Pinned toot

Perhaps I need to do another here, since it has been some time since I did it last. My regular forays here include composing , writing , sharing and other connected sharing threads. If you write there, I'll try to respond. I may even remix as a way to honor your writing. I try to keep my heart and mind open.

Thankful/ Morning/ Music

to the rain, these
rhythms of
the sky

steady fall, these
moments of

something's there, this
world and its

nothing's there, this
hope for the

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Ode to Arecibo

Illustrious Calliope
Chief of Muses
Bless now my
Ode to Arecibo

Oh Arecibo!
Radio telescope
Karl Guthe Jansky's child
Spanning cables surmounting
Oblate lustrous paraboiloid

Our great radio eye
Put out
After years fifty and six
Our planetary voice
Our distant kin listen in vain


When leaves
we dance, too

this wind's singing
an orchestra
for two

I am abandon;
you're movement,
forever true

When leaves
we dance, too

(inspired by window gazing)

Pondering creativity;

a Pollock painting
a Coltrane riff
a Morrison passage
a Dickinson aside

a letting go,
in order to allow
oneself to be pulled
deep into a moment
where something is
where nothing was


Shadow Forms

You, with skinned chalked fingers,
colored hues, scratching outlines
upon an uncomfortable blacktop canvas

Me, in shadow form, standing
just still enough to become outline
for a vision of ephemeral art

Us, waiting days for the rains,
to wash away these impressions,
the sky's a critic, nothing else remains



Some pieces of all of us hide
among the shadow spaces
of the day

We are unintentionally obscured,
filtered by inadequate

awaiting the moment
when light-time filters through
and we see each other
for the very first time



Here, take this note,
this melody, this harmony
this symphony, this sonata,
these interlocking lines
tangled in signatures
of time, this musical string
of something where once
nothing was, a listening
to your heart from mine

for (Writing Our Way Out project)

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Remember, it's okay to turn off the news for a bit.

Press pause,
if you will;
this hill is in
slow decline

show healing,
too, knife lines
tracing wounded
worlds, places
of exposure
in which fingers
brush up against
the past, the skin
always sharing stories,
with jagged
etched deep
inside the heart


when sleep
to rhythms
of night,
the landscape
but for some
small melody
still yet lingering:
mere gossamer
and translucence
and then gone


"I'm writing you
from somewhere yesterday
and tomorrow will be
better than today"

-- I shared a version of this song (from a poem, about writing a poem) the other day but then went and added a new verse and re-recorded it ...

There was a time
when the crowd hushed,
when all of our eyes watched
the ball flung into motion

with such beautiful flight,
its shape slightly wobbled
in the air flow imbalance
of impossibility

It's that breath before
that I remember the most,
the beauty of the possibility
of perfect reception,

and not the drop,
when the world stopped,
and the magic
of the moment, broken


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On the porch I hear the drips
As the temp outside slowly dips
But as far as I know
Not low enough to snow.


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What is

but a rope
for which
to climb

a chance
to take
our time

a moment
in which
we find

something within us
that brings us

for and

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winter morning
pale moon in
takes me in its arms
winter morning

The shelves have become
barren of those silly cards,
those throw-away phrases
that always tried so hard
to make us laugh, in aisles
of the grocery store and
boutique shops and kiosks
in the mall, manufactured thanks
spit out by cold machines,
while I'm still one of those few
who settles down in the quiet,
pen in hand, to carve out poems
from the bones of memory,
a crinkled paper-cut of words
tucked into the folds
of your jacket pocket


Standing at the edge
of the wishing well,
it's hard to decide whether
to walk away or wander in,
this loose collection
of change jangling songs
in the fingers,
just before the fall


These trees
give gifts -
do they not? -
subtle things
we take for
granted, as
branches stems
roots leaves
paint the land
we walk upon
before descending
to sleep

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