House of Habit

each day a new wall would come down
and the wreckage carried away
first the pastel interior
and then the exterior stone
but the frames for the doors remained

so they kept on using the doors
but the raccoons and the squirrels
the suns and the moons
they would just saunter through
where the walls used to be

but they kept using the doors
opening and closing them
walking in and out of them
using their keys when they'd come home
and checking the locks when they'd leave

Beauty

we dare to speak of beauty
as if we can see and know
but is it something we be-
hold, or something we bestow



A NOTE FROM T. READER
This is a deceptively simple poem that is intricately layered with formal qualities that help carry it along. Each of the 4 lines has 7 syllables. Most of the words are mono-syllables, with only 4 words with more than one: beauty, behold (as you put it back together across lines 3 and 4), bestow, and something (used twice).

The long "e" marches through each line: we speak, we see, we be(hold), we be(stow). The second line, the line about perception and knowledge, is composed entirely of simple words from an elementary speller.

Finally, the breaking of be/hold - which may be, arguably, an ugly move - nonetheless disperses language so that the reader can engage in the sport of re-gathering the four separate meanings for the conclusion of the poem:
Beauty is
...something we be
...something we hold
...something we behold
...something we bestow

Watermark: Pool is Closed

the pretty French blue you see
is not the water's marquee
but the sky-lit bottom of a placid pool

and a chair is not a chaise
and a towel is no escape
from the refracted gazes of an old fool

Sign in Window

ATROCiTiES EXPLAiNED
3 for $20

The Whipping Tree

it’s really just a stump
the stump of a sweetgum tree
but you can’t kill it
and we’ve tried to kill it
bleach and ax and fire and cairn

the shoots make great switches
and we harvest them according to the offense
three or four or five or more
my mother prefers that we strip all the leaves
leaving the node-bumps as stingers

except for the one tender leaf at the very tip
which flies away, an artistic touch,
on the first blow, the tiny green
falling
flag

of our defeated kingdom

After Dark

crickets fiddling after dark
or, I guess that’s what
they are
the unremitting alarms
of ten thousand cartoon cars

Dream Horse

not to ride
just to see
the splashing
mane
of that proud
unbridled
nodding head


____________________
Original Image: G. Adams.
Altered Image: B.R.

Fox at Sundown

the flame-dipped day is done
the blur of fox
into the black wood

Seven Ages

throwing goldfish crackers on the floor for the dog
making my first best friend
throwing pappy bread snowflakes toward trumpeter swans
witnessing cold, first hand
throwing sugary sand at dragon zaggingflies
spangling their glassy pond
throwing fistfuls, at nightfall, of gravel at bats
testing their sonar wands
throwing bravado kisses to perfect strangers
mocking my own lonesome
throwing good money and better pearls after wine
trumping women and song
throwing off the covers and pulling out the lines
sloughing off the despond

A-1 Fabrications

we've got bald-face lies for unblushing brides
distortions and contortions for more modest types
fine fables and frauds for fences and frogs
and deceitful applause for all your sleeping dogs

The Coming Cold

où est le pain
pour demain?
où est l'eau
pour l'agneau?

en l'automne
les levres
sont pour
orant

en l'hiver
les livres
sont pour
carburant

Le Froid Approchant
where is the bread
for tomorrow
where is water
for the lamb

in autumn
the lips
are for
prayer

in winter
the books
are for
fuel

Riddle on Bucket Truck Grill

bone with silver wire
attached
but why is it there?

yorick allusion,
dog taunt,
or, the old prophet’s

combustible breath?

Sunday Sonnet: Heartbreak Ridge

I stayed up way too late watching Heartbreak
Ridge. Didn’t even finish it. How does
it end? Got my usual four hours
of tossing and turning before taking
the dogs for their walk. Showered, packed a kit
for hiking (thinking I'd go after the
service), and grabbed my Bible. The sermon,
if you can call it that, was from Mark 6.

We had a decent crowd today: 14
total (11 residents and 3
visitors). Claire was there for the first time
and she was, from the start, eager to leave.

After the closing hymn, “Jesus What a
Friend for Sinners,” I took her back to the
second floor, just outside the lunchroom,
and she whispered me to stay, “Don’t leave me.”

Carpe diem, tempus fugit, and all that

while my skin is still
skin and not parchment
will you not touch it
sketch maps upon it

while my lips are still
lips and not blue minnows
will you not hear them
wade in their shallows

Time: Love/Hate

i.
sometimes i
wanted time
to go by
fast

days and hours
just slow cars
to hurry
past

traffic jams
to work a-
round to Fri-
day night

where Mary
waits don’t be
late the star's
dark light

ii.
and at other times, breezing
across the rink’s blistering
cold

we’re begging and we’re pleading
o time, won’t you pretty please
slow

as we jetpack yet closer
to that jaggedy jet-black
hole

and we hear, it’s not a dream,
the night nurse's grippy shoes
squeaking in the hall

Skirting Frozen Pond

Three Umbrellas Six Chairs Nine Minutes

it's the last week at the shore
and nobody else has even noticed
that the gent from number three
and that the dame from number six

have been missing for nine minutes
except for me, but that's my business
i'm sure number five will pay for pix
and maybe even number four

Grey Hairstreak

                  grey butterfly
                  on silver hood
                  junk sailing on
                  south china sea

Fairy Tale

                              i
met a moose who
disappeared into
the mist with
hands above
his head in
velvet gloves
wands upon a pine

Cat at Sunrise

the warmth is welcome
but the glare is intrusive
i never fall
asleep

Sunday Sonnet: Chariots of Fire

The Sunday night movie is Chariots
of Fire and the room is filling up with
walkers (that is, the aluminum kind),
with wheelchairs, and with warriors who still
walk on their own, at least some of the time.

I check in on Paul who took a fall this
morning. He was there on his side as I
emerged from the stairwell onto the third
floor, more embarrassed than injured. I helped
him into a chair and then fetched a nurse.

The movie room was full tonight and we
softly applauded as actors ran on
blue beaches and the surviving daughter
of Bobby van Epps asked me how to get home.

-----

Bobby van Epps was the piano player
for the Dorsey Brothers Orchestra.
I'VE GOT A FEELIN' YOU'RE FOOLIN'

Tone 1:9

There was enough light from the great window for me to see Tone’s lips moving as I glanced over. He was mouthing the names of the constellations as he plucked them out of the milky wash of the other stars. This was just an internal test. A game. Proving himself to himself. He had nothing to prove to anybody else. I could also faintly hear him, as he pronounced Lyra… Cygnus… Aquila… Hercules… He was in his own private swirl, dealing with the incessant burden of his brilliance.

I turned back toward the great window, and waited. The woman with the orange hair would finish up with the bride and we would ride home in a Mustang convertible, and I would try to catch a glimpse of the great burning window-furnace in the rear view mirror when we first headed home.

Jarabe Tapatio

your dress
swirled
like two

rainbows
made of
crêpe paper

your lips
just grazed
my nose



Hat Dance

tu vestido
se arremolinaba
como dos

arcos iris
hecho de
papel crepé

tus labios
acaba rozó
mi nariz

Half Mast

what was at half mast
now ripples at finial
and the starling gone
123456789012345678901

Diplomacy: Wire Story

LEAVES NOTE FOR WIFE
TO MEET FOR TEA
GIVES GLOBE A WHIRL
QUITTING THE EMBASSY

DIPLOMAT STROLLS BAZAAR
AND WITH MUCH APLOMB
DEFLECTS HOMEMADE BOMB
FROM THE LONG DARK CAR

MIKES LIKE BOUQUETS
THRUST ABOUT THE WIDOW’S MOUTH
VEIL TIGHT AS TOURNIQUET
NOTHING BLEATS OUT

Bubble Dancer's Dowery

she blooms her arms move
her toddlers loom to leave
spent balloons
in her hair

she copes the crib with
castoff chiffon to dis-
till the harm
in the air

Lost and Found

I found a green bike abandoned
in a deeper dark greener wood.
Do I take it myself to give away
or find the current Robin Hood?

Sunday Sonnet: Charles Descending a Staircase

Sunday morning. The elevator is
not functioning. There’s a punctual man
on the landing. With both of his frail hands
on one railing, he begins to descend

the long staircase. Sliding hand to hand but
not crossing them, and foot to foot before
dropping one daringly over the edge
of each box step. Charles in crimson slippers,
with dancer’s hands on diagonal barre,
our very own Nureyev at ninety-four.

The pall bearers pass the casket into
the idling hearse, the long mahogany
handles smoothly through their white-gloved hands.
But that’s another mourning,
another landing.
------
In spite of the power outage, Charles was determined to get to the church service on the first floor - and he was determined to get there on time.

A Cold Kiss

après une cuillerée
de la crème glacée

je cueille
un bise froid

qu'est-ce qui s'était
mal passée?


Un Bise Froid

after a spoonful
of ice cream

i steal
a cold kiss

what had
gone wrong?

Note on Tone

Dear Readers,
Tone 1:9 will be posted in the next few days, deo volante.
Stay tuned.
Catch up on previous installments here: Tone.
Peace,
B.R.

Storm at Sea

THEY go down
to the sea
in their slips

waiting for
their husbands
their lovers

for some of
them it is
the same man

and some just
want to watch
the dark storm

as they make
their way down
to the sea

the spasms
of the light-
-house breaking

first across
their bare feet
and then their
scared faces


Image based on "Bell Rock light house during a storm from the North East."
Drawn by J.M.W. Turner. Engraved by J. Horsburgh. 1824.

Red Shoes

the light has turned green
her shoes have always been red
she wears no helmet
her dogs hide from the thunder
but they chase after loud cars



What is a tanka?

Dew-wet

you moved
    legs as long
through the
    as a lifted
dawn garden
    damp gown

Reynard and The Wolf

my good wolf or
is it rector
would you heed your

so-called calling
if you were called
to preach and pray

without housing
title
or pay

mon bon loup ou
est-ce le recteur
écouteriez-vous de votre

soi-disant vocation sacré
si vous avez été appelé
à prêcher à prier

sans presbytère
sans titre exalté
sans salaire

Everything Falls Down

un poème ne peut pas nous sauvent
un pomme n'est pas le savant

tout tombe à terre,
à nuit
nous calcul l'allure,
le bruit

a poem cannot save us
an apple is not the scientist

at night,
everything falls down
we calculate the speed,
the sound

Seven Sovereigns Before the Cross

Monday lays down his blue cheese moon
alongside Tuesday’s juiced grey goose

Wednesday lays down its wedding gown
spun in silver from Thursday’s thunder

Friday lays down her spinning wheel
inside Saturday’s hula hoop

Sunday lays down its worn out worship
seven lie down in wonder

Tone 1:8

Question. Can you have a lost weekend in the middle of the week? Sure you can. If you’re an over-achiever. Like me. So maybe you’re not trying hard enough.

It was Friday already and I had been in and out of a haze for three days. Sorta like a very slow flight in a very small plane, in and out of various types of clouds and low-hanging fogs and the smoke from leaf and brush fires set by idiot neighbors who shouldn’t be burning fires in the middle of summer anyway. For some of these maneuvers you don’t even need alcohol. You just pitch and roll and yaw.

Three Things: World History

there are three things
a king requires
a castle high-towered
an army un-cowered
and a chapel well-choired

L'histoire du Monde
il ya trois choses
un roi exige
un château haut-tours
une armée non-recroquevillé
et une chapelle bien-chœur

Three Birds in Flight (x, y, z)

between us two
we have six feet
but none are landing gear

my dog pulls me
into the scent
beneath the buzzing wire

its feathered beads
they all grow wings
the abacus explodes

most all go west
into the sun
but three, they go alone

three black birds three black flags
a semaphore
unflown before

three cards black ace jack jack
three card monte
against the sky

three black balls much smaller
now the juggler
most true and sure

finally, three vertices
unstudied trig-
-onometry

Reynard: Prelude

ceci est mon ami, le renard
son pelage est une flamme étrange
nourrit par le pointu pluie
éteint par un soleil d'ennui


















this is my friend, the fox
his coat is a strange flame
nourished by the sharp rain
extinguished by a dull sun

Teaching Children to Spell

M
iss Erato embraces the open fourth grade
speller and offers the young scholars an eleventh hour
pneumatic [sic] device
        remember there’s an ear
        in your heart
flushed i pounce on the lapse

chaste as the nose of a kitten the eraser
creping the paper
ripping it
i smooth back the pleated wound
to write on what her
discretion allowed

she stood still stands still
behind the roof of her book her breastbreathing
waiting while
i rub out
and blow away in pink debris
an absurd hart started against a rib