FALLING EASTWARD TOGETHER UP OFF ROCKS

 

ROCK-DROPS FALLING ON OUR HEADS

Old hens and converted weasels, dear;

Blue,blue dragonflies decorating spotted goat, mere;

False striped ones caught in barbed wire, dire;

Mousey hearing aided repenting liar;

Swawking crow of rooster waking dovey bier;

Crowing nightingale singing black winged trier!

Such a great crowd of witnesses leaving their mirrors

Behind in the alleys, dropped beside unknown gates;

Blind and crosseyed and deaf and bushy nosed in shivers

Behind a town left in the west because star shone on pates;

Joining we expected role players sweating fear in rivers

Beckoned by skipped ropes left by shepherds crooked of traits!

We all winding and unwinding and tripping and skipping

Along behind a now found Littly Lamb, patted by Babe tripping

Of heart in love-light of young mothery eyes ripping

The very heart from innkeeper’s rules, no wine for nipping

The cold from the morn of  First Day of New Life tipping

Off our prophecy from high perch over biggy froggy head clipping!

Oh, we all no more looking at ourselves, marching ourselves eastward

Climbing ourselves eastward cracking eggs laid forgotten

Oh, we all snagging each to each in ro-bed,hi-ded long boastward

Snaking our  trails round rock and thorn under Star begotten

Fore basement of world ever laid genesing record coastward

Making our tracks in midst of robbers cutthroats to trotten.

We all friends tied in cords woven from missing parts, we unfolk

We critters in bond to render the go tell mission inyoke

We all friends leaving bystanding alleyfolk for fields to poke

We leftoffparts from smooth paths to fall on rock’s stroke

We critters and unwound twitters seared by smoke

We campers in stable left weaving up in star-toke.

We friends stumbling and clinging and crying and singing

On to the East gone from the West now parched and empty

We friends now thrummed by stamp,by rumored hoofs ringing

Out from the East gone from thrones long done with skimmed tea

We friends clutching tales for hope in stumbling stinging

We friends of nettles and bones and cold caves in the lea.

“How bear we this load of lost but not  lost?

“How dare we this go telling, go seeking, go meeting

“How High Kings bearing bounty of whole nations’ cost

“How dare we, care we, swear we this oath of treating

“How lands we cannot see but must only BE, only tossed

                                                                                                                                                                   “How peaceward, how lightward, how blessward good news feeting?”

 

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SEVENTH WEEK SATURDAY: A WEEK IN THE BODY ODD

This week has been a mixture of nose-bleed highs and bog-wading lows with my writing.  Since I only committed to writing FIVE-DAYS-A-WEEK through the end of 2011, this Saturday is sort of an extra little “doo-dad” for me.  Here goes:

 

Scrunched shoulders at a computer screen

lead to scrunched blood supply from soul to brain.

(See me driving myself into a rut trying to social network in the interests of improving my “worldview” in the interests of my writing career!)

 

Designer scraves for peaceful necks

and weaving fingers where the heat drips a scarf of dust.

(See NYC Trends News on weather.com under any zip code contained in NYC)

 

LO to tweets

NO to sweets

IO to bank

MO to shank

ZeRo to interest

NeRo to pederast

BO to date

SO to hate

URLs, MACaddresses, IPaddresses, tweets, pings, LOLs, and WTFs

 

No typing, only clicking

No composing, just copying/pasting/linking/tweeting and FBing

No IRSing for OWSing

IR sing-ing even when OW!-ing on bridges and docks after NO PARK-ings

No stamps on wide stationary, only blogging on broad screened broad bands.

 

I never met a Quaker from Alabama (from the 2011 novel by James Lee Burke about fools)

I never me a sailor from Mount Zion

I never met a juggler from the Moon

I never met my loverboy in church

I never met Granny at Bubba’s Internet Cafe

I never met a clown at the graveyard

I never met a senator in the library

I never met a pianotuner at the Met

I never met a doctor at Rite-Aid

I never met a banker at the Food Bank

I never met an ancient god in a beauty parlor

I never met a gambler in a lion’s cage

I never met a magician at a firing range

I never meet myself until I leave.

(Aplogies for the boring format and STILL no graphics included, but my wordpress admin is acting up.)