HEAVEN LAKE ( 26 ) ~

Respect Your Elders

At a forested

statue of the

poet Robert

Frost some

one had

stuck a

half burned

down cigarette

into one

of his

hands

as one

more practical

joke of the

artist-at-

work

until I

saw what

was too

lucky

to find

on the

path

a pencil

which I

replaced for

the cigarette

as if the

poet had

asked

me to

To See

To see all the

Apple blossoms

On the tree and

If you miss that

Look to the pond

Where most from

Last night’s wind

Are now floating

The Little Things

Out in the dark woods

when the power goes out

with heavy snow

there is nothing quite

like a small chocolate

drop melting in the

dark of your mouth

butterfly

going no

where in

particular

Sidewalk Storm

A complete stranger—

we begin to

talk because

like me he

has a quickness

of thickening

snowflakes

in his 

hair

_____________________

Bob Arnold

Heaven Lake

Longhouse 2018

LITTLE BOY ~

(UK edition)

(Kindle)

(Doubleday 2019)

Stream of consciousness away with the master poet!

LAWRENCE FERLINGHETT I ~

I Am Waiting

BY LAWRENCE FERLINGHETTI

I am waiting for my case to come up   

and I am waiting

for a rebirth of wonder

and I am waiting for someone

to really discover America

and wail

and I am waiting   

for the discovery

of a new symbolic western frontier   

and I am waiting   

for the American Eagle

to really spread its wings

and straighten up and fly right

and I am waiting

for the Age of Anxiety

to drop dead

and I am waiting

for the war to be fought

which will make the world safe

for anarchy

and I am waiting

for the final withering away

of all governments

and I am perpetually awaiting

a rebirth of wonder

I am waiting for the Second Coming   

and I am waiting

for a religious revival

to sweep thru the state of Arizona   

and I am waiting

for the Grapes of Wrath to be stored   

and I am waiting

for them to prove

that God is really American

and I am waiting

to see God on television

piped onto church altars

if only they can find   

the right channel   

to tune in on

and I am waiting

for the Last Supper to be served again

with a strange new appetizer

and I am perpetually awaiting

a rebirth of wonder

I am waiting for my number to be called

and I am waiting

for the Salvation Army to take over

and I am waiting

for the meek to be blessed

and inherit the earth   

without taxes

and I am waiting

for forests and animals

to reclaim the earth as theirs

and I am waiting

for a way to be devised

to destroy all nationalisms

without killing anybody

and I am waiting

for linnets and planets to fall like rain

and I am waiting for lovers and weepers

to lie down together again

in a new rebirth of wonder

I am waiting for the Great Divide to be crossed   

and I am anxiously waiting

for the secret of eternal life to be discovered   

by an obscure general practitioner

and I am waiting

for the storms of life

to be over

and I am waiting

to set sail for happiness

and I am waiting

for a reconstructed Mayflower

to reach America

with its picture story and tv rights

sold in advance to the natives

and I am waiting

for the lost music to sound again

in the Lost Continent

in a new rebirth of wonder

I am waiting for the day

that maketh all things clear

and I am awaiting retribution

for what America did   

to Tom Sawyer   

and I am waiting

for Alice in Wonderland

to retransmit to me

her total dream of innocence

and I am waiting

for Childe Roland to come

to the final darkest tower

and I am waiting   

for Aphrodite

to grow live arms

at a final disarmament conference

in a new rebirth of wonder

I am waiting

to get some intimations

of immortality

by recollecting my early childhood

and I am waiting

for the green mornings to come again   

youth’s dumb green fields come back again

and I am waiting

for some strains of unpremeditated art

to shake my typewriter

and I am waiting to write

the great indelible poem

and I am waiting

for the last long careless rapture

and I am perpetually waiting

for the fleeing lovers on the Grecian Urn   

to catch each other up at last

and embrace

and I am awaiting   

perpetually and forever

a renaissance of wonder

Lawrence Ferlinghetti, “I Am Waiting” from A Coney Island of the Mind. Copyright © 1958

PIPELINE ~

TOMORROW (LAWRENCE FERLINGHETTI) ~

F E R L I N G H E T T I

RONALD BAATZ ~

Look, a cloud like

the loveliest house ever

completely abandoned

Grains of sand

between her toes

happy as new stars

At the end of the meal

realizing I was using the wrong

end of the chopsticks

In the yard at night

inhaling the whole universe

I sneeze

Early summer night

everywhere insects roaring

with happiness

Rain

softening

the doghouse

Horse pissing -

clouds watching

in envy

Drunk

I piss in the backyard

under understanding stars

Every last

drop of life

pure mystery

My angel thinks I'm still a child

my dog sniffs

my nuts

_________________

R O N A L D      B A A T Z

Crow Words Falling On Dead Grass 

Yggdrasil Press

2019

INSOMNIA ~

Insomnia


The moon in the bureau mirror

looks out a million miles

(and perhaps with pride, at herself,

but she never, never smiles)

far and away beyond sleep, or

perhaps she's a daytime sleeper.



By the Universe deserted,

she'd tell it to go to hell,

and she'd find a body of water,

or a mirror, on which to dwell.

So wrap up care in a cobweb

and drop it down the well

into that world inverted

where left is always right,

where the shadows are really the body,

where we stay awake all night,

where the heavens are shallow as the sea

is now deep, and you love me.



_______________

Elizabeth Bishop
Poems, Prose, and Letters
The Library of America
2008

GARY GIDDINS ~

M O R E !

BURN ZONE ~

R E A D     M E

Black Beauty Books

2016

SURF ~

RAFAEL ALBERTI ~

To Painting



To you, flax in the field. To you, expanse

of surface for the eyes: expectant glance.

To you, imagination, ice or coal,

exact design or fire out of control.



To you, line unforeseen or always known.

To you, heroic paintbrush, wax or stone,

complaint to whatever style's envisioned,

to measure or the lack of all precision.



To you, form; color, resonating scheme

by which life shows the volume of its space,

dark next to light, light next to sun, now fainter.



To you, fictive reality of dream.

To you, real object, palpable, in place.

To you at last, the hand, all Painting's painter.




————————————
Rafael Alberti
translated by Carolyn L. Tipton
To Painting
Northwestern University Press 1997