Thursday, August 27, 2015

Most Recent Poem


                 Milkweed Dreams

On a hill beside the lake milkweed pods 
split silently, taking days to create an improbable
cotton field caught in light of a low slung Maine 
late October sun. Growing to white gold before 
sunset, before a cold clear night when hunter's 
moon, a magic naked diver, hangs bewitched and bare
above the water. The bashful moon waits for 
a cloud to cover her. The night waits for the 
slightest breeze when milkweed seeds may drift off
unseen, as faces in a dream you know you
had but can't remember. Seedpods open as 
two small hands in supplication. Signal: Please,
let this breeze carry us to fertile ground, not lakes

or this dream is one from which we never wake.


        I did better in posting this time.With reference to the previous post: the sun was bright and warm before the picture window this morning at 6:13 AM. I carefully avoid adding any porn.


Compensation: On The Ides Of August

Compensation On The Ides Of August Six thirty AM: naked in the picture window, pleased by the rising sun — but soon I must drew the shades for you pay for the light with heat and by noon the room would be too hot. Nature, Emerson says, is not given free and like any pleasure payed for by protecting it or restraint or other compensation. Afternoon, reading on a bench by the pond an old oak substitutes for the shades. a tree which isn't mine in the sense of being me but I protect, care for, as I guard and care for my home. As for my pleasure in rising early to stand naked and dress in the morning sun, where is the payment, the compensation Emerson claims must be due to even this if it gives pleasure? It must be that I am here alone — I mean I should have been a sufficiently different me. to have brought thee,whoever you are, to be here with me in Nature's blessed light.

Tuesday, August 18, 2015

ADVANTAGES IN LIVING ALONE ?

Compensation On The Ides Of August Six thirty AM: naked in the picture window, pleased by the rising sun — but soon I must drew the shades for you pay for the light with heat and by noon the room would be too hot. Nature, Emerson says, is not given free and like any pleasure payed for by protecting it or restraint or other compensation. Afternoon, reading on a bench by the pond an old oak substitutes for the shades. a tree which isn't mine in the sense of being me but I protect, care for, as I guard and care for my home. As for my pleasure in rising early to stand naked and dress in the morning sun, where is the payment, the compensation Emerson claims must be due to even this if it gives pleasure? It must be that I am here alone — I mean I should have been a sufficiently different me. to have brought thee,whoever you are, to be here with me in Nature's blessed light.

Thursday, April 23, 2015

A Poem From Yesterday, April 22

White Fences I took the country road today so I could see what April brought of early spring. Also to pass the farm where the caring lady I've never met, only seen, who always had clothes on her lines unless it rained, who kept board fences a quarter mile along both sides of the road behind which cattle grazed. White painted, parallel boards never damaged or discolored. Several times I'd seen her out, retouching the white paint. But when I passed twice last fall, its neat signs cautioning "Animals Crossing -Take Care" (most often wild turkeys or squirrels not cows), there were no clothes drying nor any cows so I wondered if the lady I never knew had moved or passed away. Today, this early spring day, not only were no clothes drying, board fences were sagging, boards broken, paint peeling. This made it clear why she'd cared for them every year. Now I'll never meet this caring lady I don't know. I hope she doesn't know how badly those sad, sad boards need care — there's hope however, for on one end, a few new unpainted boards, already nailed in place..

Tuesday, March 3, 2015

Denial of Native American Relationship

With, I admit, much regret,the following. I feel it only fair and honest to refute any notice appearing on line of Native American relationship. Recent DNA analysis refutes the long held Chute family oral history which indicates my maternal grandfather was a Native American from the southern Maine area. DNA analysis of myself to determine ancestry yields the following results: MY relating the family story which found its way into a review of one of my books -- thus to Goggle etc. Britian 69 % Northern Eurpoe 20 % Scandavian 5% This fits very well with the existing written history of the family. Originaly migrants from Norway/Sweden to northan France, then colonization of Britin with the invasion in 1066. My feeling and interest in the Native Americans my family helped to displace is not reduced. I hope this survives without critical correction. March 3, 2015 June 21 The pre-dawn light of this longest day's a slivering suggestion of what's to come as we stand silent, shadowless, beneath a vast cotton candy overcast. We might as well be deep within some clear tropic bay as we stand by the doorway, eight steps leading down to our un-mown weedy lawn where daisies, tied by unseen stems, to the sodden grass, hold their blossoms, radiant and motionless as coral creatures, waiting for winds to enliven them, bring this sunless world to life. When the first bird wakes may it be your song he sings.

Sunday, December 7, 2014

PAST PUBLICATION PRODJECT

     I have never bothered to do any organized recording of poems published over the years. Thinking my surviving relatives, or possibly friends, might like some record I have spent a dull onto making a list of all those of which I had a record — probably more than 90 percent of the total. I listed them aby title, with an A or aThe omitted. One discovery was the totally significant fact that I most frequently had poems,the title of which began with an "S" (61). I also found I had never published a "Z" poem ± SO…


      A to Y

Listing poems published so far, the total
as the last is added, seems to be six
hundred and one  alphabetically

by title: initial, "A" or The" omitted,
and I find there is no "Z", no "zed". I
can hardly wait until I write one.

Unfortunately  there are no zebras
in Poland Spring, and in December,
in Maine, "zephyr" doe't fit for wind

over the pond as it sonly frezzrs.

Friday, November 28, 2014

HISTORY IS WHAT WE SAY IT IS


    Selling The Sky

It was a welcome for
the new territorial govenror. A chief
 rose to make a speech. Dr. Smith
took notes. Thirty-three years later
his impression of the speech,
stated with Victorian elegance, appeared
in the Seattle Sunday Star
and reappeared, as history, with some
additions, after another fifty years.

What you see now, phrases and scrapes
on T-shirts and posters, is drawn
with no credit given from a TV script
with Southern Baptist and Environmentalist
revisions — he's been
a Catholic pragmatist.

So, what did Chief Seattle really say?
How can you sell the sky? Well,
you sell what you have, to buy
what you  must. Fictional Indian quotations
bring a better price than real ones.

………….Further research should yield you more detail but this is sufficient to show us we should quote past heroes with care.