Robert Creeley (1926-2005)
This poem by Robert Creeley perfectly fits Bernie Sander's campaign. “I want, if older, / still to know / why, human, men / and women are / so torn, so lost / why hopes cannot / find a better world / than this.”
Santa Clauses
I want to describe this Christmas market with its two santa clauses with its smell of burning sugar and nuts its pointy shoed elves, its fake snow on miniature chalets, its happy tunes its steel frames covered with fake silk flowers its plastic mistletoes in the flickering light with a language that isn't subject to ...
the sea
dark waves pound the steep cliffs below where the sea is great and never settles i dream to find shelter, to house in her to return to those first beginnings to access the experience, to welcome the waves when they roll home to me and my love. i whisper to her, stay because of everything we buried ...
Miles Davis
Floating on the invisible surface of a sea I hear music playing on the coastline somewhere to my right. They are playing jazz. I know some time I was expected there but I move away from the shore towards the silent starless sky Everywhere on my left. The shore bends itself towards me. It gives ...
u gotta give
u gotta give ur life 4 something if u wanna have that thing u gotta start dying 4 that thing and when u got that thing ur love 4 that thing becomes ur only thing and if u lose that thing u die again
We work at night
The air is standing tired a strong white light pierces it, but never encounters anything such is the space we are in Time is an old friend at the door who must wait until we fix what we will be broken to-night because of that light hitting us But the hours didn't count the hours ...
Late Winter
it is still outside, the hills are static their shape, their surface, their life unseen wind chills and in the trees the pine cones sing a cold song of the dying winter a flower is forgotten by the frost its purple head needs no big images there will be no echo when it falls sorrow ...
Consolation
This is me eventually There is comfort in the thought The slope I climbed is not a slope It is a boundless space flat without horizons Directionless, unencumbered I am here Writing old comfort on new pages
the boys and Nietzsche
there's boys and they love their Nietzsche their friend from the brittle yellow paperback they keep between the old mattress and the squeaking bed frame thus spoke, and boyish backs strengthen thus spoke, beyond good and evil beyond the province thus spoke, untimely many auroras have dawned behind the boyish ears countless Nietzsches countless bed ...
Prayer
My Savior is the Absurd That changes faster Than my prejudice I hold my heads up To brush the world's light With my eyelashes My Savior knows What it means to be finite Everything becomes high A trumpet grows out of my nose, Or a clarinet A tuba perhaps You really can't tell Other extremities ...
Flashback
In a nation far away once lived a sad dictator Called Bush, a brainless man, but a good debater He was surrounded by savage capitalists Who manipulated him cunningly like terrorists They told Bush exactly how he ought to act and soon turned off his tiny intellect Bush was a bit unhappy with this institution ...