this    old blog  of mine has new reconnected with a blogger classic template      


the template is so unformed the profile is 'glued' as it were to each post! each blog posts makes one the bloggist identity.





___ times are


                    times are public we  

                           we                                                                                times are private  we

                            public times are                      private

                                                              i can see with your private eye

                         i can see with my public private eye

                             invite the I that's private  public for a  private view   of you 



'feeds ..'


 'feeds' from poetry (             have their place however not as substitutes                                                                                                                                                                                         ) blogs .. an awful word makes me think of pigs  snuffling round.. snort snort snort

   ah the pigs snorting in the hell of their pork. ah the pigs, the ole pig the boards

  who killed Orpheus  Orphee the nut case women, the nut case     maniacs with             their ideas

                                                                       o f song

 and   hate and love  and never having read the great books at the age of 40
        and the great poems  at the age of  50,

                  and the age of death, having read nothing

  dying , their heads in the shit

                           '  the pig feed '    their heads upside down in the shit asses sticking up and out
                                 the rot of rock n roll

                             the swart and fake of it   the money taking whores of picaddily of capital
                   money and the dead leaves  of capitals palm greased always

 you talk to me about feeds
                pig  feeds  and dog feeds
            millions march tramp an bleeding   hourly in the cities of old
                        and there is no name for this
                      there is no name for this

                               for this bombing and death

                                      no feed to relieve their grief

                         no finding  to   it  ,


          the                           visible tracery of beauty 

                                          designed the fall of things

                                            the pearl  of fatigue  
                                     yielding tenderness


   the lines of flight mine, yours, hers,   her double hers,  my reader bifocal gazed

   her voice, my own 

  magnified by the pain caught   strapped in the strata       hammered in the steel judgment  

                                and the cold came down 




______________________________ a training word alluded to  contained
                                                  within an older eagle my old emblem
                                                           from Blue Dog Plus

                                      beagle ___________________beagle ________________


  there was the jaguar /& eagle and the camel yes, the long training camel tramping
                                                      for days






           there were words
                                                                                /i'd have spoken

   (which words? what words what ones  what ones? )
that never did
                                                                            get said
                                              words   never said to anyone

                                          words from a  inside that's way back

                                     behind all the scenes of loving and self and other and one's soul mate

                                                             (then what happened?

                                                                               the middle fell it did

                                                                                      /the middle

                                                                              an things ended up

                                                                      in the midden   my fault too
                                                        (what was it then ?  standing in the rain

                                                                    stranded   at  the pavement curb

                                                            surrounded by barbarians and liars too long)

                                                                         (you're filled with excuses ?

                                                                           is it ? am i? i was wrong
                                                                       how could i admit any other way)

                                                                being wrong is being wrong 
                                                                       which doesnt mean letting the other party
                                                                              off the hook
                                                                                 i too had no   






 AN Ocean between  them

     two egos
                               across  two lives

                                                                 two  not speaking

                         two bodies     from stone and iron
     not lichen and moss
   meadow and flower
                                              dandelion and grass

  not swimming
                    or holding   and they're not wooing in the avenue
           and it's not narrative native night
                      nor the silver smith dialogue of the truth

      but the 'cold'    deep          the       cold grey     very chilld

     colder water the  colder upper air

             between them

                   a hammer !


.. each


                                              Franckly each paramour his leman knows 





now that's a word you've not heard since ---------------------

    but it almost rhymes with nuance 
              t he marquee thing didnt come off, did it?
                       but it's friday afternoon,
                    with the world ending sunset  its beauty
                                             ever infinitely renewable
                            ever usually intimately renwable

       you can always come back  
                  to it fixing
              that marquee
              or the truth
                    of being
                       & fidelity
                            crowing or corraling crowding
                     someone's place's not the best way to ride 
                              free into a sunrise  
                                 riding into a cosmos of pink wash sky and blue hyaline
                                                                   lips of clouds
                     tipping at the edge of the furrowed sky







                                    ___O now that's a lovely word

                           (spoken with)               a British accent 

                                          an English accent
                                      an d   a French mouth  a              French   mouth  



__ you meant --


  re collected and selected  ..... you meant?

 C.D.  i meant the completely uncollected works! the selected
   repression and compression, the sunshine the walk a day,
  Homer's talk with me concerning the words he first wrote down

                   and/poor oldHomer blind, blind sas a bat,

   near Sparta, and yes, the old hills rang , with seeing gods
                                                    and swords


  how do you collect the uncollectable? the engines and maruaders want more

thinking they own with their piglets and sacks of gold, silver,
    the infinite electronic dust of credit, debit , interest
             the round of cash and crash, cache,

   and the period goes where the comma goes,

 your reel work's in     n            that fatonic heaven
                    where jurists and others of their ilk
  dont  get past the gate

                   when where the man treading ahead
                      in                       space 


    the dung dusters and dung dumpers came later
    as always ripping and sniping
       the great tide of vision
                      their fail safe buttons askew
     i have nothng to tell them,


              the middle was where things happen

          not the side   
                   in the middle of things 

losing caution two fell off the middle 
          then none grew

    two fell out of the meadow
           then dung grew


my new book  is is very  long