A good walk spoiled, lantern lit, hungers hushed ............................. (I do poem to myself as I address the ball)

what kind of illusory precepts are we
what guiding lights, shadow velvet souls, are we
tell it holes rabbits run, fences, lines
tree spun days, slow exhale of time's tines
all the things we carry lean
Love, war, peace for our between ...

yes, what I remember mostly these days
about the 1980's is much the same
as I thought of the 1950's
when I was stumbling through
seeking my kicks and a you
in the 1980's I thought
eyed juxtaposition
of spirit and weather made
everything seem bleak
thought by thought 
taught to loosen
taut bleeding me,
move me inspired 
wound and unwound 
swinging my dark(s)
towards morning,
where fire made sense
despite my inclination to speak
nonsensically, because after all, I was
and mostly have been
in my own estimation of greatness
a for entertainment only purpose
a poet who holds things  
like the bottom numbers
must match the top circled sheets
I remember hearing this
paused in my back swing 
or before I start it, sounds 
and conversation
in the barber shop
when football season came along
became a little more interesting ... 

the gamble that Life
offers us to pursue
is never new
it is merely repeated
and is as true as
condensation on a glass
of cold beer
in the summertime ... 

this last Saturday
in July, blooms
cool and overcast
with nascent knives
of Autumn lurking
sideways
an errant shot 
blade and loam
finding a home
in the deep rust
of the Lady
in repose
midsummer
unbound 
and not likely
to caddy me 
much more ... 


EJR ©