Night Meditation Poetry Experiment #01 06252012

26 Jun

Listening to
bluebird highwaysongs
tonight-

“Sometimes I get too
sad when drinking-
look at that star
through the hole
in the forest
canopy.”

“It’s the bottom star
in the Big Dipper- the
ladle part.”

“Groovy, I never knew
that at all.”

“Oh, I’m an expert on
the big dipper.”

My favorite picture:
me at ten years old
with the dogs dressed
in my best Pops
impression-
walking in the
wintersnow on
the farm.

Your favorite picture:
me and my sister as
children- dressed up
for some reason- you
love my sunglasses &
blue suit. I am standing
there with my sister
in the side yard.

“How old did I look in that picture?”

“Between eleven & thirteen.”

A new year of new rivers,
a woman jogging
gorgeously in pink-
for a moment she
was Athena- like
that four hundred
pound cyclist
that day between
flying discs, ducks,
and music.

And we beat the watermelonsun
like a drum- it’s ripe- let me
know if my Grandmother was
right.
Always
(every)
days- how many has it in been?
171.
RememberĀ that night in
a parking lot in love
fire’s burning flame
wetsand
and
strawberry
afternoons?

Believe:
blue routes
skymusic
a hawk flying
over a field-
a crow sitting on
a wire eating
a candy bar-
he gets it-
tiger roses
and my
love.

What does fall say
to the ground?

The stranger at your front
door is nature-
a man of constant sorrow
or
a madman on the boat
in a storm.

With you it is always a
a burning torch kind of light-
and there are rats on the
flood, vampires, and
always honest men
imagining morning.

 

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