaks the truth take me -
Walking from home to ??, I come into a neighbor’s yard. There’s a pleasant, blond, young mother and a couple of her children in the yard. Also here are some dressed-up monkeys they are playing with.
The humans’ gestures welcome me to interact with them. I gingerly acquaint myself with the a monkey or two. One of the monkeys bite me. I smart for a second. The mother nonchalantly approaches me.
“That will be $25,” she says. She points to a sign posted on the house.
Monkey Bites Nip $5 Nibble $10 Bite $25 I reluctantly accept this. The mom escorts me across the small yard to a small guest house/office. There, a brunette young lady, perhaps a college student paid a low wage for this job, proceeds to ring up and ask for 25 dollars.
Embarrassed, I dip into my wallet and fish out a 20 and 5. I hand it over.
As I’m leaving the little hut I find myself starting to say “Scam.” The brunette gives me the evil eye. She threatens me.
“Scam. Scam. Scam. Scam. Scam. Scam. Scam,” I repeat, louder and louder.
I feel the neighborhood has been alerted to me. I realize the whole neighborhood is in on it. Little golden-haired boys with large water-pistols petal on their bikes in a desperate attempt to stop me.
“Scam. Scam. Scam. Scam. Scam. Scam. Scam.”
Biting Monkey Scam
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