With typical obfuscation of fact,though no sea is near,we call these sea-birdswho drop sudden witha satisfying, compact splashthenreappear,shaking water from wingto flap upwards again. It is one final feast day on the greatlake and cooling shallows reappearwhere choking boats recent were. Summer has reached horizon,making the vast water and all elseapprehensive,yetappetizer fishswim easy. Why? AreContinue reading “Who Is The Foolish One?”
Category Archives: Free Verse
Baby And Bassinet
I dreamed that, as day roseabove the window-sill,an old clock radiodanced to life,spilledbad news,wokemeup. I lay then in bedsome minuteswhenI had an idea formaking a film, soI made a semi- rectanglewith both hands,the way directors doand looked through.. The scenewas of a baby comfortable,awake, but not distressedin a basinet, foreground. A landline telephone was ringing.Continue reading “Baby And Bassinet”
A Lesson Of Autumn
Gained knowledge informs thewindow view, ordinarily pastoral. Experience sees,what a ‘mime-boundary’reveals,the transparency itself is glass,the shadowing, heavy clouds are vapour. Horizontal leavesare known to beafloat on fast moving gas. Comforts of a well-lit roomseparatefrom cascading lastleaves of the year. Thoseyellowed, browned, reddenedwitnessesend,are blown to their death,battered toward decay, by gusted howlingthatvacates thenorthad nauseum. This isContinue reading “A Lesson Of Autumn”
The Invention of Plastic
I’ll betcave men caughtan extra forty winks,said, “Hell with it..”a time or two sincethe breakfast firewas a bitch tolightand there was no mortgage due,nothingof dire import more to dothan sleep until the sleepingwas through. Ours isartful actand very much ado,about the same old nothings;finding food and shelter,reproducing, too. Modern life’s accomplishedwith a, “Git ‘er done..”attitudeandContinue reading “The Invention of Plastic”
These are the Days
‘These are the days, my friends,these are the days.’ – Philip Glass This is the day, my friend,this is the only day,the solitary timefor you to readwhat I haveto say. This is the minute,it is youandI. You cannot hear much screaming.from the place whereI sit writing, so nothing proves thatsomewhere, sevenbillion otherscenesexist. In the placeContinue reading “These are the Days”
Residue
I don’t knowwhere a boyor girl might go at the end butall atoms remainof the gone.Then,do the gonereally go? Shapes and clusterschange, decompose,remain,ready to rearrangeor trade clothes. When a star(which I once was)collects a little ofleftover unattractivestuff and shines because,the less handsomebecomebeautiful. One lawin the booksays,“There is conservation of matter”. I am matter,you matter…the twoContinue reading “Residue”
Stars
Sometimes,when it’s still,I sing to hear the soundand wonder ifour dusty-brownbirds do this, too. Though worksong’s ofgreat import every day,there must be time and roomfor play. In this way,I dreamthe creatures call each othersilly names at times,sole to hearthem echoed backwhen humdrum’s sunclimbs. Further, yet, my theory is:life keeps an hourdivinefor each and all toContinue reading “Stars”
Sunflowers
Work and my season nowdone, I seek for the powerof deep wine with bread.A light touch of breeze andsun bless my head,hatless, this hourby the sunflowergarden. The tall plants are placed here as‘decor’ meant to lift spiritsbut I sense they are something more.Each one reminds ofan old woman bending,her faded hair of former yellow petal,droopingContinue reading “Sunflowers”
Conversations About God
I schemed thatbirds had conversationson a rooftop edge adjacentto the window casement.My eager heart imagined themset about a Sunday’s reflections,quiet amongst themselves. These beasts are nature’s genteel wings,feathered in the very bestgoin’-to-town-brown,and it seemed, for a moment,in private terms,they shared much more than sing-ingbefore one,then twoand three flew down,resumed attacking worms. What’s real congealsby consensus,Continue reading “Conversations About God”
The Outside Voice of God
I sat some momentsby the great lake, lazy,watching water-craftshrink to meet horizon’s final edge.Careless,I allowed imagination’sidle mind to witnessboats, birds, water, allpouring over some oft-discussedand never-discoveredflat earth fallthat, even when searched for,remains ever further. If I am correct,and Science tells it true,time’s a promontory ledge,beyond which nothing flashes,and from whichis no grand, sweeping view. ForContinue reading “The Outside Voice of God”
Robert On The Air 